REPRESENTATIVE PLAYS 
 
 By AMERICAN DRAMATISTS 
 
Representative Plays by 
 American Dramatists 
 
 Edited with 
 Historical and Critical Introductions 
 
 By MONTROSE J. MOSES 
 
 In Three Volumes 
 Volume I 17651819 
 Volume II 1815-1858 
 Volume III 1856-1917 
 
 E. P. Dutton & Company 
 
 68 1 Fifth Avenue 
 
 New York 
 
THE 
 
 CONTRAST, 
 
 COMEDY; 
 
 I N F I VA C T S : 
 
 WRITTEN BY A 
 
 CITIZEN OF THE UNITED ST4TES; 
 
 Performed with Applaufe at the Theatres in NEW-YORK, 
 PHILADELPHIA, and MARYLAND; 
 
 AHD rvBLMHin (under an AJJignmtt ffttt Cofy-RigbtJ BY 
 
 THOMAS WIGNELL. 
 
 Vi.on. 
 
 Primus ego in patriam 
 
 Aonio <ieduxi vertice Mufas. 
 
 (Imitated.) 
 
 Firft on oor (hores I try THALIA S powers, 
 \nd bid the laughing, tifeful Maid be ours. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 ROM Tiifc rcst or PRICHARD & HALL, IN MAKKKT 
 
 BETWtSM JtCOKD AMD fKOMT tTKCSTf. 
 M. DSC. Xt. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION 
 (From the Original, owned by Dr. F. W. Atkinson) 
 
Representative Plays by 
 
 American Dramatists 
 
 i 
 
 Edited, with an Introduction to Each Play 
 
 By MONTROSE J. MOSES 
 
 M 
 
 I765-I8I9 
 
 Illustrated with Portraits, and 
 Original Title-Pages 
 
 New York 
 
 E. P. Dutton & Company 
 1918 
 
Copyright, iqiSy by E. P. Dutton gf Company 
 
 Printed in the United States 
 of America 
 
To 
 DR. FRED W. ATKINSON 
 
 In grateful recollection of his encouragement 
 
 and aid in the preparation of 
 
 this volume. 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 General Introduction. I - 10 
 
 Bibliographies. 11- 18 
 
 JL-T-he Prince of Parthia. 
 
 By Thomas Godfrey, Jr. 1765 19-108 
 
 *- \ Ponteach ; or, The Savages of America. 
 
 By Robert Rogers. 1766 109 - 208 
 
 , _ v The Group; A Farce. * 
 
 By Mrs. Mercy Warren. 1775 209 - 232 i/ 
 
 ^ .The Battle of Bunkers-Hill. 
 
 By Hugh Henry Brackenridge. 1776 233 - 276 
 
 The Fall of British Tyranny; or, American Liberty. 
 
 By John Leacock. 1776 277 - 350 
 
 The Politician Out-witted. By Samuel Low. 1789 351 -429 
 The Contrast. Ey Roy all Tyler. 1790 431-498 
 
 Andre. By William Dunlap. 1798 499 - 564 
 
 Thejtndian Princess; or, La Belle Sauvage. 
 
 By /. A 7 . Barker. 1808 565 - 628 
 
 7\She Would Be a Soldier; or, The Plains of Chippewa. 
 
 By M. M. Noah. 1819 629 - 678 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The present collection of "Representative Plays by American 
 Dramatists" is the first of its kind to be offered to the general 
 reader. In its scope, it covers a period from 1765-191 1, and in its 
 plan of selection, it strives to show the advance in playwriting 
 during successive periods of American history. 
 
 Because of this scheme, the choice of plays for the Colonial and 
 Revolutionary sections necessarily includes several which, while 
 written for the stage, are not authentically located as far as pro 
 duction is concerned. There is no indication that Robert Rogers s 
 "Ponteach" was ever accepted by any of the theatrical companies 
 of the time, and there is no positive proof that Mrs. Mercy 
 Warren s "The Group" was ever done, although there are casual 
 references to the fact that performances were given at Amboyne. 
 Nor have we any right to believe that Samuel Low s "The Poli 
 tician Out-witted" received other than scant treatment from the 
 managers to whom it was submitted ; it was published rather to 
 please the readers of the closet drama. Nevertheless, it has been 
 thought essential to include these plays because they are repre 
 sentative of the spirit of the times, and help to give a. more com 
 prehensive view of the subjects which were treated in dramatic 
 form by the early American playwrights. 
 
 From the moment the American writer ceased to be an English 
 man, and became fully aware of his national consciousness, 
 American drama, following the trend of the development of 
 American literature, began to feel its way for the proper expres 
 sion of national characteristics. 
 
 And so, in the second and third volumes of this series, the 
 reader will find plays which, while not wonderful in their literary 
 value, are, nevertheless, very distinctive, as reflecting the theatri 
 cal tastes of the time, and the very crude, but none the less sin 
 cere, technical effort of the playwrights. All the dramas included 
 in the second and third volumes have had their stage productions, 
 and are thus representative of characteristics which mark the 
 abilities of certain actors, whose claims to originality are found in 
 the special types they created. 
 
 It has been the present editor s object so to arrange the succes 
 sive order of these plays that the reader may not only be able to 
 judge the change in stagecraft and technique, but, likewise, may 
 
2 Representative Plays 
 
 note the change in social idea and in historical attitude toward 
 certain subjects. For example, "The Contrast" contains the first 
 American Stage Yankee a model for a succession of Stage 
 Yankees to follow. But, whereas Royall Tyler s Jonathan was 
 not especially written to exploit the peculiar abilities of Mr. 
 Wignell, the comedian, most of the Yankee plays of a later date 
 were written to exploit the peculiar excellences of such actors as 
 G. H. Hill and James H. Hackett. 
 
 In no way can the reader better sense the change in social cus 
 toms and ideals than by reading a series of plays written in suc 
 cessive generations and reflecting the varying customs of the 
 time. In some respects "The Contrast" may be considered our 
 very earliest drama of social manners, even though Royall Tyler 
 was not over-successful in stamping the small talk of his women 
 as being distinctively American. Rather is it the direct imitation 
 without the brilliancy of the small talk in "The School for 
 Scandal." But, nevertheless, "The Contrast" does attempt to 
 deal with society in New York before the nineteenth century, and 
 in Mrs. Mowatt s "Fashion," in Mrs. Bateman s "Self," in Bron- 
 son Howard s "Saratoga" (which has been published), in Clyde 
 Fitch s "The Moth and the Flame;" and in Langdon Mitchell s 
 "The New York Idea," we are given a very significant and 
 sharply defined panoramic view of the variations in moral and 
 social attitudes. 
 
 The plays included in this series have very largely been selected 
 because of their distinct American flavour. The majority of the 
 dramas deal directly with American subjects. But it seemed un 
 wise and unrepresentative to frame one s policy of selection too 
 rigidly on that score. Had such a method been adhered to, many 
 of the plays written for Edwin Forrest would have to be omitted 
 from consideration. It would have been difficult, because of this 
 stricture, to include representative examples of dramas by the 
 Philadelphia and Knickerbocker schools of playwrights. Robert 
 T. Conrad s "Jack Cade," John Howard Payne s "Brutus," 
 George Henry Boker s "Francesca da Rimini," and Nathaniel P. 
 Willis s "Tortesa, the Usurer," would thus have been ruled from 
 the collection. Nevertheless are they representative plays by 
 American dramatists. Another departure from the American at 
 mosphere is in the case of Steele Mackaye; here in preference to 
 "Hazel Kirke," I have selected "Paul Kauvar," farthest away 
 from American life, inasmuch as it deals with Nihilism, but 
 
Introduction 3 
 
 written at a time when there was a Nihilistic fever in New York 
 City. 
 
 No editor, attempting such a comprehensive collection as this, 
 can be entirely successful in including everything which will en 
 rich his original plan. There are always limitations placed upon 
 him by the owners of copyrights, and by gapsin the development, 
 due to loss of manuscripts. It was naturally my desire to have all 
 the distinctive American playwrights represented in the present 
 collection. Therefore, in justice, the omissions have to be indi 
 cated here, because they leave gaps in a development which it 
 would have been well to offer unbroken and complete. 
 
 When the collection was first conceived, there was every indica 
 tion that permission would be granted me to reproduce at least 
 one of the Robert Montgomery Bird manuscripts, now owned by 
 the University of Pennsylvania. Naturally, a collection of repre 
 sentative plays should include either Bird s "The Gladiator," or 
 one of his other more or less oratorical and poetical pieces, written 
 under the inspiration of Edwin Forrest. The intention to include 
 John Augustus Stone s "Metamora" brought to light, after corre 
 spondence with the Forrest Home in Philadelphia, that either the 
 manuscript of that play has irrevocably been destroyed, or else 
 has been preserved so carefully that no one remotely connected 
 with the actor Forrest has thus far been able to locate it. 
 Only a few well remembered speeches and isolated scenes are 
 seemingly left of a play which increased so largely the fame of 
 Mr. Forrest. 
 
 In the selection of types my attention naturally became cen 
 tered on the characters of Colonel Mulberry Sellars, and Judge 
 Bar dwell Slote, the former in a dramatization of "The Gilded 
 Age," by Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner,and the latter, 
 in a play by Benjamin E. Woolf, called "The Mighty Dollar." 
 Extended investigation revealed the fact that, even if the plays 
 are not lost, they are still unlocated, by the literary executors of 
 Mark Twain on the one hand, and by the family of Mr. Woolf on 
 the other. It is well to mention these instances, because, until the 
 recent interest in the origins of American drama, manifest on all 
 sides, there has been a danger that many most valuable manu 
 script plays would be lost to the student forever. 
 
 At a revival of individual scenes from distinctive American 
 plays, given in New York, on January 22, 1917, considerable 
 difficulty was experienced before the stock-company manuscript 
 
4 Representative Plays 
 
 of Frank E. Murdoch s "Davy Crockett" was procured. This 
 play, old-fashioned in its general development, is none the less 
 representative of old-time melodramatic situation and romantic 
 manipulation, and there is every reason to believe that, with the 
 tremendous changes in theatrical taste, unless this play is pub 
 lished in available printed form, it will be lost to the student of 
 ten years from now. The play would have been included in the 
 present edition if space had allowed. 
 
 When I came to a consideration of the modern section, there 
 were many omissions which had to be made, due very largely to 
 the fact that authors and owners of copyright were loath to forego 
 their rights. A collection of this kind should undoubtedly have 
 the name of James A. Herne represented in its contents, inasmuch 
 as none of Mr. Herne s plays have heretofore been published, and 
 two of his most distinctive dramas in original manuscript, "Mar 
 garet Fleming" and "Griffith Davenport," have been totally de 
 stroyed by fire. But representatives of Mr. Herne s family have 
 declined, at the present time, to allow his plays to be published. 
 This is to be regretted, inasmuch as nearly all of the most prom 
 inent American playwrights are represented, either in the publi 
 cation of isolated plays or in definitive editions. I should have 
 liked to end this collection with the inclusion of Mr. Eugene 
 Walter s "The Easiest Way;" at the present time, that play, 
 which was once issued in an edition privately printed, is to be 
 found in the Drama League Series of plays. 
 
 From the standpoint of non-copyright material, two interesting 
 conditions have been revealed through investigation. The first 
 published play, in America, was "Androboros," by Governor 
 Robert Hunter, written in collaboration with Chief Justice Lewis 
 Morris. 1 Only one copy of that play is in existence, owned by 
 Mr. H. E. Huntington, of New York, having formerly been 
 a valued possession in the library of the Duke of Devonshire ; and 
 having descended from the private ownership of David Garrick 
 and John Kemble, the English actors. Naturally, the private 
 collector is loath, in view of the rarity of his edition, to allow it, 
 at present, to be reprinted. 
 
 Some scholars, however, point to "Les Muses de la Nouvelle- 
 France," printed in Paris in 1609, where the third piece is "Le 
 
 1 The title-page of "Androboros" reads: "Androboros"/ A / Bographical [Sic.] 
 Farce/In Three Acts, Viz. /The Senate./The Consistory,/and/The Apotheosis./ 
 By Governour Hunter. /Printed at Moropolis since ist August, 1714. [Taken 
 from Huntington Copy. Moropolis means Fool s Town.] 
 
Introduction 5 
 
 Theatre de Neptune en la Nouvelle-France." According to Marc 
 Lescarbot, this was "representee sur les flots du Port- Royal le 
 quatorzieme de Novembre, mille six cens six, au retour de Sieur 
 de Poutrincourt du pais des Armouchiquois." This may be 
 regarded as example of the first play written and acted on North 
 American soil, it, however, being in French, and not given within 
 what is now the United States, but rather at Port Royal, in 
 Acadia. (See two interesting letters, i W. J. Neidig, Nation, 
 88:86, January 28, 1909; 2 Philip Alexander Bruce, Nation, 
 88:136, February n, 1909.) 
 
 It was my further desire, as an example of college play writing, 
 to include the text of Barnabas Bidwell s "The Mercenary 
 Match," written at Yale, and played by the students of Yale. 1 
 Only one copy of that play is, thus far, known to be in existence, 
 owned by Mr.. Evert Jansen Wendell, and its inclusion in the 
 present collection is debarred for the same reason. 
 
 Were this collection Representative Plays by American 
 Dramatists encyclopedic in its scope, rather than a suggestive 
 arrangement of a limited number of plays for the purpose of illus 
 trating certain phases of playwriting in American theatrical his 
 tory, it would have been necessary for the editor to intersperse, 
 here and there, between the plays, certain minor forms of dra 
 matic writing, characteristic of the work done in this country. 
 For example, plays and dialogues written at colleges at a period 
 ante-dating 1800, and likewise ante-dating the Revolution, are a 
 distinctive development in themselves, and would form an inter 
 esting contrast with the work being done at the colleges since the 
 beginning of the present so-called dramatic renaissance (1917). 
 These dialogues, in their proper place, will be dealt with in the in 
 troductions to a few of the plays. But it is well to indicate here 
 that such illustrations of very definite forms of dramatic expres 
 sion have been omitted. 
 
 In all cases the texts used have been carefully collated with 
 the first editions of the published dramas and, wherever possible, 
 the original casts have been given with the Dramatis Personae. 
 Interest in American drama consists very largely in the elements 
 of comparison and contrast which certain definite dramas sug 
 gest. Even if there is no manuscript of "Metamora" extant, 
 there is sufficient data relating to the character of Metamora to 
 
 1 The/Mercenary Match, /A Tragedy. /By Barna Bidwell./New Haven : /Printed 
 by Meigs, Bowen and Dana, /In Chapel-Street. /(iv8s.) 
 
6 Representative Plays 
 
 contrast the play with Robert Rogers s "Ponteach." Even 
 though Mrs. Warren s "The Group" might be ruled out as an 
 acting drama, none the less is it definitely reflective of the revo 
 lutionary temper of Revolutionary times. A comparison of other 
 types of plays will be made as they occur in the course of the three 
 volumes. I emphasize the point here, because I wish to suggest 
 that such a collection as this offers infinite possibilities in the 
 study of the historical, social, and economic evolution of America. 
 Most of these plays have been revived. There will be noted, 
 later, performances of "The Prince of Parthia,"of "The Contrast," 
 of Dunlap s "Andre,"and of Mrs. Mowatt s "Fashion, "according 
 to our modern methods of acting. These plays may often seem 
 verbose and lacking in continuous development and interest. 
 This would lead us to believe that possibly the early actor had 
 means at his disposal of overcoming these defects by a method of 
 dramatic technique unknown to the present player. In reading 
 these dramas, one must be able to bear in mind the differences 
 which exist between the theatre of to-day and the theatre of yes 
 terday, between the tradition of the actor of to-day and of the 
 actor of yesterday. The technique, for example, in the charac 
 terization of Jonathan, and in the characterization of Solon 
 Shingle, is different from the technique which characterizes the 
 work of Clyde Fitch or which is to be found in David Belasco s 
 "Peter Grimm." In other words, in such a collection, one asks, not 
 the judgment of the highest literary standards, but the judgment 
 of an historical appreciation of the changes in dramatic taste. 
 
 * * * 
 
 This, the first volume of "Representative Plays by American 
 Dramatists," contains dramas which measure the tastes and in 
 clinations of Colonial and Revolutionary life. In the proper un 
 derstanding of their atmosphere, it is necessary to know some 
 thing of the general spirit of the theatre of the period ; to measure 
 the conditions, customs, and social peculiarities of the provincial 
 actors and audiences. For that reason, it would be well for the 
 general reader beforehand to obtain a bird s-eye view of the 
 history of the American theatre a view which will comprise 
 some consideration of the first playhouse in this country, of the 
 conditions which confronted Hallam, Henry, and Douglass, the 
 first actors to be at the head of what, in Williamsburg, Virginia, 
 was known as the Virginia Comedians, and in New York and 
 Philadelphia, as the American Company. 
 
Introduction 7 
 
 No more fascinating study could be imagined than following 
 the trials and tribulations of the actors in America at this early 
 day, who, as soon as they reached Philadelphia, or as soon as they 
 attempted to invade Boston, were confronted by the Puritanical 
 and sectarian prejudices, against which the early history of the 
 American theatre had to struggle. The personalities of the 
 Hallams, of Douglass and Hodgkinson, are picturesque and worth 
 while tracing in all aspects of their Thespian careers in the 
 Colonies. So, too, the persons of Thomas Wignell, the Comedian, 
 and of Mrs. Merry, are of especial interest. Wignell, at the John 
 Street Theatre, in New York, and at the Southwark Theatre, in 
 Philadelphia, was wont to amuse George Washington, who, on 
 careful examination of his Journals and expense accounts, looms 
 up as the one big theatre-goer of the time. 
 
 The reader who follows the effect open hostility with England 
 had upon the American theatre, will find most interesting mate 
 rial relating to the dramatic activities of the soldiers under the 
 leadership of Generals Burgoyne and Howe. In fact, no account 
 of dramatic writings in this country can ignore the fact that Gen 
 eral Burgoyne, apart from the farce which incited Mrs. Mercy 
 Warren, was himself a serious dramatist, who took his work seri 
 ously, and whose dramas may be obtained at any large reference 
 library. The Red-Coats, as actors, amused their Tory public 
 with such plays as "Tamerlane," "The Busybody," and "Zara;" 
 and when they invaded the Southwark Theatre, around 1777, 
 Major Andre, the presiding genius of the English soldier-actors, 
 turned to good account his ability as a scene-painter, and painted 
 a backdrop which was preserved in Philadelphia until 1821, when 
 it was destroyed by fire. We have, however, a description of the 
 scene, taken from Durang s "History of the Philadelphia Stage." 
 
 "It was a landscape," he writes, "presenting a distant cham 
 pagne country, and a winding rivulet, extending from the front 
 of the picture to the extreme distance. In the foreground and 
 centre was a gentle cascade the water exquisitely executed 
 overshadowed by a group of majestic forest trees. The perspec 
 tive was excellently preserved ; the foliage, verdure, and general 
 colouring artistically toned and glazed. It was a drop scene, and 
 Andre s name was inscribed on the back of it in large black letters. 
 
 The early American theatre was nothing more than the theatre 
 of England transplanted to a more provincial atmosphere. We 
 have a record of dramatic performances being given at Williams 
 
8 Representative Plays 
 
 and Mary College before the Royal Governor, in 1702, and, in 
 1736, the students were presenting Addison s "Cato." In 1714, 
 in Massachusetts, Chief Justice Samuel Sewall, famed for his 
 witchcraft injunctions, protested against acting in Boston, and 
 warned the people in this fashion: "Let not Christian Boston goe 
 beyond Heathen Rome in the practice of Shameful Vanities." 
 
 Evidently the actors who had appeared in New York from the 
 West Indies, in 1702, were, by an ill wind, blown into the sharp- 
 prejudiced atmosphere of New England. Some authorities are 
 inclined to believe that Thomas Kean s appearance on March 5, 
 1750, in New York, when, as noted by the Weekly Postboy, he 
 gave a performance of "Richard III," with permission of Gov 
 ernor Clinton, really begins the history of legitimate theatrical 
 performances in America. This, however, is not historically ac 
 curate, for, in South Carolina, it is noted that the first dramatic 
 production occurred in 1734 or 1735, January i8th, although the 
 first Charleston theatre was afterwards erected in 1773, the third 
 regular theatre to be established in the Colonies. (See The 
 Nation, 99:278-279; Yates Snowden, "South Carolina Plays and 
 Playwrights," The Carolinian, November, 1909.) 
 
 The disputed point as to the first theatre in America has also 
 been very thoroughly discussed by Judge Charles P. Daly in his 
 brochure, "The First Theatre in America." (Dunlap Society, 
 New Series, No. i, 1896.) 
 
 In 1755, the Reverend Samuel Davies, whose eloquence made 
 him quite as much an actor as a divine, complained of conditions 
 in Virginia, declaring that plays and romances were more read 
 than "the history of the Blessed Jesus." 
 
 The real narrative of Colonial acting, however, begins with 
 William Hallam s appearance in Williamsburg in "The Mer 
 chant of Venice," on September 5, 1752; thereafter, as is so ex 
 cellently traced in Seilhamer, the American Theatre, with its dif 
 ferent itinerant companies, began to flourish. 
 
 The theatre was such a recreation to the Colonial people that, 
 in many ways, it figured as the one source of official entertain 
 ment; especially on occasions when the Royal Governor had to 
 show hospitality to visiting people. For example, the Maryland 
 Gazette for November 17, 1752, declares that "The Emperor of 
 the Cherokee nation, with his Empress and their son, the young 
 Prince, attended by several of his warriors and Great Men, and 
 their Ladies, were received at the Palace by his Honour the Gov- 
 
Introduction 9 
 
 ernor, attended by such of the Council as were in Town on Thurs 
 day, the 9th instant, with all the Marks of Courtesy and Friend 
 ship, and were that Evening entertained at the Theatre with the 
 Play (the Tragedy of Othello ), and a Pantomime Performance 
 which gave them great surprise, as did the fighting with naked 
 swords on the Stage, which occasioned the Empress to order 
 some about her to go and prevent them killing one another." 
 
 The spirit of the theatre-going at this period has been excel 
 lently suggested by John Esten Cook in his novel, The Virginia 
 Comedians," but the reader who will consult rare files of Colonial 
 newspapers will find therein many advertisements which will 
 throw light on some of the social details of the theatre. It is 
 enough here to suggest, that, in the reading of the different plays 
 here offered, some consideration be paid to the general theatrical 
 atmosphere which created and fostered them. 
 
 In several of the Introductions the editor has had occasion to 
 mention the exercises and dialogues and plays given in the col 
 leges before the Revolution. These were the distinctive forms 
 which time and occasion created; otherwise the early American 
 dramatist framed his pieces in imitation of English and German 
 tradition. However, as soon as the national period began, an 
 other interesting dramatic experiment was put into effect. This 
 has been noted by W. W. Clapp, in his chapter written for Justin 
 Winsor s "Commemorative History of Boston." He says: 
 
 "[It was] the custom in the earlier days of the theatre to signal 
 ize passing events by such appropriate notice as the resources of 
 the stage would permit." 
 
 In other words, the event called forth from the Manager, be 
 cause of commercial possibilities, certain spectacular scenes to at 
 tract the patriotic notice of the people. Manager Hodgkinson, 
 on September 20, 1797, celebrated the launching of the frigate 
 Constitution. 1 On January 8, 1800, at the New York Theatre, an 
 "Ode on the Death of General Washington" was recited by Mr. 
 Hodgkinson, written by Samuel Low. It is interesting here to 
 note likewise that Royall Tyler pronounced a Eulogy on Wash 
 ington at Bennington, Vermont, on February 22, 1800. 
 
 A patriotic effusion, celebrating the capture of the British 
 frigate Guerrihe, was produced on October 2, 1812. In 1813, to 
 
 1 Dunlap. himself atune to the hour, wrote "Yankee Chronology; or, Huzza 
 for the Constitution" "a musical Interlude, in One Act, to which are added, The 
 Patriotic Songs of the Freedom of the Seas, and Yankee Tars," produced at the 
 Park Theatre, New York, 1812. Dunlap wrote many pieces of like character. 
 
io Representative Plays 
 
 commemorate the victory of Perry, a piece was mounted, en 
 titled, "Heroes of the Lake; or, the Glorious Tenth of Sep 
 tember." Another piece, equally as suggestive in its title, was 
 "The Sailor s Return; or, Constitution Safe in Port." 
 
 When the Marquis de Lafayette visited the United States in 
 1825, and was taken to the theatre, the occasion was celebrated 
 by an appropriate "drop." In other words, the Manager, even in 
 those days, had the commercial instinct fully developed. 
 
 * # # 
 
 In the preparation of the present collection, the editor wishes 
 to thank those who have been generous in their advice and appre 
 ciation of the work in hand. Being a pioneer effort, the original 
 research necessitated has been of an extensive character. I have 
 had, in order to verify my data, to correspond extensively, not 
 only with the members of the families of the different playwrights, 
 but with many historical societies and libraries. I have likewise 
 had the advantage of being able to consult with Dr. F. W. At 
 kinson, of the Brooklyn Polytechnic, whose collection of Ameri 
 can Drama is probably one of the richest in the country, and 
 with Professor Brander Matthews, whose interest in all drama 
 makes the historian continually in his debt. Certain information 
 concerning Royall Tyler has been furnished me by members of 
 the Tyler family, including Mrs. E. L. Pratt, of Boston. In their 
 proper places, when the plays occur, certain credits and references 
 will be found, but it is a pleasure for me here to thank Mr. Percy 
 Mackaye, Mr. David Belasco, Mr. Langdon Mitchell, Mr. 
 Augustus Thomas, the Clyde Fitch Estate, and the Bronson How 
 ard Estate, for their generous cooperation in bringing the present 
 collection to a successful issue. The privilege is also mine to 
 thank Mr. L. Nelson Nichols, of the Americana Division, and 
 Mr. Victor H. Paltsits, in charge of the Manuscript Division, of 
 the New York Public Library, together with other officials of that 
 Library, of Columbia University, and of the Library Company of 
 Philadelphia, and Miss Z. K. Macdonald, for their unfailing 
 courtesy and untiring efforts in my behalf. 
 
 In order to preserve uniformity of style throughout the text of 
 the plays certain modifications in punctuation and spelling have 
 been adopted. 
 
 MONTROSE J. MOSES. 
 
 February 22, 1917. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF GENERAL WORKS 
 
 Some of the most important works on the history of the Ameri 
 can Drama and the American Theatre are given herewith. 
 Under each author, there will be found short individual bibliog 
 raphies, and in the succeeding volumes of the Collection, other 
 general references will be given which will throw light on the 
 theatrical conditions of the particular theatre periods. Naturally, 
 books relating to modern conditions will be reserved for the third 
 volume. 
 
 ALLIBONE, S. AUSTIN. A Critical Dictionary of English Litera 
 ture and British and American Authors. (3 vols.) Philadel 
 phia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1874. (Supplement to Allibone. 
 By John Foster Kirk. Lippincott, 1891, 2 vols.) 
 ATKINSON, F. W. List of American Drama in the Atkinson Col 
 lection. 1756-1915. Brooklyn, January I, 1916. 
 BATES, ALFRED. Drama. Vols. XIX, XX. For American 
 
 Drama. 
 BECKS. Collection of Prompt Books in the New York Public 
 
 Library. Bulletin, February, 1906, pp. 100-148. 
 BROWN, T. ALLSTON. A History of the New York Stage. From 
 the First Performance in 1732 to 1901. (3 vols.) New York: 
 Dodd, Mead & Co. 1903. 
 BURTON, RICHARD. The New American Drama. New York: 
 
 Thomas Y. Crowell Co. 1913. 
 CLAPP, WILLIAM W., JR. A Record of the Boston Stage. Boston : 
 
 James Munroe and Company. 1853. 
 
 CLARK, BARRETT H. The British and American Drama of To 
 day. New York: Henry Holt & Co. 1915. 
 CRAWFORD, MARY CAROLINE. The Romance of the American 
 
 Theatre. Boston : Little, Brown & Co. 1913. 
 DALY, HON. CHARLES P. First Theatre in America: When 
 Was the Drama First Introduced in America? An Inquiry. 
 Dunlap Soc. Pub., n. s. i, 1896. 
 
 DICKINSON, THOMAS H. The Case of American Drama. Boston : 
 Houghton Mifflin Co. 1915. 
 
12 Representative Plays 
 
 DUNLAP, WILLIAM. History of the American Theatre. London: 
 Richard Bentley. 1833. 
 
 DURANG, CHARLES. History of the Philadelphia Stage. 1749- 
 1855. (Published serially in the Philadelphia Dispatch.} 
 
 DUYCKINCK, EVERT A. and GEORGE L. The Cyclopedia of Ameri 
 can Literature: From the Earliest Period to the Present Day. 
 Philadelphia: William Rutter & Co. 1877. (2 vols.) 
 
 EVANS, CHARLES. v American Biography. 8 vols. Privately 
 Printed. 
 
 FAXON, FREDERICK W. Dramatic Index. Boston Book Co. 
 19095*2. 
 
 FORD, PAUL LEICESTER. The Beginnings of American Dramatic V 
 Literature. New England Magazine, n. s. 9: 673-687, February, 
 1894. 
 
 FORD, PAUL LEICESTER. Some Notes Toward an Essay on the 
 Beginnings of American Dramatic Literature. 1606-1789. 
 
 FORD, PAUL LEICESTER. Washington and the Theatre. Dunlap 
 Soc. Pub., n. s. 8, 1899. 
 
 GAISFORD, JOHN. Drama in New Orleans. New Orleans. 1849. 
 
 GRISWOLD, RUFUS WILMOT. Female Poets of America, With Ad 
 ditions by R. H. Stoddard. New York, 1843-1873. 
 
 GRISWOLD, RUFUS WILMOT. Prose Writers of America. Phila 
 delphia: Parry & McMillan. 1854. 
 
 HARRIS, C. FISKE. Index to American Poetry and Plays in the 
 Collection of. Providence, 187-. 
 
 HARRISON, GABRIEL. History of the Drama in Brooklyn. 
 
 HASKELL, DANIEL C. (Compiler.) American Dramas, A List of, 
 in the New York Public Library. New York, 1916. (See also 
 Bulletin of the New York Public Library, October, 1915.) 
 
 HILDEBURN, CHARLES R. The Issues of the Press in Pennsyl 
 vania. Philadelphia, 1886. 
 
 HUTTON, LAURENCE. Curiosities of the American Stage. New 
 York: Harper & Bros. 1891. 
 
 IRELAND, JOSEPH N. Records of the New York Stage, from 1750 
 to 1860. (2 vols.) New York: T. H. Morrell, Publisher. 1866. 
 
 LUDLOW, N. M. Dramatic Life as I Found It: A Record of Per 
 sonal Experience with an Account of the Drama in the West 
 and South. St. Louis: G. I. Jones & Co. 1880. 
 
 MATTHEWS, J. B. American on the Stage. Scribner, 28 : 321. 
 
 MATTHEWS, J. B. A Book About the Theatre. New York: 
 Charles Scribner s Sons. 1916. 
 
Bibliography 13 
 
 MOSES, MONTROSE J. The American Dramatist. Boston: 
 Little, Brown & Co. 1917. 
 
 MOSES, MONTROSE J. Famous Actor - Families in America. 
 New York: Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 1906. 
 
 PENCE, JAMES HARRY. (Compiler.) The Magazine and the 
 Drama. An Index. New York: The Dunlap Society. 1896. 
 
 PHELPS, H. P. Players of a Century. A Record of the Albany 
 Stage. Albany, 1880. 
 
 REES, J. The Dramatic Authors of America. Philadelphia, 1845. 
 
 RODEN, ROBERT F. Later American Plays. 1831-1900. New 
 York: The Dunlap Society. (1900, n. s. 12.) 
 
 SABIN, JOSEPH. Dictionary of Books Relating to America. From 
 Its Discovery to the Present Time. Vol. I, seq. New York: 
 1868 seq. 
 
 SABINE, LORENZO. Biographical Sketches of Loyalists of the 
 American Revolution. (2vols.) Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 
 1864. 
 
 SCHARF, J. THOMAS, and WESTCOTT, THOMPSON. History of 
 Philadelphia. 1609-1884. Philadelphia: L. H. Everts & Co. 
 1884. 
 
 V/SEARS, ALONZO. American Literature in the Colonial and Na 
 tional Periods. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1902. 
 
 SEILHAMER, GEORGE O. I. History of the American Theatre Be 
 fore the Revolution. Philadelphia, 1888. II. History of the 
 American Theatre During the Revolution and After. Phila 
 delphia, 1889. III. History of the American Theatre: New 
 Foundations. Philadelphia, 1891. 
 
 SIMPSON, HENRY. The Lives of Eminent Philadelphians, Now 
 Deceased. Collected from Original and Authentic Sources. 
 Philadelphia: William Brotherhead. 1859. 
 
 SMITH, SOLOMON FRANKLIN. Theatrical Management in the 
 West and South for Thirty Years, with Anecdotal Sketches. 
 New York: Harper & Bros. 1868. 
 
 SONNECK, OSCAR GEORGE THEODORE. Catalogue of Opera Li 
 brettos Printed Before 1800. (2 vols.) Washington: Govern 
 ment Printing Office. 1914. 
 
 SONNECK, O. G. T. Early Opera in America. New York: G. 
 Schirmer. 1915. 
 
 SONNECK, O. G. T. Report on the Star-Spangled Banner, Hail 
 Columbia, America, and Yankee Doodle. Washington: Gov 
 ernment Printing Office. 1909. 
 
14 Representative Plays 
 
 STONE, HENRY DICKINSON. Personal Recollections of the 
 
 Drama. Albany, 1873. 
 Times, New York. The Early Theatre. December 15, 1895, 
 
 P. 13- 
 TOMPKINS, EUGENE, and KILBY, QUINCY. History of the Boston 
 
 Theatre. Boston: Hough ton Mifflin Co. 1908. 
 TYLER, MOSES COIT. The Literary History of the American 
 
 Revolution. 1763-1783. (2 vols.) New York: G.P.Putnam s 
 
 Sons. 1897. 
 WEGELIN, OSCAR. The Beginning of the Drama in America. 
 
 Literary Collector, 9:177-181, 1905. 
 WEGELIN, OSCAR. Early American Plays. 1714-1830. 
 
 York: The Literary Collector Press. 1905. (See Dunlap Soc. 
 
 Pub., n. s. 10, 1900; also the Literary Collector, 2:82-84.) 
 WEMYSS, F. C. Chronology of the American Stage from 1752^ 
 
 to 1852. New York: Wm. Taylor & Co. 
 WEMYSS, F. C. Twenty-six Years of the Life of an Actor and 
 
 Manager. (2 vols.) New York: Burgess, Stringer & Co. 1847. 
 WILKINS, FREDERICK H. Early Influence of German Literature 
 
 in America. Americana Germanica, 3:103-205, 1899. 
 WILLARD, GEORGE O. History of the Providence Stage. 1762- 
 
 1891. Providence: R. I. News Co. 1891. 
 WILSON, JAMES GRANT. (Editor.) The Memorial History of the 
 
 City of New York. (4 vols.) New York History Co. 1892 seq. 
 WINSOR, JUSTIN. The Memorial History of Boston, including 
 
 Suffolk Co., Mass. 1630-1880. Boston : Ticknor & Co. 1880. 
 WINTER, WILLIAM. The Wallet of Time. (2 vols.) New York: 
 
 Moffat, Yard & Co. 1913. 
 
 WOOD, WILLIAM B. Personal Recollections of the Stage. Em 
 bracing Notices of Actors, Authors, and Auditors, During a 
 
 Period of Forty Years. Philadelphia: Henry Carey Baird. 
 
 1855. 
 
INDIVIDUAL BIBLIOGRAPHIES FOR PLAYS 
 
 Only essential references are given, and wherever possible the 
 author s name is indicated, rather than the title. In such cases, 
 the full title of the reference may be had by consulting the Gen 
 eral Bibliography. 
 
 THOMAS GODFREY, JR. 
 
 William Allen, American Biographical Dictionary; Dunlap,i,5O; 
 Seilhamer, i, 185; Tyler, Consult Index; Journal of William 
 Black; Journal of Sarah Eve, Extracts from the: Written while 
 living near the City of Philadelphia in 1772-1773 (Philadelphia, 
 1881); American Museum, 471-472; Journal National Institute 
 Sciences, i: 165, 1915; Nation, 100:415, April 15, 1915. 
 MAJOR ROBERT ROGERS 
 
 Allibone; Appleton s Cyclopedia of American Biography; 
 Dictionary of National Biography ; Duyckinck; Ryerson, Ameri 
 can Loyalists; Sabin; Sabine, American Loyalists; Tyler; 
 Winsor. Ellis P. Oberholtzer, Literary History of Philadelphia 
 (1906); Sears. Canadian Magazine, 1914, 42:316-318; Dial 
 (Chicago), 59:68-69; 97, 1915; Historical Magazine (New York), 
 April, 1860, 127; New England Magazine, 1894, n. s. 9:678; 
 Royal Society of Canada Proceedings and Transactions, ser. 2, 
 vol. 6, sec. 2, pp. 49-59, Ottawa, 1900. The reader is also re 
 ferred to the Nevins re-issue of "Ponteach," in which full bibliog 
 raphies are given; also to Parkman s "History of the Conspiracy 
 of Pontiac." Consult Caleb Stark s "Memoir and Official Corre 
 spondence of Gen. John Stark, with Notices of Several other 
 Officers of the Revolution. Also, a Biography of Capt. Phinehas 
 Stevens, and of Colonel Robert Rogers" (1860). 
 MRS. MERCY WARREN 
 
 Alice Brown, "Mercy Warren" (Women of Colonial and Revo 
 lutionary Times). New York: Scribner s, 1896; Duyckinck; 
 Ellet, Women of the American Revolution; Fiske, John, 
 American Revolution ; Griswold, Female Poets of America; Mrs. 
 Hale, Woman s Record; Rees, 132; Seilhamer, ii, 3; Winsor, 
 Boston; Wegelin. Adams, Works of John ed. by Charles Fran 
 cis Adams. Consult Index; Blackwood Magazine, xvii, 203; Cor- 
 
1 6 Representative Plays 
 
 respondence Relating to Mrs. Warren s History of the American 
 Revolution, Mass. Hist. Coll., sen 5, v. 4, 315-511; Harper s 
 Magazine, 1884, 68:749; New England Magazine, 1894, n - s - 
 9: 680; North American Review, Ixviii, 415. In studying first edi 
 tions of plays, the reader is referred to the Bibliographies of 
 Charles Evans and Charles Hildeburn. 
 
 HUGH HENRY BRACKENRIDGE 
 
 Allibone; Duyckinck; Victor H. Paltsits, A Bibliography of 
 the Separate and Collected Works of Philip Freneau (including 
 Brackenridge) New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1903; 1846 
 edition of Brackenridge s "Modern Chivalry," containing a bio 
 graphical sketch by his son; Oberholtzer; Tyler; United States 
 Magazine (in the collection of the Historical Society of Pennsyl 
 vania). The reader is also referred to Mary S. Austin s "Philip 
 Freneau, the Poet of the Revolution: A History of his Life and 
 Times" (1901); F. L. Pattee s "The Poems of Philip Freneau: 
 Poet of the American Revolution" Edited for the Princeton 
 Historical Association, 3 volumes, 1902-1907; Samuel Davies 
 Alexander s "Princeton College during the Eighteenth Century;" 
 James Madison s Correspondence while at College; W. C. 
 Armor s "Lives of the Governors of Pennsylvania," for a picture 
 and an account of the administration of Governor Thomas 
 Mackean. Consult also, for college atmosphere, the Journals of 
 Philip Fithian, and the Correspondence of the Rev. Ezra Stiles, 
 Letter of July 23, 1762, published by the Yale Press. (Styles en 
 couraged "The Mercenary Match," by Barnabas Bidwell.) 
 
 JOHN LEACOCK 
 
 Durang; Duyckinck; Hildeburn; Ford; Sabin; Seilhamer, ii, 10; 
 Tyler; "New Travels through North-America." Translated from 
 the Original of the Abbe Robin [Claude C.], one of the Chaplains 
 to the French Army in America, 1783. (Observations made in 
 1781); Sonneck s "Early Opera in America;" Watson s "Annals 
 of Philadelphia;" Philadelphia Directories as mentioned in text. 
 
 SAMUEL Low 
 
 Dunlap; Duyckinck; Sabin; Seilhamer, ii, 284; Stedman- 
 Hutchinson, Cyclopedia of American Literature; New York 
 Directories as mentioned. 
 
 ROY ALL TYLER 
 
 Allibone; Appleton s Cyclopedia of American Biography; 
 Dunlap, i, 137; Duyckinck; Ireland, i, 76; Stedman-Hutchin- 
 
Individual Bibliographies 17 
 
 son, Library of American Literature; Winsor; "Memoirs of the 
 Hon. Royall Tyler: Late Chief Justice of Vermont. Compiled 
 from his Papers by his son, Thomas Pickman Tyler, 1873" 
 (Unpublished). According to information (1917), this manu 
 script, incomplete, is being brought to a close by Helen Tyler 
 Brown, great-granddaughter of the Judge. There is likewise a 
 life of Mary Tyler, unpublished, written by herself when quite an 
 old woman. 
 
 Consult also: J. T. Buckingham s "Personal Memoirs and 
 Recollections," 2 vols., 1852; J. T. Buckingham s "Specimens of 
 Newspaper Literature," 2 vols., 1850; Vermont Bar Association 
 Proceedings, 1878-1886, vol. i, pp. 44-62, an article by the Rev. 
 Thomas P. Tyler, D.D., of Brattleboro; Harold Milton Ellis s 
 "Joseph Dennie and His Circle: A Study in American Literature 
 from 1792 to 1812." Studies in English, No. I, Bulletin of the 
 University of Texas, No. 40, July 15, 1915; John Trumbull s 
 "Autobiographical Reminiscences and Letters, 1756-1841." The 
 correspondence relating to Shays s Rebellion is to be found in 
 "Brattleboro, Wyndham Co., Vermont, Early History, with 
 Biographical Sketches. Henry Burnham." Edited by Abby 
 Maria Hemenway (Includes an excellent picture of Royall Tyler) ; 
 William Willis s "The Law, the Courts and the Lawyers of 
 Maine ( 1 863) . Further references to Tyler are contained in Rees, 
 131; Mitchell, American Lands; John Adams Works; Sonneck s 
 "Opera in America," under "May-day in Town;" Seilhamer, 
 ii, 227; Delineator (New York), 85:7; New England Magazine, 
 1894, n. s. 9:674; North American Review, July, 1858, 281. 
 
 Among Tyler s works, other than those mentioned in the In 
 troduction, may be recorded : 
 
 1. "The Algerine Captive; or, The Life and Adventures of Dr. 
 Updike Underhill, Six Years a Prisoner Among the Algerines." 
 2 vols. Wai pole, N. H., 1797. 
 
 2. "Moral Tales for American Youths." Boston, 1800. 
 
 3. "The Yankee in London: A Series of Letters, written by an 
 American Youth during Nine Months of Residence in the City 
 of London." New York, 1809. 
 
 4. Tyler wrote for the newspapers with Joseph Dennie, Walpole, 
 N. H., and published selections from his contributions under 
 the title of "The Spirit of the Farmer s Museum and Lay 
 Preacher s Gazette." He also contributed poems to the 
 Farmer s Weekly Museum, to the Portfolio, to the Columbia 
 
1 8 Representative Plays 
 
 Centinel, to the New England Galaxy, and to the Polyanthus. 
 Prose works were likewise included therein. Some of his con 
 tributions to the Farmer s Museum were gathered together in 
 1798 under the title of "Colon and Spondee Papers," and 
 issued by the pioneer American printer, Isaiah Thomas. 
 
 WILLIAM DUNLAP 
 
 The reader is referred to Dunlap s own "History of the Amer 
 ican Theatre," and to his numerous other prose works, notably 
 his Lives of Charles Brockden Brown and George Frederick 
 Cooke. The Dunlap Society s Reprints of "Andre" (iv. 1887), 
 "Darby s Return" (n. s. 8, 1899), and "The Father" (ii, 1887) 
 contain biographical data. See Oscar Wegelin s William Dunlap 
 and His Writings," Literary Collector, 7:69-76, 1904; O. S. 
 Coad s "William Dunlap: A Study of his Life and Writings, and 
 of Contemporary Culture" (scheduled for issuance by the Dunlap 
 Society in 1917); Dunlap s Diary, in the Library of the New 
 York Historical Society: Vol. 14, July 27~Dec. 13, 1797; vol. 
 15, Dec. 14, 1797-June i, 1798; vol. 24, Oct. 15, i8i9-April 14, 
 1820; vol. 30, June 27, i833~Dec. 31, 1834. Consult also 
 Duyckinck; Rees, 76; Stedman-Hutchinson, Library of Ameri 
 can Literature; Seilhamer, Index; Wood, Personal Recollec 
 tions; Sonneck s "The Musical Side of George Washington;" 
 Analytical Magazine, i, 404, 466; New England Magazine, 1894, 
 n. s. 9, 684. See Wegelin, Evans, Hildeburn. 
 
 JAMES NELSON BARKER 
 
 Dunlap, ii, 307; Durang; Ireland; Rees; Diary of Manager 
 Wood, in possession of the University of Pennsylvania. Also 
 Griswold s "Poets and Poetry of America;" Oberholtzer s "Lit 
 erary History of Philadelphia;" Simpson. Barker s political 
 writings were extensive. 
 
 MORDECAI MANUEL NOAH 
 
 Dunlap, ii, 316; Ireland, i, 356; Jewish Encyclopedia; Na 
 tional Cyclopedia of American Biography. See also Allibone; 
 Duyckinck; P. K. Foley s "American Authors;" Oberholtzer s 
 "Literary History of Philadelphia;" Rees; Scharf and Westcott; 
 James Grant Wilson s "Fitz-Green Halleck;" International 
 Magazine, iii, 282; American Jewish Historical Society Pub., 
 No. 6, 1897, 113-121; Lippincott, i, 665; J. T. Trowbridge s "My 
 Own Story. With Recollections of Noted Persons" (1903). 
 
THE 
 
 PRINCE OF PARTHIA 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
THOMAS GODFREY, JR. 
 
 (1736-1763) 
 
 Thomas Godfrey, Jr., was born in Philadelphia, on December 
 4, 1763, the son of a man who himself won fame as an inventor of 
 the Quadrant. Godfrey, Senior, was a friend of Benjamin Frank 
 lin, the two probably having been drawn together by their com 
 mon interest in science. When Godfrey, Senior, died, December, 
 1749, it was Franklin who wrote his obituary notice. 1 
 
 Young Godfrey was a student at the College or Academy of 
 Philadelphia, and when his education was completed, he became 
 apprenticed to a watch-maker, remaining in that profession until 
 1758. As a student at the Academy, he came under the special 
 influence of Dr. William Smith, the first Principal or Provost of 
 that institution, 2 and it was Dr. Smith who not only obtained 
 for Godfrey a lieutenancy with the Pennsylvania troops in 1758, 
 which sent him in the expedition against Fort Duquesne, but who, 
 likewise, as the Editor of The American Magazine, was only too 
 glad to accept and publish some of Godfrey s poetical effusions. 
 
 That the young man was popular, and that he associated with 
 some of the most promising figures of the time, will be seen from 
 the fact that, although he was only twenty-seven when he died, 
 he was counted among the friends of Benjamin West and John 
 Green, both portrait painters, of Francis Hopkinson, who was 
 a student at the College of Philadelphia, and of Nathaniel Evans, 
 a young minister whose loyalty found outlet after Godfrey s 
 death in the Memorial Edition of Godfrey s works. Evans him 
 self wrote poems and dialogues. In his confirmation of the fact 
 that, as a poet, Godfrey was regarded favourably by the Philadel- 
 phians of the time, he quotes from the diary of one Miss Sarah 
 Eve, who referred to him as "our poet." 
 
 1 A notice appeared in the Pennsylvania Gazette, December 19, 1749. See Scharf 
 and Westcott s "History of Philadelphia" for references to Godfrey, Sr. Therein 
 is given a picture of his house in Germantown, Pa. Barlow mentions him in his 
 "Cplumbiad." A monument to his memory was erected in Laurel Hill Cemetery, 
 Philadelphia, 1843. Note that David Rittenhouse, an American dramatist who 
 translated, from the German, "Lucy Sampson; or, The Unhappy Heiress" (1789), 
 was likewise a mathematical genius. 
 
 2 Accounts of Dr. Smith are to be found in Henry Simpson s "Eminent Phila- 
 delphians"; Scharf & Westcott s "History of Philadelphia," ii, 1126. Dr. Smith s 
 "Life and Correspondence," by Horace Wemyss Smith, was issued in 2 vols., 1879. 
 
22 Representative Plays 
 
 Godfrey s reputation, as a young man with musical talents and 
 a decided taste for painting, has come down to us. Certain it is 
 that, during all of this time of varied occupation as a watch 
 maker and a soldier, he must have been courting the poetic Muse. 
 There are some who speculate, without authority, on his having 
 been a theatre-goer, and having become inspired as a playwright 
 by the work of the American Company, in Philadelphia; espe 
 cially by the good work of Douglass. Because of insufficient evi 
 dence, that is a question which remains unproven. Nevertheless, 
 it is certain, from an extant letter written by Godfrey on Novem 
 ber 17, 1759, and quoted by Seilhamer, that he must have had his 
 attention turned to playwriting as a special art. He says to his 
 correspondent, writing from North Carolina: 
 
 By the last vessel from this place, I sent you the copy of a tragedy 
 I finished here, and desired your interest in bringing it on the stage; 
 I have not yet heard of the vessel s safe arrival, and believe if she 
 is safe it will be too late for the company now in Philadelphia. 
 [Meaning, of course, Douglass s company.] 
 
 There are two facts to be noted in this communication : first, 
 that it was written from North Carolina, where, in 1759, Godfrey 
 had gone on some plantation business probably as factor; and 
 second, that it must have been penned with the idea of immediate 
 production by the actors in Philadelphia. According to Seil 
 hamer, Godfrey remained in North Carolina for three years. 
 He did not write the entire manuscript of "The Prince of Parthia" 
 while living in the South but, as he definitely states in his letter, 
 finished it soon after his arrival. 
 
 There is no evidence as to why Godfrey sailed to the Island of 
 New Providence in the last year of his life, and then returned to 
 Wilmington, N. C. There is no definite statement as to whether 
 he contracted fever and had a sunstroke on that expedition, or 
 after his return home. But, nevertheless, he did contract the 
 fever and have a sunstroke ; with the result that he succumbed to 
 his illness, and died near Wilmington, North Carolina, on August 
 
 3. 1763- l 
 
 After his death, Godfrey s friends decided among themselves 
 that the young man was too much of a genius for them to allow 
 his productions to remain scattered and unrecognized. Evi 
 dently, correspondence regarding this must have taken place be 
 tween Dr. Smith, Nathaniel Evans, the young minister, and John 
 
 1 Visitors to Wilmington, N. C., will be taken to Old St. James s Church-yard, 
 where Godfrey lies buried. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 23 
 
 Green, the portrait painter. For, in 1765, a book was published, 
 entitled "Juvenile Poems on Various Subjects, with the Prince of 
 Parthia," printed in Philadelphia by one Henry Miller. 1 The 
 volume contained a life written by Evans, a critical estimate 
 written by Dr. Smith, of the College of Philadelphia, and an Elegy 
 from the pen of John Green, who had been previously compli 
 mented by Godfrey in a poem entitled "A Night Piece." The 
 whole spirit of the publication was one of friendly devotion and of 
 firm belief in the permanency of Godfrey s position in the literary 
 world. As was the custom of the time, the Edition was issued 
 under the patronage of subscribers, a list being included. We 
 know, for example, that Benjamin Franklin subscribed for twelve 
 copies, his own private, autographed copy having been put on 
 sale a few years ago. 
 
 As yet, no concerted effort had been made for the production of 
 Godfrey s "The Prince of Parthia." We do not know if, during 
 this time, the American Company had any claim on the manu 
 script, or whether, after Godfrey s death, it was again submitted 
 to the theatrical people. But this much we do know, that, very 
 hastily, the American Company, headed by David Douglass, who 
 was playing at the Southwark Theatre in Philadelphia, decided 
 that they would put on "The Prince of Parthia" in place of "The 
 Disappointment; or, the Force of Credulity," a comic opera which 
 will be noted in my introduction to John Leacock s "The Fall of 
 British Tyranny." This musical piece had actually been put into 
 rehearsal in 1767, when it was withdrawn. Immediately, the 
 Pennsylvania Journal and Weekly Advertiser for April 23, 1767, 
 contained an advertisement of the forthcoming production; it 
 ran as follows : 
 
 By Authority. /Never Performed before. /By the American Com- 
 pany,/at the New Theatre, in Southwark,/On Friday, the Twenty- 
 fourth of April, will be/presented, A Tragedy written by the late 
 ingenious/Mr. Thomas Godfrey, of this city, called the/Prince of 
 Parthia. /The Principal Characters by Mr. Hallam,/Mr. Douglass, 
 Mr. Wall, Mr. Morris,/Mr. Allyn, Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Broad/belt, 
 Mr. Greville, Mrs. Douglass,/Mrs. Morris, Miss Wainwight, and/ 
 Miss Cheer./To which will be added, A Ballad Opera called/The 
 Contrivances. /To begin exactly at Seven o clock. Vivant Rex & 
 Regina./ \ 
 
 1 Juvenile Poems/on/Various Subjects./With the/Prince of Part hia,/A/Tragedy,/ 
 By the Late/Mr. Thomas Godfrey. Junr./of Philadelphia./To which is prefixed./ 
 Some Account of the Author and his Writings./Poeta nascitur non fit. Hor./Phila- 
 delphia./Printed by Henry Miller, in Second-Street. /M DCC LXV. 
 
24 Representative Plays 
 
 In the Pennsylvania Gazette, for the same date, appears an ad 
 vertisement, without the cast of characters. 
 
 The production occurred on April 24, 1767. 
 
 Seilhamer gives a probable cast of characters, although only the 
 list of actors is given in the advertisement. Apart from this, little 
 is known of the production : whether or not it pleased the theatre 
 goers of the time. We can judge, however, from the reading of the 
 play itself, that there was little of extreme dramatic excellence in 
 the situations, the chief claim, from the actor s point of view, 
 being the opportunity to deliver certain very highly coloured, poet 
 ical lines modelled after the manner of the Elizabethan drama. 
 
 In the publication of "The Prince of Parthia," we have the 
 first printed American tragedy in existence, and in its production 
 we have one of only two plays, written by Americans, and pre 
 sented on the stage before the Revolution. The other play is 
 George Cockings s "The Conquest of Canada; or, The Siege of 
 Quebec," printed for the author in 1766, and presented in Phila 
 delphia in 1773. We note, in Dr. F. W. Atkinson s estimable 
 Bibliography of American Plays in his possession, that Cockings 
 later described himself as "Camillo Querno, Poet Laureate to 
 Congress." 
 
 The interest in the early history of the American drama, which 
 has become evident within recent years, and nowhere more evi 
 dent than among the student body in our American colleges, in 
 duced the Zelosophic Literary Society, encouraged by the Uni 
 versity of Pennsylvania, to revive "The Prince of Parthia, "which 
 was written by one of their alumni. The production was con 
 summated on March 26, 1915. Even though we have no state 
 ment as to the actual manner in which the Douglass Company 
 presented the play originally, we are given every evidence, by 
 those who witnessed the revival, that the play, while containing 
 many excellences, was not of a dramatic character according to 
 modern ideas of stage effectiveness. 
 
 The only portrait of Godfrey known to have been in existence 
 was that painted by Benjamin West, in his earlier years. It is in 
 teresting to note that in commemoration of the one hundred and 
 fiftieth anniversary of the original production of this play, Dr. 
 Archibald Henderson, of the University of North Carolina, issued 
 an edition de luxe of "The Prince of Parthia," with an extended 
 introduction, historical, biographical and critical (Boston: Little, 
 -. Brown & Co., 1917). 
 
JUVENILE POEMS 
 
 o w 
 VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 
 
 WITH THE 
 
 PRINCE OF PARTHIA, 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 Ml THOMAS GODFREY, Jun! 
 
 of PHILADELPHIA. 
 To which n prefixed, 
 
 Some ACCOUNT of the AUTHOR and his WRITINGS. 
 
 Pitta nafcitur non fit. 
 
 HOK. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 Printed by HENRY MILLER, in Second-Street. 
 
 M DCC LXV. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE OF ORIGINAL TITLE-PAGE TO FIRST EDITION 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 Our Author has made Use of the licentia poetica in the Man 
 agement of this Dramatic Piece; and deviates, in a particular 
 or two, from what is agreed on by Historians: The Queen Ther- 
 musa being not the Wife of King Artabanus, but (according to 
 Tacitus, Strabo and Josephus) of Phraates; Artabanus being the 
 fourth King of Parthia after him. Such Lapses are not unpre 
 cedented among the Poets; and will the more readily admit of an 
 Excuse, when the Voice of History is followed in the Description 
 of Characters. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 MEN. 
 ARTABANUS, King of Parthia. 
 
 ARSACES, 
 
 VARDANES, 
 
 his Sons. 
 
 GOTARZES, 
 
 BARZAPHERNES, Lieutenant-Generales, under Arsac. 
 LYSIAS, 
 
 officers at Court. 
 PHRAATES, 
 
 BETHAS, a Noble Captive. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 THERMUSA, the Queen. 
 EVANTHE, belov d by Arsaces. 
 CLEONE, her Confident. 
 EDESSA, Attendant on the Queen. 
 
 Guards and Attendants. 
 SCENE, Ctesiphon. 
 
THE PRINCE OF PARTHIA 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 ACT I. 
 SCENE I. The Temple of the Sun. 
 
 GOTARZES and PHRAATES. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 He comes, Arsaces comes, my gallant Brother 
 (Like shining Mars in all the pomp of conquest) 
 Triumphant enters now our joyful gates; 
 Bright Victory waits on his glitt ring car, 
 And shews her fav rite to the wond ring croud; 
 While Fame exulting sounds the happy name 
 To realms remote, and bids the world admire. 
 Oh! tis a glorious day: let none presume 
 T indulge the tear, or wear the gloom of sorrow; 
 This day shall shine in Ages yet to come, 
 And grace the Parthian story. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Glad Ctes phon 
 
 Pours forth her numbers, like a rolling deluge, 
 To meet the blooming Hero; all the ways, 
 On either side, as far as sight can stretch, 
 Are lin d with crouds, and on the lofty walls 
 Innumerable multitudes are rang d. 
 On ev ry countenance impatience sate 
 With roving eye, before the train appear d. 
 But when they saw the Darling of the Fates, 
 They rent the air with loud repeated shouts; 
 The Mother shew d him to her infant Son, 
 And taught his lisping tongue to name Arsaces: 
 E en aged Sires, whose sounds are scarcely heard, 
 By feeble strength supported, tost their caps, 
 And gave their murmur to the gen ral voice. 
 

 30 Representative Plays 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 The spacious streets, which lead up to the Temple, 
 Are strew d with flow rs; each, with frantic joy, 
 His garland forms, and throws it in the way. 
 What pleasure, Phraates, must swell his bosom, 
 To see the prostrate nation all around him, 
 And know he s made them happy! to hear them 
 Tease the Gods, to show r their blessings on him ! 
 Happy Arsaces! fain I d imitate 
 Thy matchless worth, and be a shining joy! 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Hark! what a shout was that which pierc d the skies! 
 It seem d as tho all Nature s beings join d, 
 To hail thy glorious Brother. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Happy Parthia! 
 
 Now proud Arabia dreads her destin d chains, 
 While shame and rout disperses all her sons. 
 Barzaphernes pursues the fugitives, 
 The few whom fav ring Night redeem d from slaughter; 
 Swiftly they fled, for fear had wing d their speed, 
 And made them bless the shade which saf ty gave. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 What a bright hope is ours, when those dread pow rs 
 Who rule yon heav n, and guide the mov ments here, 
 
 
 Shall call your royal Father to their joys: 
 In blest Arsaces ev ry virtue meets; 
 He s gen rous, brave, and wise, and good, 
 Has skill to act, and noble fortitude 
 To face bold danger, in the battle firm, 
 And dauntless as a Lion fronts his foe. 
 Yet is he sway d by ev ry tender passion, 
 Forgiving mercy, gentleness and love; 
 Which speak the Hero friend of humankind. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 And let me speak, for tis to him I owe 
 That here I stand, and breath the common air, 
 And tis my pride to tell it to the world. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 
 
 
 One luckless day as in the eager chace 
 My Courser wildly bore me from the rest, 
 A monst rous Leopard from a bosky fen 
 Rush d forth, and foaming lash d the ground, 
 And fiercely ey d me as his destin d quarry. 
 My jav lin swift I threw, but o er his head 
 It erring pass d, and harmless in the air 
 Spent all its force; my falchin then I seiz d, 
 Advancing to attack my ireful foe, 
 When furiously the savage sprung upon me, 
 And tore me to the ground; my treach rous blade 
 Above my hand snap d short, and left me quite 
 Defenceless to his rage; Arsaces then, 
 Hearing the din, flew like some pitying pow r, 
 And quickly freed me from the Monster s paws, 
 Drenching his bright lance in his spotted breast. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 How diff rent he from arrogant Vardanes? 
 That haughty Prince eyes with a stern contempt 
 All other Mortals, and with lofty mien 
 He treads the earth as tho he were a God. 
 Nay, I believe that his ambitious soul, 
 Had it but pow r to its licentious wishes, 
 Would dare dispute with Jove the rule of heav n; 
 Like a Titanian son with giant insolence, 
 Match with the Gods, and wage immortal war, 
 Til their red wrath should hurl him headlong down, 
 E en to destruction s lowest pit of horror. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Methinks he wears not that becoming joy 
 Which on this bright occasion gilds the court; 
 His brow s contracted with a gloomy frown, 
 Pensive he stalks along, and seems a prey 
 To pining discontent. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Arsaces he dislikes, 
 
 For standing twixt him, and the hope of Empire; 
 While Envy, like a rav nous Vulture, tears 
 His canker d heart, to see your Brother s triumph. 
 
 
 
 
32 Representative Plays 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 And yet Vardanes owes that hated Brother 
 
 As much as I ; twas summer last, as we 
 
 Were bathing in Euphrates flood, Vardanes 
 
 Proud of strength would seek the further shore; 
 
 But ere he the mid-stream gain d, a poignant pain 
 
 Shot thro his well-strung nerves, contracting all, 
 
 And the stiff joints refus d their wonted aid. 
 
 Loudly he cry d for help, Arsaces heard, 
 
 And thro the swelling waves he rush d to save 
 
 His drowning Brother, and gave him life, 
 
 And for the boon the Ingrate pays him hate. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 There s something in the wind, for I ve observ d 
 Of late he much frequents the Queen s apartment, 
 And fain would court her favour, wild is she 
 To gain revenge for fell Vonones death, 
 And firm resolves the ruin of Arsaces. 
 Because that fill d with filial piety, 
 To save his Royal Sire, he struck the bold 
 Presumptuous Traitor dead ; nor heeds she 
 The hand which gave her Liberty, nay rais d her 
 Again to Royalty. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Ingratitude, 
 
 Thou hell-born fiend, how horrid is thy form! 
 The Gods sure let thee loose to scourge mankind, 
 And save them from an endless waste of thunder. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Yet I ve beheld this now so haughty Queen, 
 Bent with distress, and e en by pride forsook, 
 When following thy Sire s triumphant car, 
 Her tears and ravings mov d the senseless herd, 
 And pity blest their more than savage breasts, 
 With the short pleasure of a moment s softness. 
 Thy Father, conquer d by her charms (for what 
 Can charm like mourning beauty), soon struck off 
 Her chains, and rais d her to his bed and throne. 
 Adorn d the brows of her aspiring Son, 
 
The Prince of Parthia 33 
 
 The fierce Vonones, with the regal crown 
 Of rich Armenia, once the happy rule 
 Of Tisaphernes, her deceased Lord. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 And he in wasteful war return d his thanks, 
 Refus d the homage he had sworn to pay, 
 And spread Destruction ev ry where around, 
 Til from Arsaces hand he met the fate 
 His crimes deserv d. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 As yet your princely Brother 
 Has scap d Thermusa s rage, for still residing 
 In peaceful times, within his Province, ne er 
 Has fortune blest her with a sight of him, 
 On whom she d wreck her vengeance. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 She has won 
 
 By spells, I think, so much on my fond father, 
 That he is guided by her will alone. 
 She rules the realm, her pleasure is a law, 
 All offices and favours are bestow d, 
 As she directs. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 But see, the Prince, Vardanes, 
 Proud Lysias with him, he whose soul is harsh 
 With jarring discord. Nought but madding rage, 
 And ruffian-like revenge his breast can know, 
 Indeed to gain a point he ll condescend 
 To mask the native rancour of his heart, 
 And smooth his venom d tongue with flattery. 
 Assiduous now he courts Vardanes friendship, 
 See, how he seems to answer all his gloom, 
 And give him frown for frown. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Let us retire, 
 
 And shun them now; I know not what it means, 
 But chilling horror shivers o er my limbs, 
 When Lysias I behold. 
 
 X 
 
34 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE II. VARDANES and LYSIAS. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 That shout proclaims [Shout. 
 
 Arsaces near approach. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Peace, prithee, peace, 
 
 Wilt thou still shock me with that hated sound, 
 And grate harsh discord in my offended ear? 
 If thou art fond of echoing the name, 
 Join with the servile croud, and hail his triumph. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 I hail him? By our glorious shining God, 
 I d sooner lose my speech, and all my days 
 In silence rest, conversing with my thoughts, 
 Than hail Arsaces. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Yet, again his name, 
 
 Sure there is magic in it, Parthia s drunk 
 And giddy with the joy; the houses tops 
 With gaping spectators are throng d, nay wild 
 They climb such precipices that the eye 
 Is dazzl d with their daring; ev ry wretch 
 Who long has been immur d, nor dar d enjoy 
 The common benefits of sun and air, 
 Creeps from his lurking place; e en feeble age, 
 Long to the sickly couch confin d, stalks forth, 
 And with infectious breath assails the Gods. 
 O ! curse the name, the idol of their joy. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 And what s that name, that thus they should disturb 
 The ambient air, and weary gracious heav n 
 With ceaseless bellowings? Vardanes sounds 
 With equal harmony, and suits as well 
 The loud repeated shouts of noisy joy. 
 Can he bid Chaos Nature s rule dissolve, 
 Can he deprive mankind of light and day, 
 And turn the Seasons from their destin d course? 
 Say, can he do all this, and be a God? 
 
The Prince of Parthia 35 
 
 If not, what is his matchless merit? What dares he, 
 
 Vardanes dares not? blush not, noble Prince, 
 
 For praise is merit s due, and I will give it; 
 
 E en mid the croud which waits thy Brother s smile, 
 
 I d loud proclaim the merit of Vardanes. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Forbear this warmth, your friendship urges far. 
 
 Yet know your love shall e er retain a place 
 
 In my remembrance. There is something here 
 
 [Pointing to his breast. 
 Another time and I will give thee all ; 
 But now, no more. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 You may command my services, 
 I m happy to obey. Of late your Brother 
 Delights in hind ring my advancement, 
 And ev ry boaster s rais d above my merit, 
 Barzaphernes alone commands his ear, 
 His oracle in all. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I hate Arsaces, 
 
 Tho he s my Mother s son, and churchmen say 
 There s something sacred in the name of Brother. d\ 
 
 My soul endures him not, and he s the bane 
 Of all my hopes of greatness. Like the sun 
 He rules the day, and like the night s pale Queen, 
 My fainter beams are lost when he appears. 
 And this because he came into the world, 
 A moon or two before me : What s the diff rence, 
 That he alone should shine in Empire s seat? 
 I am not apt to trumpet forth my praise, 
 Or highly name myself, but this I ll speak, 
 To him in ought, I m not the least inferior. 
 Ambition, glorious fever! mark of Kings, 
 Gave me immortal thirst and rule of Empire. 
 Why lag d my tardy soul, why droop d the wing, 
 Nor forward springing, shot before his speed 
 To seize the prize? Twas Empire Oh! twas Empire 
 
36 Representative Plays 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Yet, I must think that of superior mould 
 Your soul was form d, fit for a heav nly state, 
 And left reluctant its sublime abode, 
 And painfully obey d the dread command, 
 When Jove s controuling fate forc d it below. 
 His soul was earthly, and it downward mov d, 
 Swift as to the center of attraction. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 It might be so But I ve another cause 
 
 To hate this Brother, ev ry way my rival; 
 
 In love as well as glory he s above me; 
 
 I dote on fair Evanthe, but the charmer 
 
 Disdains my ardent suit, like a miser 
 
 He treasures up her beauties to himself: 
 
 Thus is he form d to give me torture ever. 
 
 But hark, they ve reach d the Temple, 
 
 Didst thou observe the croud, their eagerness, 
 
 Each put the next aside to catch a look, 
 
 Himself was elbow d out? Curse, curse their zeal 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 Stupid folly! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I ll tell thee, Lysias, 
 This many-headed monster multitude, 
 Unsteady is as giddy fortune s wheel, 
 As woman fickle, varying as the wind ; 
 To-day they this way course, the next they veer, 
 And shift another point, the next another. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Curiosity s another name for man, 
 
 The blazing meteor streaming thro the air 
 
 Commands our wonder, and admiring eyes, 
 
 With eager gaze we trace the lucent path, 
 
 Til spent at length it shrinks to native nothing. 
 
 While the bright stars which ever steady glow, 
 
 Unheeded shine, and bless the world below. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 37 
 
 SCENE III. QUEEN and EDESSA. 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Oh ! give me way, the haughty victor comes, 
 Surrounded by adoring multitudes; 
 On swelling tides of praise to heav n they raise him; 
 To deck their idol, they rob the glorious beings 
 Of their splendour. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 
 My royal Lady, 
 Chace hence these passions. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Peace, forever peace, 
 Have I not cause to hate this homicide? 
 Twas by his cursed hand Vonones fell, 
 Yet fell not as became his gallant spirit, 
 Not by the warlike arm of chief renown d, 
 But by a youth, ye Gods, a beardless stripling, 
 Stab d by his dastard falchin from behind; 
 For well I know he fear d to meet Vonones, 
 As princely warriors meet with open daring, 
 But shrunk amidst his guards, and gave him death, 
 When faint with wounds, and weary with the fight. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 
 With anguish I have heard his hapless fate, 
 And mourn d in silence for the gallant Prince. 
 
 < 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Soft is thy nature, but, alas ! Edessa, 
 
 Thy heart s a stranger to a mother s sorrows, 
 
 To see the pride of all her wishes blasted ; 
 
 Thy fancy cannot paint the storm of grief, 
 
 Despair and anguish, which my breast has known. 
 
 Oh! show r, ye Gods, your torments on Arsaces, 
 
 Curs d be the morn which dawn d upon his birth. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 Yet, I intreat 
 
38 Representative Plays 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Away! for I will curse 
 Oh! may he never know a father s fondness, 
 Or know it to his sorrow, may his hopes 
 Of joy be cut like mine, and his short life 
 Be one continu d tempest; if he lives, 
 Let him be curs d with jealousy and fear, 
 And vext with anguish of neglecting scorn; 
 May tort ring hope present the flowing cup, 
 Then hasty snatch it from his eager thirst, 
 And when he dies base treach ry be the means. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 Oh ! calm your spirits. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Yes, I ll now be calm, 
 
 Calm as the sea when the rude waves are laid, 
 And nothing but a gentle swell remains; 
 My curse is heard, and I shall have revenge; 
 There s something here which tells me twill be so, 
 And peace resumes her empire o er my breast. 
 Vardanes is the Minister of Vengeance; 
 Fir d by ambition, he aspiring seeks 
 T adorn his brows with Parthia s diadem ; 
 I ve fann d the fire, and wrought him up to fury, 
 Envy shall urge him forward still to dare, 
 And discord be the prelude to destruction, 
 Then this detested race shall feel my hate. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 
 And doth thy hatred then extend so far, 
 That innocent and guilty all alike 
 Must feel thy dreadful vengeance? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 Ah!Edessa, 
 
 Thou dost not know e en half my mighty wrongs, 
 But in thy bosom I will pour my sorrows. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 39 
 
 EDESSA. 
 
 With secrecy I ever have repaid 
 Your confidence. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 I know thou hast; then hear: 
 
 The changeling King who oft has kneel d before me, 
 And own d no other pow r, now treats me 
 With ill dissembl d love mix d with disdain. 
 A newer beauty rules his faithless heart, 
 Which only in variety is blest; 
 Oft have I heard him, when wrapt up in sleep, 
 And wanton fancy rais d the mimic scene, 
 Call with unusual fondness on Evanthe, 
 While I have lain neglected by his side, 
 Except sometimes in a mistaken rapture 
 He d clasp me to his bosom. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 
 Oh! Madam, 
 
 Let not corroding jealousy usurp 
 Your Royal breast, unnumber d ills attend 
 The wretch who entertains that fatal guest. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Think not that I ll pursue its wand ring fires, 
 No more I ll know perplexing doubts and fears, 
 And erring trace suspicion s endless maze, 
 For, ah! I doubt no more. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 Their shouts approach. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Lead me, Edessa, to some peaceful gloom, 
 Some silent shade far from the walks of men, 
 There shall the hop d revenge my thoughts employ, 
 And sooth my sorrows with the coming joy. 
 
 SCENE IV. EVANTHE and CLEONE. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 No, I ll not meet him now, for love delights 
 In the soft pleasures of the secret shade, 
 

 
 
 
 4-O Representative Plays 
 
 And shuns the noise and tumult of the croud. 
 
 How tedious are the hours which bring him 
 
 To my fond, panting heart! for oh! to those 
 
 Who live in expectation of the bliss, 
 
 Time slowly creeps, and ev ry tardy minute 
 
 Seems mocking of their wishes. Say, Cleone, 
 
 For you beheld the triumph, midst his pomp, 
 
 Did he not seem to curse the empty show, 
 
 The pageant greatness, enemy to love, 
 
 Which held him from Evan the? haste, to tell me, 
 
 And feed my gready ear with the fond tale 
 
 Yet, hold for I shall weary you with questions, 
 
 And ne er be satisfied Beware, Cleone, 
 
 And guard your heart from Love s delusive sweets. 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 Is Love an ill, that thus you caution me 
 To shun his pow r? 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 The Tyrant, my Cleone, 
 Despotic rules, and fetters all our thoughts. 
 Oh! wouldst thou love, then bid adieu to peace, 
 Then fears will come, and jealousies intrude, 
 Ravage your bosom, and disturb your quiet, 
 E en pleasure to excess will be a pain. 
 Once I was free, then my exulting heart 
 Was like a bird that hops from spray to spray, 
 And all was innocence and mirth; but, lo! 
 The Fowler came, and by his arts decoy d, 
 /And soon the Wanton cag d. Twice fifteen times 
 Has Cynthia dipt her horns in beams of light, 
 Twice fifteen times has wasted all her brightness, 
 Since first I knew to love; twas on that day 
 When curs d Vonones fell upon the plain, 
 The lovely Victor doubly conquer d me. 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 Forgive my boldness, Madam, if I ask 
 
 What chance first gave you to Vonones pow r? 
 
 Curiosity thou know st is of our sex. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 41 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 That is a task will wake me to new sorrows, 
 
 Yet thou attend, and I will tell thee all. 
 
 Arabia gave me birth, my father held 
 
 Great Offices at Court, and was deputed 
 
 Brave, wise and loyal, by his Prince belov d. 
 
 Oft has he led his conqu ring troops, and forc d 
 
 From frowning victory her awful honours. 
 
 In infancy I was his only treasure, 
 
 On me he wasted all his store of fondness. 
 
 Oh ! I could tell thee of his wond rous goodness, 
 
 His more than father s love and tenderness. 
 
 But thou wouldst jeer, and say the tale was trifling; 
 
 So did he dote upon me, for in childhood 
 
 My infant charms, and artless innocence 
 
 Blest his fond age, and won on ev ry heart. 
 
 But, oh! from this sprung ev ry future ill, 
 
 This fatal beauty was the source of all. 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 Tis often so, for beauty is a flow r 
 That tempts the hand to pluck it. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Full three times 
 
 Has scorching summer fled from cold winter s 
 Ruthless blasts, as oft again has spring 
 In sprightly youth drest nature in her beauties, 
 Since bathing in Niphates 1 silver stream, 
 Attended only by one fav rite maid ; 
 As we were sporting on the wanton waves, 
 Swift from the wood a troop of horsemen rush d, 
 Rudely they seiz d, and bore me trembling off, 
 In vain Edessa with her shrieks assail d 
 The heav ns, for heav n was deaf to both our pray rs. 
 The wretch whose insolent embrace confin d me 
 (Like thunder bursting on the guilty soul), 
 With curs d Vonones voice pour d in my ears 
 A hateful tale of love; for he it seems 
 Had seen me at Arabia s royal court, 
 And took those means to force me to his arms. 
 
 1 The Tigris. 
 
42 Representative Plays 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 Perhaps you may gain something from the Captives 
 Of your lost Parents. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 This I meant to try, 
 
 Soon as the night hides Nature in her darkness, 
 Veil d in the gloom we ll steal into their prison. 
 But, oh! perhaps e en now my aged Sire 
 May mongst the slain lie welt ring on the field, 
 Pierc d like a riddle through with num rous wounds, 
 While parting life is quiv ring on his lips, 
 He may perhaps be calling on his Evanthe. 
 Yes, ye great Pow rs who boast the name of mercy, 
 Ye have deny d me to his latest moments, 
 To all the offices of filial duty, 
 To bind his wounds, and wash them with my tears, 
 Is this, is this your mercy? 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 Blame not heav n, 
 
 For heav n is just and kind; dear Lady, drive 
 These black ideas from your gentle breast; 
 Fancy delights to torture the distress d, 
 And fill the gloomy scene with shadowy ills, 
 Summon your reason, and you ll soon have comfort. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Dost thou name comfort to me, my Cleone, 
 
 Thou who know st all my sorrows? plead no more, 
 
 Tis reason tells me I am doubly wretched. 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 But hark, the music strikes, the rites begin, 
 And, see, the doors are op ning. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Let s retire; 
 
 My heart is now too full to meet him here, 
 Fly swift ye hours, till in his arms I m prest, 
 And each intruding care is hush d to rest. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 43 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The Scene draws and discovers, in the inner part of the Temple, a 
 large image of the Sun, with an altar before it. Around Priests 
 and Attendants. 
 
 KING, ARSACES, VARDANES, GOTARZES, PHRAATES, LYSIAS, 
 with BETHAS in chains. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Parent of Light, to thee belong 
 Our grateful tributary songs; 
 Each thankful voice to thee shall rise, 
 And chearful pierce the azure skies; 
 While in thy praise all earth combines, 
 And Echo in the Chorus joins. 
 
 All the gay pride of blooming May, 
 
 The Lily fair and blushing Rose, 
 To thee their early honours pay, 
 
 And all their heav nly sweets disclose. 
 The feather d Choir on ev ry tree 
 
 To hail thy glorious dawn repair, 
 While the sweet sons of harmony 
 
 With Hallelujahs fill the air., 
 
 Tis thou hast brac d the Hero s arm, 
 And giv n the Love of praise to warm 
 His bosom, as he onward flies, 
 And for his Country bravely dies. ^ 
 Thine s victory, and from thee springs 
 Ambition s fire, which glows in Kings. 
 
 KING [coming forward]. 
 Thus, to the Gods our tributary songs, 
 And now, oh ! let me welcome once again 
 My blooming victor to his Father s arms; 
 And let me thank thee for our safety: Parthia ^ 
 Shall thank thee too, and give her grateful praise 
 To her Deliverer. 
 
 OMNES. 
 All hail! Arsaces! 
 
44 Representative Plays 
 
 KING. 
 Thanks to my loyal friends. 
 
 VARDANES [aside]. 
 
 Curse, curse the sound, 
 E en Echo gives it back with int rest, 
 The joyful gales swell with the pleasing theme, 
 And waft it far away to distant hills. 
 O that my breath was poison, then indeed 
 I d hail him like the rest, but blast him too. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 My Royal Sire, these honours are unmerited, 
 Beneath your prosp rous auspices I fought, 
 Bright vict ry to your banners joyful flew, 
 And favour d for the Sire the happy son. 
 But lenity should grace the victor s laurels, 
 Then, here, my gracious Father 
 
 KING. 
 
 Hal tisBethas! 
 
 Know st thou, vain wretch, what fate attends on those 
 Who dare oppose the pow r of mighty Kings, 
 Whom heav n delights to favour? sure some God 
 Who sought to punish you for impious deeds, 
 Twas urg d you forward to insult our arms, 
 And brave us at our Royal City s gates. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 At honour s call, and at my King s command, 
 Tho it were even with my single arm, again 
 I d brave the multitude, which, like a deluge, 
 O erwhelm d my gallant handful; yea, wou d meet 
 Undaunted, all the fury of the torrent. 
 Tis honour is the guide of all my actions, 
 The ruling star by which I steer thro life, 
 And shun the shelves of infamy and vice. 
 
 KING. 
 
 It was the thirst of gain which drew you on; 
 Tis thus that Av rice always cloaks its views, 
 Th ambition of your Prince you gladly snatch d 
 As opportunity to fill your coffers. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 45 
 
 It was the plunder of our palaces, 
 
 And of our wealthy cities, fill d your dreams, 
 
 And urg d you on your way; but you have met 
 
 The due reward of your audacity. 
 
 Now shake your chains, shake and delight your ears 
 
 With the soft music of your golden fetters. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 True, I am fall n, but glorious was my fall, 
 The day was brav ly fought, we did our best, 
 But victory s of heav n. Look o er yon field, .,> 
 
 See if thou findest one Arabian back 
 Disfigur d with dishonourable wounds. 
 No, here, deep on their bosoms, are engrav d 
 The marks of honour! twas thro here their souls 
 Flew to their blissful seats. Oh ! why did I 
 Survive the fatal day? To be this slave, 
 To be the gaze and sport of vulgar crouds, 
 Thus, like a shackl d tyger, stalk my round, 
 And grimly low r upon the shouting herd. 
 Ye Gods! 
 
 KING. 
 
 Away with him to instant death 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Hear me, my Lord, O, not on this bright day, 
 Let not this day of joy blush with his blood. 
 Nor count his steady loyalty a crime, 
 But give him life, Arsaces humbly asks it, 
 And may you e er be serv d with honest hearts. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Well, be it so; hence, bear him to his dungeon; 
 Lysias, we here commit him to thy charge. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Welcome my dungeon, but more welcome death. 
 Trust not too much, vain Monarch, to your pow r, ; 
 Know fortune places all her choicest gifts 
 On ticklish heights, they shake with ev ry breeze, 
 And oft some rude wind hurls them to the ground. 
 Jove s thunder strikes the lofty palaces, 
 
4 6 Representative Plays 
 
 While the low cottage, in humility, 
 Securely stands, and sees the mighty ruin. 
 What King can boast, to-morrow as to-day, 
 Thus, happy will I reign? The rising sun 
 May view him seated on a splendid throne, 
 And, setting, see him shake the servile chain. 
 
 [Exit guarded. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 KING, ARSACES, VARDANES, GOTARZES, PHRAATES. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Thus let me hail thee from the croud distinct, 
 For in the exulting voice of gen ral joy 
 My fainter sounds were lost, believe me, Brother, 
 My soul dilates with joy to see thee thus. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Thus let me thank thee in this fond embrace. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 The next will be my turn, Gods, I had rather 
 Be circl d in a venom d serpent s fold. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 O, my lov d Brother, tis my humble boon, 
 That, when the war next calls you to the field, 
 I may attend you in the rage of battle. 
 By imitating thy heroic deeds, 
 Perhaps, I may rise to some little worth, 
 Beneath thy care I ll try my feeble wings, 
 Till taught by thee to soar to nobler heights. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Why, that s my boy, thy spirit speaks thy birth, 
 No more I ll turn thee from the road to glory, 
 To rust in slothfulness, with lazy Gownsmen. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 Thanks, to my Sire, I m now completely blest. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 But, I ve another Brother, where s Vardanes? 
 
The Prince of Parthia 47 
 
 KING. 
 
 Ha! what, methinks, he lurks behind the croud, S 
 
 And wears a gloom which suits not with the time. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Doubt not my Love, tho I lack eloquence, 
 To dress my sentiments and catch the ear, 
 Tho plain my manners, and my language rude, 
 My honest heart disdains to wear disguise. 
 Then think not I am slothful in the race, 
 Or, that my Brother springs before my Love. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Far be suspicion from me. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 So, tis done, 
 Thanks to dissembling, all is well again. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Now let us forward, to the Temple go, 
 And let, with chearful wine, the goblets flow; 
 Let blink-ey d Jollity his aid afford, 
 To crown our triumph, round the festive board: 
 But, let the wretch, whose soul can know a care, 
 Far from our joys, to some lone shade repair, 
 In secrecy, there let him e er remain, 
 Brood o er his gloom, and still increase his pain. 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. A Prison. 
 
 LYSIAS [alone], 
 
 The Sun set frowning, and refreshing Eve 
 Lost all its sweets, obscur d in double gloom. 
 This night shall sleep be stranger to these eyes, ^ 
 Peace dwells not here, and slumber flies the shock; 
 My spirits, like the elements, are warring, 
 And mock the tempest with a kindred rage 
 I, who can joy in nothing, but revenge, 
 

 48 Representative Plays 
 
 Know not those boasted ties of Love and Friendship; 
 Vardanes I regard, but as he give me 
 Some hopes of vengeance on the Prince Arsaces 
 But, ha! he comes, wak d by the angry storm, 
 Tis to my wish, thus would I form designs, 
 Horror should breed beneath the veil of horror, 
 And darkness aid conspiracies He s here 
 
 SCENE II. VARDANES and LYSIAS. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 Welcome, my noble Prince. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Thanks, gentle friend; 
 Heav ns! what a night is this! 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Tis fill d with terror; 
 
 Some dread event beneath this horror lurks, 
 Ordain d by fate s irrevocable doom; 
 Perhaps Arsaces fall and angry heav n 
 Speaks it, in thunder, to the trembling world. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Terror indeed ! it seems as sick ning Nature 
 Had giv n her order up to gen ral ruin; 
 The Heav ns appear as one continu d flame, 
 Earth with her terror shakes, dim night retires, 
 And the red lightning gives a dreadful day, 
 While in the thunder s voice each sound is lost; 
 Fear sinks the panting heart in ev ry bosom, 
 E en the pale dead, affrighted at the horror, 
 As tho unsafe, start from their marble goals, 
 And howling thro the streets are seeking shelter. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 I saw a flash stream thro the angry clouds, 
 And bend its course to where a stately pine 
 Behind the garden stood, quickly it seiz d, 
 And wrapt it in a fiery fold, the trunk 
 Was shiver d into atoms, and the branches 
 Off were lopt, and wildly scatter d round. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 49 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Why rage the elements, they are not curs d 
 Like me? Evanthe frowns not angry on them, 
 The wind may play upon her beauteous bosom 
 Nor fear her chiding, light can bless her sense, 
 And in the floating mirror she beholds 
 Those beauties which can fetter all mankind. 
 Earth gives her joy, she plucks the fragrant rose, 
 Pleas d takes its sweets, and gazes on its bloom. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 My Lord, forget her, tear her from your breast. 
 Who, like the Phoenix gazes on the sun, 
 And strives to soar up to the glorious blaze, 
 Should never leave Ambition s brightest object, 
 To turn, and view the beauties of a flow r. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 O, Lysias, chide no more, for I have done. 
 
 Yes, I ll forget this proud disdainful beauty; 
 
 Hence, with vain love Ambition, now, alone, 
 
 Shall guide my actions, since mankind delights 
 
 To give me pain, I ll study mischief too, 
 
 And shake the earth, e en like this raging tempest. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 A night like this, so dreadful to behold, 
 Since my remembrance s birth, I never saw. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 E en such a night, dreadful as this, they say, 
 My teeming Mother gave me to the world. 
 Whence by those sages who, in knowledge rich, 
 Can pry into futurity, and tell 
 What distant ages will produce of wonder, 
 My days were deem d to be a hurricane; 
 My early life prov d their prediction false; 
 Beneath a sky serene my voyage began, 
 But, to this long uninterrupted calm, 
 Storms shall succeed. 
 
50 Representative Plays 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Then haste, to raise the tempest; 
 My soul disdains this one eternal round, 
 Where each succeeding day is like the former. 
 Trust me, my noble Prince, here is a heart 
 Steady and firm to all your purposes, 
 And here s a hand that knows to execute 
 Whate er designs thy daring breast can form, 
 Nor ever shake with fear. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 And I will use it, 
 
 Come to my bosom, let me place thee here, 
 How happy am I clasping so much virtue! 
 Now, by the light, it is my firm belief, 
 One mighty soul in common swells our bosoms, 
 Such sameness can t be match d in diff rent beings. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Your confidence, my Lord, much honours me, 
 And when I act unworthy of your love 
 May I be hooted from Society, 
 As tho disgraceful to the human kind, 
 And driv n to herd among the savage race. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Believe me, Lysias, I do not know 
 A single thought which tends toward suspicion, 
 For well I know thy worth, when I affront it, 
 By the least doubt, may I be ever curs d 
 With faithless friends, and by his dagger fall 
 Whom my deluded wishes most would favour. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Then let s no longer trifle time away, 
 I m all impatience till I see thy brows 
 Bright in the glories of a diadem; 
 My soul is fill d with anguish when I think 
 That by weak Princes worn, tis thus disgrac d. 
 Haste, mount the throne, and, like the morning Sun, 
 Chace with your piercing beams those mists away, 
 Which dim the glory of the Parthian state : 
 
The Prince of Parthia 51 
 
 Each honest heart desires it, numbers there are 
 Ready to join you, and support your cause, 
 Against th opposing faction. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Sure some God, 
 
 Bid you thus call me to my dawning honours, 
 And joyful I obey the pleasing summons. 
 Now by the pow rs of heav n, of earth and hell, 
 Most solemnly I swear, I will not know 
 That quietude which I was wont to know, 
 Til I have climb d the height of all my wishes, 
 Or fell, from glory, to the silent grave. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Nobly resolv d, and spoken like Vardanes, 
 There shone my Prince in his superior lustre. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 But, then, Arsaces, he s a fatal bar 
 O ! could I brush this busy insect from me, 
 Which envious strives to rob me of my bloom, 
 Then might I, like somefragrant op ning flow r. 
 Spread all my beajitips in the fare of Ha^ 
 Ye Gods! why did ye give me such a soul 
 (A soul, which ev ry way is form d for Empire), 
 And damn me with a younger Brother s right? 
 The diadem would set as well on mine, 
 As on the brows of any lordly He ; 
 Nor is this hand weak to enforce command. 
 And shall I steal into my grave, and give 
 My name up to oblivion, to be thrown 
 Among the common rubbish of the times? 
 No: Perish first, this happy hated Brother. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 I always wear a dagger, for your service, 
 I need not speak the rest 
 When humbly I intreated of your Brother 
 T attend him as Lieutenant in this war, 
 Frowning contempt, he haughtily reply d, 
 He entertain d not Traitors in his service. 
 
5 2 Representative Plays 
 
 True, I betray d Orodes, but with cause, 
 
 He struck me, like a sorry abject slave, 
 
 And still withheld from giving what he d promis d. 
 
 Fear not Arsaces, believe me, he shall 
 
 Soon his Quietus have But, see, he comes, 
 
 What can this mean? Why at this lonely hour, 
 
 And unattended? Ha! tis opportune 
 
 I ll in, and stab him now. I heed not what 
 
 The danger is, so I but have revenge, 
 
 Then heap perdition on me. 
 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Hold, awhile 
 Twould be better could we undermine him, 
 And make him fall by Artabanus doom. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 Well, be it so 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 But let us now retire, 
 We must not be observ d together here. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 ARSACES [alone]. 
 
 Tis here that hapless Bethas is confin d ; 
 He who, but yesterday, like angry Jove, 
 When punishing the crimes of guilty men, 
 Spread death and desolation all around, 
 While Parthia trembl d at his name; is now 
 Unfriended and forlorn, and counts the hours, 
 Wrapt in the gloomy horrors of a goal. 
 
 I How dark, and hidden, are the turns of fate! 
 
 I His rigid fortune moves me to compassion. 
 
 I O! tis a heav nly virtue when the heart 
 Can feel the sorrows of another s bosom, 
 It dignifies the man: The stupid wretch 
 Who knows not this sensation, is an image, 
 And wants the feeling to make up a life 
 I ll in, and give my aid to sooth his sorrows. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 53 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 VARDANES and LYSIAS. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Let us observe with care, something we, yet, 
 May gather, to give to us the vantage; 
 No matter what s the intent. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 How easy tis 
 
 To cheat this busy, tattling, censuring world ! 
 For fame still names our actions, good or bad, 
 As introduc d by chance, which ofttimes throws 
 Wrong lights on objects; vice she dresses up 
 In the bright form, and goodliness, of virtue, 
 While virtue languishes, and pines neglected, 
 Rob d of her lustre But, let s forward, Lysias 
 Thou know st each turn in this thy dreary rule, 
 Then lead me to some secret stand, from whence, 
 Unnotic d, all their actions we may view. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 Here, take your stand behind See, Bethas comes. 
 
 [They retire. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 BETHAS [alone]. 
 
 To think on Death in gloomy solitude, 
 In dungeons and in chains, when expectation 
 Join d with serious thought describe him to us, 
 His height n d terrors strike upon the soul 
 With awful dread ; imagination rais d 
 To frenzy, plunges in a sea of horror, 
 And tastes the pains, the agonies of dying 
 Ha! who is this, perhaps he bears my fate? 
 It must be so, but, why this privacy? 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 ARSACES and BETHAS. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Health to the noble Bethas, health and joy! 
 

 54 Representative Plays 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 A steady harden d villain, one experienc d 
 In his employment; ha! where s thy dagger? 
 It cannot give me fear; I m ready, see, 
 My op ning bosom tempts the friendly steel. 
 Fain would I cast this tiresome being off, 
 Like an old garment worn to wretchedness. 
 Here, strike for I m prepar d. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Oh ! view me better, 
 Say, do I wear the gloomy ruffian s frown? 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Ha! tis the gallant Prince, the brave Arsaces, 
 And Bethas Conqueror. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 And Bethas friend, 
 A name I m proud to wear. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Away away 
 
 Mock with your jester to divert the court, 
 Fit Scene for sportive joys and frolic mirth ; 
 Think st thou I lack that manly constancy 
 Which braves misfortune, and remains unshaken? 
 Are these, are these the emblems of thy friendship, 
 These rankling chains, say, does it gall like these? 
 No, let me taste the bitterness of sorrow, 
 For I am reconcil d to wretchedness. 
 The Gods have empty d all their mighty store, 
 Of hoarded Ills, upon my whiten d age; 
 Now death but, oh ! I court coy death in vain, 
 Like a cold maid, he scorns my fond complaining. 
 Tis thou, insulting Prince, tis thou hast dragg d 
 My soul, just rising, down again to earth, 
 And clogg d her wings with dull mortality, 
 A hateful bondage! Why 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 A moment hear me 
 
The Prince of Parthia 55 
 
 BETH AS. 
 
 Why dost thou, like an angry vengeful ghost, 
 Glide hither to disturb this peaceful gloom? 
 What, dost thou envy me my miseries, 
 My chains and flinty pavement, where I oft 
 In sleep behold the image of the death I wish, 
 Forget my sorrows and heart-breaking anguish? 
 These horrors I would undisturb d enjoy, 
 Attended only by my silent thoughts; 
 Is it to see the wretch that you have made; 
 To view the ruins of unhappy Bethas, 
 And triumph in my grief? Is it for this 
 You penetrate my dark joyless prison? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Oh! do not injure me by such suspicions. 
 Unknown to me are cruel scoffs and jests; 
 My breast can feel compassion s tenderness, 
 The warrior s warmth, the soothing joys of friendship. 
 When adverse bold battalions shook the earth, 
 And horror triumph d on the hostile field, 
 I sought you with a glorious enmity, 
 And arm d my brow with the stern frown of war. 
 But now the angry trumpet wakes no more 
 The youthful champion to the lust for blood. 
 Retiring rage gives place to softer passions, 
 And gen rous warriors know no longer hate, 
 The name of foe is lost, and thus I ask 
 Your friendship. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 Ah ! why dost thou mock me thus? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Let the base coward, he who ever shrinks, 
 And trembles, at the slight name of danger, 
 Taunt, and revile, with bitter gibes, the wretched ; 
 The brave are ever to distress a friend. 
 Tho my dear country (spoil d by wasteful war, 
 Her harvests blazing, desolate her towns, 
 And baleful ruin shew d her haggard face) 
 Call d out on me to save her from her foes, 
 
56 Representative Plays 
 
 And I obey d, yet to your gallant prowess, 
 And unmatch d deeds, I admiration gave. 
 But now my country knows the sweets of safety, 
 Freed from her fears; sure now I may indulge 
 My just esteem for your superior virtue. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Yes, I must think you what you would be thought, 
 For honest minds are easy of belief, 
 And always judge of others by themselves, 
 But often are deceiv d; yet Parthia breeds not 
 Virtue much like thine, the barb rous clime teems 
 With nought else but villains vers d in ill. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Dissimulation never mark d my looks, 
 Nor flatt ring deceit e er taught my tongue, 
 The tale of falsehood, to disguise my thoughts: 
 To Virtue, and her fair companion, Truth, 
 I ve ever bow d, their holy precepts kept, 
 And scann d by them the actions of my life. 
 Suspicion surely ne er disturbs the brave, 
 They never know the fears of doubting thoughts; 
 But free, as are the altars of the Gods, 
 From ev ry hand receive the sacrifice. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 ARSACES, BETHAS, EVANTHE and CLEONE. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Heav ns! what a gloom hangs round this dreadful place, 
 Fit habitation for the guilty mind! 
 Oh ! if such terrors wait the innocent, 
 Which tread these vaults, what must the impious feel, 
 Who ve all their crimes to stare them in the face? 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Immortal Gods! is this reality? 
 Or mere illusion? am I blest at last, 
 Or is it to torment me that you ve rais d 
 This semblance of Evanthe to my eyes? 
 It is! it is! tis she! 
 
The Prince of Parthia 57 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! what means this? 
 She faints! she faints! life has forsook its seat, 
 Pale Death usurps its place Evanthe, Oh ! 
 Awake to life ! Love and Arsaces call ! 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Off give her to my arms, my warm embrace 
 Shall melt Death s icy chains. 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 She lives! she lives I 
 See, on her cheeks the rosy glow returns. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 O joy! O joy! her op ning eyes, again, 
 Break, like the morning sun, a better day. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Evanthe ! 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh! my Father! 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! her Father! 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Heav n thou art kind at last, and this indeed 
 Is recompense for all the ills I ve past; 
 For all the sorrows which my heart has known, 
 Each wakeful night, and ev ry day of anguish. 
 This, this has sweet n d all my bitter cup, 
 And gave me once again to taste of joy, 
 Joy which has long been stranger to this bosom. 
 Hence hence disgrace off, ignominy off 
 But one embrace I ask but one embrace, 
 And tis deny d. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh, yes, around thy neck 
 I ll fold my longing arms, thy softer fetters, 
 Thus press thee to my happy breast, and kiss 
 Away those tears that stain thy aged cheeks. 
 
58 Representative Plays 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Oh! tis too much! it is too much! ye Gods! 
 Life s at her utmost stretch, and bursting near 
 With heart-swoln ecstasy; now let me die. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 What marble heart 
 
 Could see this scene unmov d, nor give a tear? 
 My eyes grow dim, and sympathetic passion 
 Falls like a gushing torrent on my bosom. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 O! happy me, this place, which lately seem d 
 So fill d with horror, now is pleasure s circle. 
 Here will I fix my seat; my pleasing task 
 Shall be to cherish thy remaining life. 
 All night I ll keep a vigil o er thy slumbers, 
 And on my breast repose thee, mark thy dreams, 
 And when thou wak st invent some pleasing tale, 
 Or with my songs the tedious hours beguile. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Still let me gaze, still let me gaze upon thee, 
 Let me strain ev ry nerve with ravishment, 
 And all my life be center d in my vision. 
 To see thee thus, to hear thy angel voice, 
 It is, indeed, a luxury of pleasure! 
 Speak, speak again, for oh! tis heav n to hear thee! 
 Celestial sweetness dwells on ev ry accent; 
 Lull me to rest, and sooth my raging joy. 
 Joy which distracts me with unruly transports. 
 Now, by thy dear departed Mother s shade, 
 Thou brightest pattern of all excellence, 
 Thou who in prattling infancy hast blest me, 
 I wou d not give this one transporting moment, 
 This fullness of delight, for all but, ah ! 
 Tis vile, Ambition, Glory, all is vile, 
 To the soft sweets of love and tenderness. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Now let me speak, my throbbing heart is full, 
 I ll tell thee all alas! I have forgot 
 T as slipt me in the tumult of my joy. 
 And yet I thought that I had much to say. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 59 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Oh ! I have curs d my birth, indeed, I have 
 Blasphem d the Gods, with unbecoming passion, 
 Arraign d their Justice, and defy d their pow r, 
 In bitterness, because they had deny d 
 Thee to support the weakness of my age. 
 But now no more I ll rail and rave at fate, 
 All its decrees are just, complaints are impious, 
 Whate er short-sighted mortals feel, springs from 
 Their blindness in the ways of Providence; 
 Sufficient wisdom tis for man to know 
 That the great Ruler is e er wise and good. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Ye figur d stones! 
 
 Ye senseless, lifeless images of men, -^^ acS_^_ .v^x 
 
 Who never gave a tear to others woe, "^ ^ "^3 
 
 Whose bosoms never glow d for others good, 
 
 weary heav n with your repeated pray rs, 
 And strive to melt the angry pow rs to pity, 
 That ye may truly live. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh ! how my heart 
 Beats in my breast, and shakes my trembling frame! 
 
 1 sink beneath this sudden flood of joy, 
 Too mighty for my spirits. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 My Evanthe, 
 
 Thus in my arms I catch thy falling beauties, 
 Chear thee; and kiss thee back to life again: 
 Thus to my bosom I could ever hold thee, 
 And find new pleasure. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 O! my lov d Arsaces, 
 Forgive me that I saw thee not before, 
 Indeed my soul was busily employ d, 
 Nor left a single thought at liberty. 
 But thou, I know, art gentleness and love. 
 Now I am doubly paid for all my sorrows, 
 For all my fears for thee. 
 
60 Representative Plays 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Then, fear no more: 
 Give to guilty wretches painful terrors: 
 Whose keen remembrance raises horrid forms, 
 Shapes that in spite of nature shock their souls 
 With dreadful anguish: but thy gentle bosom, 
 Where innocence beams light and gayety, 
 Can never know a fear, now shining joy 
 Shall gild the pleasing scene. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Alas! this joy 
 
 I fear is like a sudden flame shot from 
 Th expiring taper, darkness will ensue, 
 And double night I dread enclose us round. 
 Anxiety does yet disturb my breast, 
 And frightful apprehension shakes my soul. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 How shall I thank you, ye bright glorious beings! 
 Shall I in humble adoration bow, 
 Or fill the earth with your resounding praise? 
 No, this I leave to noisy hypocrites, 
 A Mortal s tongue disgraces such a theme; 
 But heav n delights where silent gratitude 
 Mounts each aspiring thought to its bright throne, 
 Nor leaves to language aught; words may indeed 
 From man to man their sev ral wants express, 
 Heav n asks the purer incense of the heart. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 I ll to the King, ere he retires to rest, 
 Nor will I leave him til I ve gain d your freedom; 
 His love will surely not deny me this. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 VARDANES and LYSIAS come forward. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Twas a moving scene, e en my rough nature 
 Was nighly melted. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 61 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Hence coward pity 
 What is joy to them, to me is torture. 
 Now am I rack d with pains that far exceed 
 Those agonies, which fabling Priests relate, 
 The damn d endure: The shock of hopeless Love, 
 Unblest with any views to sooth ambition, 
 Rob me of all my reas ning faculties. 
 Arsaces gains Evanthe, fills the throne, 
 While I am doom d to foul obscurity, 
 To pine and grieve neglected. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 My noble Prince, 
 
 Would it not be a master-piece, indeed, 
 To make this very bliss their greatest ill, 
 And damn them in the very folds of joy? 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 This I will try, and stretch my utmost art, 
 Unknown is yet the means We ll think on that 
 Success may follow if you ll lend your aid. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 The storm still rages I must to the King, 
 And know what further orders ere he sleeps: 
 Soon I ll return, and speak my mind more fully. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Haste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council ; 
 For without thee, all my designs will prove 
 Like night and chaos, darkness and confusion; 
 But to thy word shall light and order spring. 
 Let coward Schoolmen talk of Virtue s rules, 
 And preach the vain Philosophy of fools; 
 Court eager their obscurity, afraid 
 To taste a joy, and in some gloomy shade 
 Dream o er their lives, while in a mournful strain 
 They sing of happiness they never gain. 
 But form d for nobler purposes I come, 
 To gain a crown, or else a glorious tomb. 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
62 Representative Plays 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. The Palace. 
 QUEEN and EDESSA. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Talk not of sleep to me, the God of Rest 
 Disdains to visit where disorder reigns; 
 Not beds of down, nor music s softest strains, 
 Can charm him when tis anarchy within. 
 He flies with eager haste the mind disturb d, 
 And sheds his blessings where the soul s in peace. 
 
 EDESSA. 
 Yet, hear me, Madam! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Hence, away, Edessa, 
 
 For thou know st not the pangs of jealousy. 
 Say, has he not forsook my bed, and left me 
 Like a lone widow mourning to the night? 
 This, with the injury his son has done me, 
 If I forgive, may heav n in anger show r 
 Its torments on me Ha! isn t that the King! 
 
 EDESSA. 
 It is your Royal Lord, great Artabanus. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Leave me, for I would meet him here alone, 
 Something is lab ring in my breast 
 
 SCENE II. 
 KING and QUEEN. 
 KING. 
 This leads 
 To fair Evanthe s chamber Ha ! the Queen. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Why dost thou start? so starts the guilty wretch, 
 When, by some watchful eye, prevented from 
 His dark designs. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 63 
 
 KING. 
 
 Prevented! how, what mean st thou? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Art thou then so dull? cannot thy heart, 
 Thy changeling heart, explain my meaning to thee, 
 Or must upbraiding wake thy apprehension? 
 Ah ! faithless, tell me, have I lost those charms 
 Which thou so oft hast sworn could warm old age, 
 And tempt the frozen hermit from his cell, 
 To visit once again our gayer world? 
 This, thou hast sworn, perfidious as thou art, 
 A thousand times; as often hast thou sworn 
 Eternal constancy, and endless love, 
 Yet ev ry time was perjur d. 
 
 KING. 
 Sure, tis frenzy. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Indeed, tis frenzy, tis the height of madness, 
 For I have wander d long in sweet delusion. 
 At length the pleasing Phantom chang d its form, 
 And left me in a wilderness of woe. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Prithee, no more, dismiss those jealous heats; 
 Love must decay, and soon disgust arise, 
 Where endless jarrings and upbraidings damp 
 The gentle flame, which warms the lover s breast. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Oh! grant me patience heav n! and dost thou think 
 By these reproaches to disguise thy guilt? 
 No, tis in vain, thy art s too thin to hide it. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Curse on the marriage chain! the clog, a wife, 
 Who still will force and pall us with the joy, 
 Tho pow r is wanting, and the will is cloy d, 
 Still urge the debt when Nothing s left to pay. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ha! dost thou own thy crime, nor feel the glow 
 Of conscious shame? 
 
64 Representative Plays 
 
 KING. 
 
 Why should I blush, if heav n 
 Has made me as I am, and gave me passions? 
 Blest only in variety, then blame 
 The Gods, who form d my nature thus, not me. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 Oh! Traitor! Villain! 
 
 KING. 
 
 Hence away 
 No more I ll wage a woman s war with words. [Exit. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Down, down ye rising passions, give me ease, 
 Or break my heart, for I must yet be calm 
 But, yet, revenge, our Sex s joy, is mine; 
 By all the Gods! he lives not till the morn. 
 Who slights my love, shall sink beneath my hate. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 QUEEN and VARDANES. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 What, raging to the tempest? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 
 Yes, I will rage a tempest s here within, 
 Above the trifling of the noisy elements. 
 Blow ye loud winds, burst with your violence, 
 For ye but barely imitate the storm 
 That wildly rages in my tortur d breast 
 The King the King 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Ha! what? the King? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 Evanthe ! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 You talk like riddles, still obscure and short, 
 Give me some cue to guide me thro this maze. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 65 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ye pitying pow rs! oh! for a poison, some 
 Curs d deadly draught, that I might blast her beauties, 
 And rob her eyes of all their fatal lustre. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 What, blast her charms? dare not to think of it 
 Shocking impiety; the num rous systems 
 Which gay creation spreads, bright blazing suns, 
 With all th attendant planets circling round, 
 Are not worth half the radiance of her eyes. 
 She s heav n s peculiar care, good spir ts hover 
 Round, a shining band, to guard her beauties. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Be they watchful then: for should remissness 
 Taint the guard, I ll snatch the opportunity, 
 And hurl her to destruction. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Dread Thermusa, 
 
 Say, what has rous d this tumult in thy soul? 
 What dost thou rage with unabating fury, 
 Wild as the winds, loud as the troubl d sea? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Yes, I will tell thee Evanthe curse her 
 With charms Would that my curses had the pow r 
 To kill, destroy, and blast where e er I hate, 
 Then would I curse, still curse, till death should seize 
 The dying accents on my falt ring tongue. 
 So should this world, and the false changeling man 
 Be buried in one universal ruin. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 Still err st thou from the purpose. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ha! tis so 
 
 Yes I will tell thee for I know fond fool, 
 Deluded wretch, thou dotest on Evanthe 
 Be that thy greatest curse, be curs d like me, 
 With jealousy and rage, for know, the King, 
 Thy father, is thy rival. 
 
66 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 VARDANES [alone]. 
 
 Ha ! my rival ! 
 
 How knew she that? yet stay she s gone my rival, 
 What then? he is Arsaces rival too. 
 Ha! this may aid and ripen my designs 
 Could I but fire the King with jealousy, 
 And then accuse my Brother of Intrigues 
 Against the state ha! join d with Bethas, and 
 Confed rate with th Arabians tis most likely 
 That jealousy would urge him to belief. 
 I ll sink my claim until some fitter time, 
 Til opportunity smiles on my purpose. 
 Lysias already has receiv d the mandate 
 For Bethas freedom: Let them still proceed, 
 This harmony shall change to discord soon. 
 Fortune methinks of late grows wond rous kind, 
 She scarcely leaves me to employ myself. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 KING, ARSACES, VARDANES. 
 
 KING. 
 But where s Evanthe? Where s the lovely Maid? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 On the cold pavement, by her aged Sire, 
 The dear companion of his solitude, 
 She sits, nor can persuasion make her rise; 
 But in the wild extravagance of joy 
 She weeps, then smiles, like April s sun, thro show rs. 
 While with strain d eyes he gazes on her face, 
 And cries, in ecstacy, "Ye gracious pow rs! 
 "It is too much, it is too much to bear!" 
 Then clasps her to his breast, while down his cheeks 
 Large drops each other trace, and mix with hers. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Thy tale is moving, for my eyes o erflow 
 How slow does Lysias with Evanthe creep! 
 
The Prince of Parthia 67 
 
 So moves old time when bringing us to bliss. 
 Now war shall cease, no more of war I ll have, 
 Death knows satiety, and pale destruction 
 Turns loathing from his food, thus forc d on him. 
 The triffling dust, the cause of all this ruin, 
 The trade of death shall urge no more. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 KING, ARSACES, VARDANES, EVANTHE, LYSIAS. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Evanthe ! 
 
 See pleasure s goddess deigns to dignify 
 The happy scene, and make our bliss complete. 
 So Venus, from her heav nly seat, descends 
 To bless the gay Cythera with her presence; 
 A thousand smiling graces wait the goddess, 
 A thousand little loves are flutt ring round, 
 And joy is mingl d with the beauteous train. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 O! Royal Sir, thus lowly to the ground 
 I bend, in humble gratitude, accept 
 My thanks, for this thy goodness, words are vile 
 T express the image of my lively thought, 
 And speak the grateful fulness of my heart. 
 All I can say, is that I now am happy, 
 And that thy giving hand has made me blest. 
 
 KING. 
 
 O ! rise, Evanthe rise, this lowly posture 
 Suits not with charms like thine, they should command, 
 And ev ry heart exult in thy behests; 
 But, where s thy aged Sire? 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 This sudden turn 
 
 Of fortune has so wrought upon his frame, 
 His limbs could not support him to thy presence. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 This, this is truly great, this is the Hero, 
 
68 Representative Plays 
 
 Like heav n, to scatter blessings mong mankind 
 
 And e er delight in making others happy. 
 
 Cold is the praise which waits the victor s triumph 
 
 (Who thro a sea of blood has rush d to glory), 
 
 To the o erflowings of a grateful heart, 
 
 By obligations conquer d : Yet, extend 
 
 Thy bounty unto me. [Kneels. 
 
 KING. 
 Ha! rise Arsaces. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Not till you grant my boon. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Speak, and tis thine 
 
 Wide thro our kingdom let thy eager wishes 
 Search for some jewel worthy of thy seeing; 
 Something that s fit to show the donor s bounty, 
 And by the glorious sun, our worship d God, 
 Thou shalt not have denial ; e en my crown 
 Shall gild thy brows with shining beams of Empire. 
 With pleasure I ll resign to thee my honours, 
 I long for calm retirement s softer joys. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Long may you wear it, grant it bounteous heav n, 
 And happiness attend it; tis my pray r 
 That daily rises with the early sweets 
 Of nature s incense, and the lark s loud strain. 
 Tis not the unruly transport of ambition 
 That urges my desires to ask your crown; 
 Let the vain wretch, who prides in gay dominion, 
 Who thinks not of the great ones weighty cares, 
 Enjoy -his lofty wish, wide spreading rule. 
 The treasure which I ask, put in the scale, 
 Would over-balance all that Kings can boast, 
 Empire and diadems. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Away, that thought 
 Name it, haste speak. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 69 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 For all the dang rous toil, 
 Thirst, hunger, marches long that I ve endur d, 
 For all the blood I ve in thy service spent, 
 Reward me with Evanthe. 
 
 KING. 
 Ha! what said st thou? 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 The King is mov d, and angry bites his lip. 
 Thro my benighted soul all-cheering hope [Aside. 
 
 Beams, like an orient sun, reviving joy. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 The stern Vonones ne er could boast a merit 
 But loving her. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Ah! curse the hated name 
 Yes, I remember when the fell ruffian 
 Directed all his fury at my life; 
 Then sent, by pitying heav n, t assert the right 
 Of injur d Majesty, thou, Arsaces, 
 Taught him the duty he ne er knew before, 
 And laid the Traitor dead. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 My Royal Sire! 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 My Liege, the Prince still kneels. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Ha! rebel, off [Strikes him. 
 What, Lyslas, did I strike thee? forgive my rage 
 The name of curs d Vonones fires my blood, 
 And gives me up to wrath. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 I am your slave, 
 
 Sway d by your pleasure when I forget it, 
 May this keen dagger, which I mean to hide 
 Deep in his bosom, pierce my vitals thro*. [Aside. 
 
7O Representative Plays 
 
 KING. 
 Didst thou not name Evanthe? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 I did, my Lord! 
 
 And, say, whom should I name but her, in whom 
 My soul has center d all her happiness? 
 Nor canst thou blame me, view her wond rous charms, 
 She s all perfection; bounteous heav n has form d her 
 To be the joy, and wonder of mankind; 
 But language is too vile to speak her beauties. 
 Here ev ry pow r of glowing fancy s lost: 
 Rose blush secure, ye lilies still enjoy 
 Your silver whiteness, I ll not rob your charms 
 To deck the bright comparison ; for here 
 It sure must fail. 
 
 KING. 
 
 He s wanton in her praise [Aside. 
 I tell thee, Prince, hadst thou as many tongues, 
 As days have wasted since creation s birth, 
 They were too few to tell the mighty theme. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 I m lost! I m lost! [Aside. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Then I ll be dumb for ever. 
 KING. 
 
 O rash and fatal oath ! is there no way, 
 No winding path to shun this precipice, 
 But must I fall and dash my hopes to atoms? 
 In vain I strive, thought but perplexes me, 
 Yet shews no hold to bear me up now, hold 
 My heart a while she s thine tis done. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 In deep 
 Prostration, I thank my Royal Father. 
 
 KING. 
 
 A sudden pain shoots thro my trembling breast 
 Lend me thy arm Vardanes cruel pow rs! 
 
The Prince of Parthia 71 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 ARSACES and EVANTHE. 
 
 EVANTHE [after a pause]. 
 E er since the dawn of my unhappy life 
 Joy never shone serenely on my soul ; 
 Still something interven d to cloud my day. 
 Tell me, ye pow rs, unfold the hidden crime 
 For which I m doom d to this eternal woe, 
 Thus still to number o er my hours with tears? 
 The Gods are just I know, nor are decrees 
 In hurry shuffl d out, but where the bolt 
 Takes its direction justice points the mark. 
 Yet still in vain I search within my breast, 
 I find no sins are there to shudder at 
 Nought but the common frailties of our natures. 
 Arsaces, Oh ! 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! why that look of anguish? 
 
 Why didst thou name me with that sound of sorrow? 
 Ah ! say, why stream those gushing tears so fast 
 From their bright fountain? sparkling joy should now 
 Be lighten d in thine eye, and pleasure glow 
 Upon thy rosy cheek; ye sorrows hence 
 Tis love shall triumph now. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh! [Sighs. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 What means that sigh? 
 
 Tell me why heaves thy breast with such emotion? 
 Some dreadful thought is lab ring for a vent, 
 Haste, give it loose, ere strengthen d by confinement 
 It weeks thy frame, and tears its snowy prison. 
 Is sorrow then so pleasing that you hoard it 
 With as much love, as misers do their gold? 
 Give me my share of sorrows. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Ah ! too soon 
 You ll know what I would hide. 
 
72 Representative Plays 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Be it from thee 
 
 The dreadful tale, when told by thee, shall please; 
 Haste, to produce it with its native terrors, 
 My steady soul shall still remain unshaken; 
 For who when bless d with beauties like to thine 
 Would e er permit a sorrow to intrude? 
 Far hence in darksome shades does sorrow dwell, 
 Where hapless wretches thro the awful gloom, 
 Echo their woes, and sighing to the winds, 
 Augment with tears the gently murm ring stream; 
 But ne er disturbs such happiness as mine. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh! tis not all thy boasted happiness, 
 Can save thee from disquietude and care; 
 Then build not too securely on these joys, 
 For envious sorrow soon will undermine, 
 And let the goodly structure fall to ruin. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 I charge thee, by our mutual vows, Evanthe, 
 Tell me, nor longer keep me in suspense: 
 Give me to know the utmost rage of fate. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 Then know impossible! 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! dost thou fear 
 To shock me? 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 Know, thy Father loves Evanthe. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Loves thee? 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Yea, e en to distraction loves me. 
 Oft at my feet he s told the moving tale, 
 And woo d me with the ardency of youth. 
 I pitied him indeed, but that was all, 
 Thou would st have pitied too. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 73 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 I fear tis true; 
 
 A thousand crouding circumstances speak it. 
 Ye cruel Gods! I ve wreck d a Father s peace, 
 Oh ! bitter thought ! 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Didst thou observe, Arsaces, 
 How reluctant he gave me to thy arms? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Yes, I observ d that when he gave thee up, 
 It seem d as tho he gave his precious life. 
 And who d forego the heav n of thy love? 
 To rest on thy soft swelling breast, and in 
 Sweet slumbers sooth each sharp intruding care? 
 Oh ! it were bliss, such as immortals taste, 
 To press thy ruby lips distilling sweets, 
 Or circl d in thy snowy arms to snatch 
 A joy, that Gods 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Come, then, my much-lov d Prince, 
 
 Let s seek the shelter of some kind retreat. 
 I Happy Arabia opens wide her arms, 
 I There may we find some friendly solitude, 
 I Far from the noise and hurry of the Court. 
 
 Ambitious views shall never blast our joys, 
 
 Or tyrant Fathers triumph o er our wills: 
 
 There may we live like the first happy pair 
 
 Cloth d in primeval innocence secure. 
 
 Our food untainted by luxurious arts, 
 
 Plain, simple, as our lives, shall not destroy 
 
 The health it should sustain ; while the clear brook 
 
 Affords the cooling draught our thirsts to quench. 
 
 There, hand in hand, we ll trace the citron grove, 
 
 While with the songsters round I join my voice, 
 
 To hush thy cares and calm thy rufiTd soul: 
 
 Or, on some flow ry bank reclin d, my strains 
 
 Shall captivate the natives of the stream, 
 
 While on its crystal lap ourselves we view. 
 
74 Representative Plays 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 I see before us a wide sea of sorrows, 
 Th angry waves roll forward to o erwhelm us, 
 Black clouds arise, and the wind whistles loud. 
 But yet, oh! could I save thee from the wreck, 
 Thou beauteous casket, where my joys are stor d, 
 Let the storm rage with double violence, 
 Smiling I d view its wide extended horrors. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Tis not enough that we do know the ill, 
 Say, shall we calmly see the tempest rise, 
 And seek no shelter from th inclement sky, 
 But bid it rage? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! will he force thee from me? 
 What, tear thee from my fond and bleeding heart? 
 And must I lose thee ever? dreadful word! 
 Never to gaze upon thy beauties more? 
 Never to taste the sweetness of thy lips? 
 Never to know the joys of mutual love? 
 Never! Oh! let me lose the pow r of thinking, 
 For thought is near allied to desperation. 
 Why, cruel Sire why did you give me life, 
 And load it with a weight of wretchedness? 
 Take back my being, or relieve my sorrows 
 Ha! art thou not Evanthe? Art thou not 
 The lovely Maid, who bless d the fond Arsaces? [Raving. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 O, my lov d Lord, recall your scatter d spir ts, 
 Alas! I fear your senses are unsettl d. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Yes, I would leave this dull and heavy sense. 
 Let me grow mad; perhaps, I then may gain 
 Some joy, by kind imagination form d, 
 Beyond reality. O! my Evanthe! 
 Why was I curs d with empire? born to rule? 
 Would I had been some humble Peasant s son, 
 And thou some Shepherd s daughter on the plain; 
 
The Prince of Parthia 75 
 
 My throne some hillock, and my flock my subjects, 
 
 My crook my sceptre, and my faithful dog 
 
 My only guard ; nor curs d with dreams of greatness. 
 
 At early dawn I d hail the coming day, 
 
 And join the lark the rival of his lay; 
 
 At sultry noon to some kind shade repair, 
 
 Thus joyful pass the hours, my only care, 
 
 To guard my flock, and please the yielding Fair. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 KING. VARDANES behind the Scene. 
 
 KING. 
 
 I will not think, to think is torment Ha! 
 See, how they twine ! ye furies cut their hold. 
 Now their hot blood beats loud to love s alarms; 
 Sigh presses sigh, while from their sparkling eyes 
 Flashes desire Oh ! ye bright heav nly beings, 
 Who pitying bend to suppliant Lovers pray rs, 
 And aid them in extremity, assist me! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Thus, for the Trojan, mourn d the Queen of Carthage; 
 So, on the shore she raving stood, and saw 
 His navy leave her hospitable shore. 
 In vain she curs d the wind which fill d their sails, 
 And bore the emblem of its change away. [Comes forward. 
 
 KING. 
 Vardanes Ha! come here, I know thou lov st me. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I do, my Lord; but, say, what busy villain 
 Durst e er approach your ear, with coz ning tales, 
 And urge you to a doubt? 
 
 KING. 
 
 None, none believe me. 
 
 I ll ne er oppress thy love with fearful doubt 
 A little nigher let me lean upon thee 
 And thou be my support for now I mean 
 T unbosom to thee free without restraint: 
 
76 Representative Plays 
 
 Search all the deep recesses of my soul, 
 And open ev ry darling thought before thee, 
 Which long I ve secreted with jealous care. 
 Pray, mark me well. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I will, my Royal Sire. 
 KING. 
 
 On Anna thus reclin d the love-sick Dido; 
 Thus to her cheek laid hers with gentle pressure, 
 And wet her sister with a pearly show r, 
 Which fell from her sad eyes, then told her tale, 
 While gentle Anna gave a pitying tear, 
 And own d twas moving thou canst pity too, 
 I know thy nature tender and engaging. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Tell me, my gracious Lord, what moves you thus? 
 Why is your breast distracted with these tumults? 
 Teach me some method how to sooth your sorrows, 
 And give your heart its former peace and joy; 
 Instruct thy lov d Vardanes. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Yes, I ll tell thee; 
 
 But listen with attention while I speak; 
 And yet I know twill shock thy gentle soul, 
 And horror o er thee 11 spread his palsy hand. 
 O, my lov d Son ! thou fondness of my age ! 
 Thou art the prop of my declining years, 
 In thee alone I find a Father s joy, 
 Of all my offspring: but Arsaces 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Ha! 
 My Brother! 
 
 KING. 
 
 Ay why dost start? thy Brother 
 Pursues me with his hate: and, while warm life 
 Rolls the red current thro my veins, delights 
 To see me tortur d ; with an easy smile 
 He meets my suff rings, and derides my pain. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 77 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Oh! 
 
 KING. 
 
 What means that hollow groan? Vardanes, speak, 
 Death s image fits upon thy pallid cheek, 
 While thy low voice sounds as when murmurs run 
 Thro lengthen d vaults 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 O! my foreboding thoughts. [Aside. 
 Twas this disturb d my rest; when sleep at night 
 Lock d me in slumbers; in my dreams I saw 
 My Brother s crime yet, death ! it cannot be 
 
 KING. 
 Ha! what was that? 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 O ! my dread Lord, some Villain 
 Bred up in lies, and train d to treach ry, 
 Has injur d you by vile reports, to stain 
 My Princely Brother s honour. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Thou know st more, 
 
 Thy looks confess what thou in vain wouldst hide 
 And hast thou then conspir d against me too, 
 And sworn concealment to your practices? 
 Thy guilt 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Ha! guilt! what guilt? 
 
 KING. 
 
 Nay, start not so 
 I ll know your purposes, spite of thy art. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 O! ye great Gods! and is it come to this? 
 My Royal Father call your reason home, 
 Drive these loud passions hence, that thus deform you. 
 My Brother Ah! what shall I say? My Brother 
 Sure loves you as he ought. 
 
78 Representative Plays 
 
 KING. 
 
 Ha! as he ought? 
 
 Hell blister thy evasive tongue I ll know it 
 I will; I ll search thy breast, thus will I open 
 A passage to your secrets yet resolv d 
 Yet steady in your horrid villany 
 Tis fit that I from whom such monsters sprung 
 No more should burthen earth Ye Parricides! 
 Here plant your daggers in this hated bosom 
 Here rive my heart, and end at once my sorrows, 
 I gave ye being, that s the mighty crime. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I can no more here let me bow in anguish 
 Think not that I e er join d in his designs, 
 Because I have conceal d my knowledge of them: 
 I meant, by pow rful reason s friendly aid, 
 To turn him from destruction s dreadful path, 
 And bring him to a sense of what he ow d 
 To you as King and Father. 
 
 KING. 
 Say on I ll hear. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 He views thy sacred life with envious hate, 
 As tis a bar to his ambitious hopes. 
 On the bright throne of Empire his plum d wishes 
 Seat him, while on his proud aspiring brows 
 He feels the pleasing weight of Royalty. 
 But when he wakes from these his airy dreams 
 (Delusions form d by the deceiver hope, 
 To raise him to the glorious height of greatness), 
 Then hurl him from proud Empire to subjection. 
 Wild wrath will quickly swell his haughty breast, 
 Soon as he finds tis but a shadowy blessing. 
 Twas fav ring accident disco ver d to me 
 All that I know; this Evening as I stood 
 Alone, retir d, in the still gallery, 
 That leads up to th appartment of my Brother, 
 T indulge my melancholy thoughts, 
 
The Prince of Parthia 79 
 
 KING. 
 Proceed 
 VARDANES. 
 
 A wretch approach d with wary step, his eye 
 Spoke half his tale, denoting villany.^ 
 In hollow murmurs thus he question d me 
 Was I the Prince? I answer d to content him 
 Then in his hand he held this paper forth. 
 "Take this," says he, "this Bethas greets thee with, 
 "Keep but your word our plot will meet success." 
 I snatch d it with more rashness than discretion, 
 Which taught him his mistake. In haste he drew, 
 And aim d his dagger at my breast, but paid 
 His life, a forfeit, for his bold presuming. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Villain! Villain! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Here, read this, my Lord 
 
 1 read it, and cold horror froze my blood. 
 And shook me like an ague. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Ha! what s this? 
 
 "Doubt not Arabia s aid, set me but free, 
 "I ll easy pass on the old cred lous King, 
 "For fair Evanthe s Father." Thus to atoms 
 Oh! could I tear these cursed traitors thus. 
 
 [Tears the paper into pieces. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Curses avail you nothing, he has pow r, 
 And may abuse it to your prejudice. 
 
 KING. 
 I am resolv d 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Tho Pris ner in his camp, 
 Yet, Bethas was attended like a Prince, 
 As tho he still commanded the Arabians. 
 Tis true, when they approach d the royal city, 
 He threw him into chains to blind our eyes, 
 A shallow artifice 
 
80 Representative Plays 
 
 KING. 
 That is a Truth. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 And, yet, he is your Son. 
 
 KING. 
 Ah! that indeed 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Why, that still heightens his impiety, 
 To rush to empire thro his Father s blood, 
 And, in return of life, to give him death. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Oh ! I am all on fire, yes I must tear 
 These folds of venom from me. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Sure twas Lysias 
 That cross d the passage now. 
 
 KING. 
 
 Tis to my wish. 
 
 I ll in, and give him orders to arrest 
 My traitor Son and Bethas Now Vardanes 
 Indulge thy Father in this one request 
 Seize, with some horse, Evanthe, and bear her 
 To your command Oh! I ll own my weakness 
 I love with fondness mortal never knew 
 Not Jove himself, when he forsook his heav n, 
 And in a brutal shape disgrac d the God, 
 E er lov d like me. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I will obey you, Sir. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 VARDANES [alone]. 
 
 I ll seize her, but I ll keep her for myself, 
 It were a sin to give her to his age 
 To twine the blooming garland of the spring 
 Around the sapless trunks of wither d oaks 
 
The Prince of Parthia 81 
 
 The night, methinks, grows ruder than it was, 
 
 Thus should it be, thus nature should be shock d, 
 
 And Prodigies, affrighting all mankind, 
 
 Foretell the dreadful business I intend. 
 
 The earth should gape, and swallow cities up, 
 
 Shake from their haughty heights aspiring tow rs, 
 
 And level mountains with the vales below; 
 
 The Sun amaz d should frown in dark eclipse, 
 
 And light retire to its unclouded heav n; 
 
 While darkness, bursting from her deep recess, 
 
 Should wrap all nature in eternal night. 
 
 Ambition, glorious fever of the mind, -x 
 
 Tis that which raises us above mankind ; / 
 
 The shining mark which bounteous heav n has gave, \ 
 
 From vulgar souls distinguishing the brave. s 
 
 End of the Third Act. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A Prison. 
 GOTARZES and PHRAATES. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Oh ! fly my Prince, for safety dwells not here, 
 Hence let me urge thy flight with eager haste. 
 Last night thy Father sigh d his soul to bliss, c^ 
 
 Base murther d 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Murther d? ye Gods! 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Alas! tis true. 
 
 Stabb d in his slumber by a traitor s hand ; 
 I scarce can speak it horror choaks my words 
 Lysias it was who did the damned deed, 
 Urg d by the bloody Queen, and his curs d rage, 
 Because the King, thy Sire, in angry mood, 
 Once struck him on his foul dishonest cheek. 
 Suspicion gave me fears of this, when first 
 I heard, the Prince, Arsaces, was imprison d, 
 By fell Vardanes wiles. 
 
82 Representative Plays 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Oh! horror! horror! 
 
 Hither I came to share my Brother s sorrows, 
 To mingle tears, and give him sigh for sigh; 
 But this is double, double weight of woe. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Tis held as yet a secret from the world. 
 Frighted by hideous dreams I shook off sleep, 
 And as I mus d the garden walks along, 
 Thro the deep gloom, close in a neighb ring walk, 
 Vardanes with proud Lysias I beheld, 
 Still eager in discourse they saw not me, 
 For yet the early dawn had not appear d ; 
 I sought a secret stand, where hid from view, 
 I heard stern Lysias, hail the Prince Vardanes 
 As Parthia s dreaded Lord!" Tis done", he cry d, 
 1 Tis done, and Artabanus is no more. 
 " The blow he gave me is repay d in blood; 
 " Now shall the morn behold two rising suns: 
 " Vardanes thou, our better light, shalt bring 
 " Bright day and joy to ev ry heart." 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Why slept 
 Your vengeance, oh ! ye righteous Gods? 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Then told 
 
 A tale, so fill d with bloody circumstance, 
 Of this damn d deed, that stiffen d me with horror. 
 Vardanes seem d to blame the hasty act, 
 As rash, and unadvis d, by passion urg d, 
 Which never yields to cool reflection s place. 
 But, being done, resolv d it secret, lest 
 The multitude should take it in their wise 
 Authority to pry into his death. 
 Arsaces was, by assassination, 
 Doom d to fall. Your name was mention d also 
 But hurried by my fears away, I left 
 The rest unheard 
 
 
The Prince of Parthia 83 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 What can be done? Reflection, why wilt thou 
 Forsake us, when distress is at our heels? 
 Phraates, help me, aid me with thy council. 
 
 PHRAATES. 
 
 Then stay not here, fly to Barzaphernes, 
 His conqu ring troops are at a trivial distance; 
 Soon will you reach the camp; he lov d your Brother, 
 And your Father with affection serv d ; haste 
 Your flight, whilst yet I have the city-guard, 
 For Lysias I expect takes my command. 
 I to the camp dispatch d a trusty slave, 
 Before the morn had spread her blushing veil. 
 Away, you ll meet the Gen ral on the road, 
 On such a cause as this he ll not delay. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 I thank your love 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 PHRAATES [alone]. 
 
 I ll wait behind, my stay 
 May aid the cause; dissembling I must learn, 
 Necessity shall teach me how to vary 
 My features to the looks of him I serve. 
 I ll thrust myself disguis d among the croud, 
 And fill their ears with murmurs of the deed: 
 Whisper all is not well, blow up the sparks 
 Of discord, and it soon will flame to rage. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 QUEEN and LYSIAS. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Haste, and shew me to the Prince Arsaces, 
 Delay not, see the signet of Vardanes. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Royal Thermusa, why this eagerness? 
 This tumult of the soul? what means this dagger? 
 Ha! I suspect 
 
84 Representative Plays 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Hold for I ll tell thee, Lysias. 
 Tis oh! I scarce can speak the mighty joy 
 I shall be greatly blest in dear revenge, 
 Tis vengeance on Arsaces yes, this hand 
 Shall urge the shining poniard to his heart, 
 And give him death yea, give the ruffian death ; 
 So shall I smile on his keen agonies. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Ha! am I robb d of all my hopes of vengeance, 
 Shall I then calmly stand with all my wrongs, 
 And see another bear away revenge? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 For what can Lysias ask revenge, to bar 
 His Queen of hers? 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Was I not scorn d, and spurn d, 
 With haughty insolence? like a base coward 
 Refus d what e er I ask d, and call d a boaster? 
 My honour sullied, with opprobrious words, 
 Which can no more its former brightness know, 
 Til, with his blood, I ve wash d the stains away. 
 Say, shall I then not seek for glorious vengeance? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 And what is this, to the sad Mother s griefs, 
 Her hope cut off, rais d up with pain and care? 
 Hadst thou e er supported the lov d Prattler? 
 Hadst thou like me hung o er his infancy, 
 Wasting in wakeful mood the tedious night, 
 And watch d his sickly couch, far mov d from rest, 
 Waiting his health s return? Ah! hadst thou known 
 The parent s fondness, rapture, toil and sorrow, 
 The joy his actions gave, and the fond wish 
 Of something yet to come, to bless my age, 
 And lead me down with pleasure to the grave, 
 Thou wouldst not thus talk lightly of my wrongs. 
 But I delay 
 
The Prince of Parthia 85 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 To thee I then submit. 
 
 Be sure to wreck a double vengeance on him ; 
 If that thou knowst a part in all his body, 
 Where pain can most be felt, strike, strike him there 
 And let him know the utmost height of anguish. 
 It is a joy to think that he shall fall, 
 Tho tis another hand which gives the blow. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 ARSACES and BETHAS. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Why should I linger out my joyless days, 
 When length of hope is length of misery? 
 Hope is a coz ner, and beguiles our cares, 
 Cheats us with empty shews of happiness, 
 Swift fleeting joys which mock the faint embrace; 
 We wade thro ills pursuing of the meteor, 
 Yet are distanc d still. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Ah ! talk not of hope 
 
 Hope fled when bright Astraea spurn d this earth, 
 And sought her seat among the shining Gods; 
 Despair, proud tyrant, ravages my breast, 
 And makes all desolation. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 How can I 
 
 Behold those rev rent sorrows, see those cheeks 
 Moist with the dew which falls from thy sad eyes, 
 Nor imitate distraction s frantic tricks, 
 And chace cold lifeless reason from her throne? 
 I am the fatal cause of all this sorrow, 
 The spring of ills, to know me is unhappiness; 
 And mis ry, like a hateful plague, pursues 
 My wearied steps, and blasts the springing verdure. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 No; It is I that am the source of all, 
 It is my fortune sinks you to this trouble; 
 
86 Representative Plays 
 
 Before you shower d your gentle pity on me, 
 
 You shone the pride of this admiring world. 
 
 Evanthe springs from me, whose fatal charms 
 
 Produces all this ruin. Hear me heav n! 
 
 If to another love she ever yields, 
 
 And stains her soul with spotted falsehood s crime, 
 
 If e en in expectation tastes a bliss, 
 
 Nor joins Arsaces with it, I will wreck 
 
 My vengeance on her, so that she shall be 
 
 A dread example to all future times. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Oh ! curse her not, nor threaten her with anger, 
 She is all gentleness, yet firm to truth, 
 And blest with ev ry pleasing virtue, free 
 From levity, her sex s character. 
 She scorns to chace the turning of the wind, 
 Varying from point to point. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 I love her, ye Gods! 
 
 I need not speak the greatness of my love, 
 Each look which straining draws my soul to hers 
 Denotes unmeasur d fondness; but mis ry, 
 Like a fretful peevish child, can scarce tell 
 What it would wish, or aim at. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Immortals, hear! 
 
 Thus do I bow my soul in humble pray r 
 Thou, King of beings, in whose breath is fate, 
 Show r on Evanthe all thy choicest blessings, 
 And bless her with excess of happiness; 
 If yet, there is one bliss reserv d in store, 
 And written to my name, oh ! give it her, 
 And give me all her sorrows in return. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Rise, rise my Prince, this goodness o erwhelms me, 
 She s too unworthy of so great a passion. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 I know not what it means, I m not as usual, 
 Ill-boding cares, and restless fears oppress me, 
 
The Prince of Parthia 87 
 
 And horrid dreams disturb, and fright, my slumbers; 
 
 But yesternight, tis dreadful to relate, 
 
 E en now I tremble at my waking thoughts, 
 
 Methought, I stood alone upon the shore, 
 
 And, at my feet, there roll d a sea of blood, 
 
 High wrought, and midst the waves, appear d my Father, 
 
 Struggling for life; above him was Vardanes, 
 
 Pois d in the air, he seem d to rule the storm, 
 
 And, now and then, would push my Father down, 
 
 And for a space he d sink beneath the waves, 
 
 And then, all gory, rise to open view, 
 
 His voice in broken accents reach d my ear, 
 
 And bade me save him from the bloody stream; 
 
 Thro the red billows eagerly I rush d, 
 
 But sudden woke, benum d with chilling fear. 
 
 BETHAS. 
 
 Most horrible indeed ! but let it pass, 
 Tis but the offspring of a mind disturb d, 
 For sorrow leaves impressions on the fancy, 
 Which shew most fearful to us lock d in sleep. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Thermusa! ha! what can be her design? 
 She bears this way, and carries in her looks 
 An eagerness importing violence. 
 Retire for I would meet her rage alone. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 ARSACES and QUEEN. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 What means the proud Thermusa by this visit, 
 Stoops heav n-born pity to a breast like thine? 
 Pity adorns th virtuous, but ne er dwells 
 Where hate, revenge, and rage distract the soul. 
 Sure, it is hate that hither urg d thy steps, 
 To view misfortune with an eye of triumph. 
 I know thou lov st me not, for I have dar d 
 To cross thy purposes, and, bold in censure, 
 Spoke of thy actions as they merited. 
 Besides, this hand twas slew the curs d Vonones. 
 
88 Representative Plays 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 And darst thou insolent to name Vonones? 
 To heap perdition on thy guilty soul? 
 There needs not this to urge me to revenge 
 But let me view this wonder of mankind, 
 Whose breath can set the bustling world in arms. 
 I see no dreadful terrors in his eye, 
 Nor gathers chilly fears around my heart, 
 Nor strains my gazing eye with admiration, 
 And, tho a woman, I can strike the blow. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Why gaze you on me thus? why hesitate? 
 Am I to die? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Thou art this dagger shall 
 Dissolve thy life, thy fleeting ghost I ll send 
 To wait Vonones in the shades below. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 And even there I ll triumph over him. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 O, thou vile homicide! thy fatal hand 
 Has robb d me of all joy; Vonones, to 
 Thy Manes this proud sacrifice I give. 
 That hand which sever d the friendship of thy 
 Soul and body, shall never draw again 
 Imbitt ring tears from sorr wing mother s eyes. 
 This, with the many tears I ve shed, receive 
 
 [Offers to stab him. 
 Ha! I d strike; what holds my hand? tis n t pity. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Nay, do not mock me, with the shew of death, 
 And yet deny the blessing; I have met 
 Your taunts with equal taunts, in hopes to urge 
 The blow with swift revenge; but since that fails, 
 I ll woo thee to compliance, teach my tongue 
 Persuasion s winning arts, to gain thy soul; 
 I ll praise thy clemency, in dying accents 
 Bless thee for, this, thy charitable deed. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 89 
 
 Oh! do not stand; see, how my bosom heaves 
 To meet the stroke; in pity let me die, 
 Tis all the happiness I now can know. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 How sweet the eloquence of dying men ! 
 Hence Poets feign d the music of the Swan, 
 When death upon her lays his icy hand, 
 She melts away in melancholy strains. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Play not thus cruel with my poor request, 
 But take my loving Father s thanks, and mine. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Thy Father cannot thank me now. 
 ARSACES. 
 
 He will, 
 
 Believe me, e en whilst dissolv d in ecstacy 
 On fond Evanthe s bosom, he will pause, 
 One moment from his joys, to bless the deed. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 What means this tumult in my breast? from whence 
 Proceeds this sudden change? my heart beats high, 
 And soft compassion makes me less than woman: 
 I ll search no more for what I fear to know. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Why drops the dagger from thy trembling hand? 
 Oh! yet be kind 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 No: now I d have thee live, 
 Since it is happiness to die: Tis pain 
 That I would give thee, thus I bid thee live; 
 Yes, I would have thee a whole age a dying, 
 And smile to see thy ling ring agonies. 
 All day I d watch thee, mark each heigh ten d pang, 
 While springing joy should swell my panting bosom; 
 This I would have But should this dagger give 
 Thy soul the liberty it fondly wishes, 
 Twould soar aloft, and mock my faint revenge. 
 
\, 
 
 9 Representative Plays 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 This mildness shews most foul, thy anger lovely. 
 Think that twas I who blasted thy fond hope, 
 Vonones now lies number d with the dead, 
 And all your joys are buried in his grave; 
 My hand untimely pluck d the precious flow r, 
 Before its shining beauties were display d. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Woman! Woman! where s thy resolution? 
 
 Where s thy revenge? Where s all thy hopes of vengeance? 
 Giv n to the winds Ha! is it pity? No 
 
 1 fear it wears another softer name. 
 
 I ll think no more, but rush to my revenge, 
 In spite of foolish fear, or woman s softness; 
 Be steady now my soul to thy resolves. 
 Yes, thou shalt die, thus, on thy breast, I write 
 Thy instant doom ha ! ye Gods ! 
 
 [QuEEN starts, as, in great fright, at hearing something. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Why this pause? 
 
 Why dost thou idly stand like imag d vengeance, 
 With harmless terrors threatning on thy brow, 
 With lifted arm, yet canst not strike the blow? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 It surely was the Echo to my fears, 
 The whistling wind, perhaps, which mimick d voice; 
 But thrice methought it loudly cry d, "Forbear." 
 Imagination hence I ll heed thee not 
 
 [Ghost of ARTABANUS rises. 
 Save me oh! save me ye eternal pow rs! 
 See! see it comes, surrounded with dread terrors 
 Hence hence ! nor blast me with that horrid sight 
 Throw off that shape, and search th infernal rounds 
 For horrid forms, there s none can shock like thine. 
 
 GHOST. 
 
 No; I will ever wear this form, thus e er 
 Appear before thee; glare upon thee thus, 
 Til desperation, join d to thy damn d crime, 
 
The Prince of Parthia 91 
 
 Shall wind thee to the utmost height of frenzy. 
 
 In vain you grasp the dagger in your hand, 
 
 In vain you dress your brows in angry frowns, 
 
 In vain you raise your threatning arm in air, 
 
 Secure, Arsaces triumphs o er your rage. 
 
 Guarded by fate, from thy accurs d revenge, 
 
 Thou canst not touch his life; the Gods have giv n 
 
 A softness to thy more than savage soul 
 
 Before unknown, to aid their grand designs. 
 
 Fate yet is lab ring with some great event, 
 
 But what must follow I m forbid to broach 
 
 Think, think of me, I sink to rise again, 
 
 To play in blood before thy aching sight, 
 
 And shock thy guilty soul with hell-born horrors 
 
 Think, think of Artabanus ! and despair [Sinks. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Think of thee, and despair? yes, I ll despair 
 Yet stay, oh ! stay, thou messenger of fate ! 
 Tell me Ha! tis gone and left me wretched 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Your eyes seem fix d upon some dreadful object, 
 Horror and anguish clothe your whiten d face, 
 And your frame shakes with terror ; I hear you speak 
 As seeming earnest in discourse, yet hear 
 No second voice. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 W 7 hat! saw st thou nothing? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Nothing. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 Nor hear d? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Nor Hear d. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Amazing spectacle! 
 
 Cold moist ning dews distil from ev ry pore, 
 I tremble like to palsied age Ye Gods! 
 Would I could leave this loath d detested being! 
 Oh ! all my brain s on fire I rave ! I rave ! [Ghost rises again. 
 
9 2 Representative Plays 
 
 Ha! it comes again see, it glides along 
 
 See, see, what streams of blood flow from its wounds! 
 
 A crimson torrent Shield me, oh ! shield me, heav n. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Great, and righteous Gods! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ah ! frown not on me 
 
 Why dost thou shake thy horrid locks at me? 
 Can I give immortality? tis gone [Ghost sinks. 
 
 It flies me, see, ah! stop it, stop it, haste 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Oh, piteous sight! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Hist! prithee, hist! oh death! 
 I m all on fire now freezing bolts of ice 
 Dart thro my breast Oh! burst ye cords of life 
 Ha! who are ye? Why do ye stare upon me? 
 Oh ! defend me, from these bick ring Furies ! 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Alas! her sense is lost, distressful Queen! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Help me, thou King of Gods! oh! help me! help! 
 See! they envir n me round Vonones too, 
 The foremost leading on the dreadful troop 
 But there, Vardanes beck ns me to shun 
 Their hellish rage I come, I come! 
 Ah ! they pursue me, with a scourge of fire. 
 
 [Runs out distracted. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 ARSACES [alone]. 
 
 Oh! horror! on the ground she breathless lies, 
 Silent, in death s cold sleep; the wall besmear d 
 WithJbraips gnH gnrp, tfip marks of her despair. 
 O guilt! how dreadful dost thou ever shew! 
 How lovely are the charms of innocence! 
 How beauteous tho in sorrows and distress! 
 Ha! what noise? [Clashing of swords. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 93 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 ARSACES, BARZAPHERNES and GOTARZES. 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 At length we ve forc d our entrance 
 
 my lov d Prince! to see thee thus, indeed, 
 Melts e en me to a woman s softness; see 
 My eyes o erflow Are these the ornaments 
 For Royal hands? rude manacles ! oh shameful ! 
 Is this thy room of state, this gloomy goal? 
 Without attendance, and thy bed the pavement? 
 But, ah! how diff rent was our parting last! 
 
 When flush d with vict ry, reeking from the slaughter, 
 You saw Arabia s Sons scour o er the plain 
 In shameful flight, before your conqu ring sword; 
 Then shone you like the God of battle. 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Welcome ! 
 
 Welcome, my loyal friends! Barzaphernes ! 
 My good old soldier, to my bosom thus! 
 Gotarzes, my lov d Brother! now I m happy. 
 But, say, my soldier, why these threatning arms? 
 Why am I thus releas d by force? my Father, 
 
 1 should have said the King, had he relented, 
 He d not have us d this method to enlarge me. 
 Alas! I fear, too forward in your love, 
 
 You ll brand me with the rebel s hated name. 
 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 I am by nature blunt the soldier s manner. 
 Unus d to the soft arts practis d at courts. 
 Nor can I move the passions, or disguise 
 The sorr wing tale to mitigate the smart. 
 Then seek it not: I would sound the alarm, 
 Loud as the trumpet s clangour, in your ears; 
 Nor will I hail you, as our Parthia s King, 
 Til you ve full reveng d your Father s murther. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Murther? good heav n! 
 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 The tale requires some time; 
 And opportunity must not be lost; 
 
94 Representative Plays 
 
 Your traitor Brother, who usurps your rights, 
 
 Must, ere his faction gathers to a head, 
 
 Have from his brows his new-born honours torn. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 What, dost thou say, murther d by Vardanes? 
 Impious parricide! detested villain! 
 Give me a sword, and onward to the charge, 
 Stop gushing tears, for I will weep in blood, 
 And sorrow with the groans of dying men. 
 Revenge! revenge! oh! all my soul s on fire! 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Twas not Vardanes struck the fatal blow, 
 Though, great in pow r usurp d, he dares support 
 The actor, vengeful Lysias; to his breast 
 He clasps, with grateful joy, the bloody villain; 
 Who soon meant, with ruffian wiles, to cut 
 You from the earth, and also me. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Just heav ns! 
 
 But, gentle Brother, how didst thou elude 
 The vigilant, suspicious, tyrant s craft? 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Phraates, by an accident, obtain d 
 The knowledge of the deed, and warn d by him 
 I bent my flight toward the camp, to seek 
 Protection and revenge; but scarce I d left 
 The city when I o ertook the Gen ral. 
 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 Ere the sun rose I gain d th intelligence: 
 The soldiers when they heard the dreadful tale, 
 First stood aghast, and motionless with horror. 
 Then suddenly, inspir d with noble rage, 
 Tore up their ensigns, calling on their leaders 
 To march them to the city instantly. 
 I, with some trusty few, with speed came forward, 
 To raise our friends within, and gain your freedom. 
 Nor hazard longer, by delays, your safety. 
 Already faithful Phraates has gain d 
 A num rous party of the citizens; 
 
The Prince of Parthia 95 
 
 With these we mean t attack the Royal Palace, 
 Crush the bold tyrant with surprise, while sunk 
 In false security; and vengeance wreck, 
 Ere that he thinks the impious crime be known. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 O! parent being, Ruler of yon heav n! 
 Who bade creation spring to order, hear me. 
 What ever sins are laid upon my soul, 
 Now let them not prove heavy on this day, 
 To sink my arm, or violate my cause. 
 The sacred rights of Kings, my Country s wrongs, 
 The punishment of fierce impiety, 
 And a lov d Father s death, call forth my sword. 
 
 Now on ; I feel all calm within my breast, 
 And ev ry busy doubt is hush d to rest; 
 Smile heav n propitious on my virtuous cause, 
 Nor aid the wretch who dares disdain your laws. 
 End of the Fourth Act. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. The Palace. 
 
 The Curtain rises, slowly, to soft music, and discovers EVANTHE 
 sleeping on a sofa; after the music ceases, VARDANES enters. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Now shining Empire standing at the goal, 
 Beck ns me forward to increase my speed; 
 But, yet, Arsaces lives, bane to my hopes, 
 Lysias I ll urge to ease me of his life, 
 Then give the villain up to punishment. 
 The shew of justice gains the changeling croud, 
 Besides, I ne er will harbour in my bosom 
 Such serpents, ever ready with their stings 
 But now one hour for love and fair Evanthe 
 Hence with ambition s cares see, where reclin d, 
 In slumbers all her sorrows are dismiss d, 
 Sleep seems to heighten ev ry beauteous feature, 
 And adds peculiar softness to each grace. 
 She weeps in dreams some lively sorrow pains her 
 I ll take one kiss oh! what a balmy sweetness! 
 
96 Representative Plays 
 
 Give me another and another still 
 
 For ever thus I d dwell upon her lips. 
 
 Be still my heart, and calm unruly transports. 
 
 Wake her, with music, from this mimic death. 
 
 [Music sounds. 
 SONG. 
 Tell me, Phillis, tell me why, 
 
 You appear so wond rous coy, 
 When that glow, and sparkling eye, 
 Speak you want to taste the joy? 
 Prithee, give this fooling o er, 
 Nor torment your lover more. 
 
 While youth is warm within our veins, 
 
 And nature tempts us to be gay, 
 Give to pleasure loose the reins, 
 
 Love and youth fly swift away. 
 Youth in pleasure should be spent, 
 Age will come, we ll then repent. 
 
 EVANTHE [waking]. 
 
 I come, ye lovely shades Ha! am I here? 
 Still in the tyrant s palace? Ye bright pow rs! 
 Are all my blessings then but vis onary? 
 Methought I was arriv d on that blest shore 
 Where happy souls for ever dwell, crown d with 
 Immortal bliss; Arsaces led me through 
 The flow ry groves, while all around me gleam d 
 Thousand and thousand shades, who welcom d me 
 With pleasing songs of joy Vardanes, ha! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Why beams the angry lightning of thine eye 
 Against thy sighing slave? Is love a crime? 
 Oh ! if to dote, with such excess of passion 
 As rises e en to mad extravagance 
 Is criminal, I then am so, indeed. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 Away! vile man! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 If to pursue thee e er 
 With all the humblest offices of love, 
 
The Prince of Parthia 97 
 
 If ne er to know one single thought that does 
 Not bear thy bright idea, merits scorn 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Hence from my sight nor let me, thus, pollute 
 Mine eyes, with looking on a wretch like thee, 
 Thou cause of all my ills; I sicken at 
 Thy loathsome presence 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Tis not always thus, 
 
 Nor dost thou ever meet the sounds of love 
 With rage and fierce disdain: Arsaces, soon, 
 Could smooth thy brow, and melt thy icy breast. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Ha! does it gall thee? Yes, he could, he could; 
 Oh ! when he speaks, such sweetness dwells upon 
 His accents, all my soul dissolves to love, 
 And warm desire; such truth and beauty join d! 
 His looks are soft and kind, such gentleness 
 Such virtue swells his bosom ! in his eye 
 Sits majesty, commanding ev ry heart. 
 Strait as the pine, the pride of all the grove, 
 More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far, 
 Than asphodels or roses infant sweets. 
 Oh ! I could dwell forever on his praise, 
 Yet think eternity was scarce enough 
 To tell the mighty theme; here in my breast 
 His image dwells, but one dear thought of him, 
 When fancy paints his Person to my eye, 
 As he was wont in tenderness dissolv d, 
 Sighing his vows, or kneeling at my feet, 
 Wipes off all mem ry of my wretchedness. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 I know this brav ry is affected, yet 
 It gives me joy, to think my rival only 
 Can in imagination taste thy beauties. 
 Let him, twill ease him in his solitude, 
 And gild the horrors of his prison-house, 
 Till death shall 
 
98 Representative Plays 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Ha! what was that? till death ye Gods! 
 Ah, now I feel distress s tort ring pang 
 Thou canst not, villain darst not think his death 
 O mis ry! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Naught but your kindness saves him, 
 Yet bless me, with your love, and he is safe ; 
 But the same frown which kills my growing hopes, 
 Gives him to death. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 O horror, I could die 
 
 Ten thousand times to save the lov d Arsaces. 
 Teach me the means, ye pow rs, how to save him: 
 Then lead me to what ever is my fate. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Not only shall he die, but to thy view 
 I ll bring the scene, those eyes that take delight 
 In cruelty, shall have enough of death. 
 E en here, before thy sight, he shall expire, 
 Not sudden, but by ling ring torments; all 
 That mischief can invent shall be practis d 
 To give him pain ; to lengthen out his woe 
 I ll search around the realm for skillful men, 
 To find new tortures. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh ! wrack not thus my soul ! 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 The sex o erflows with various humours, he 
 Who catches not their smiles the very moment, 
 Will lose the blessing I ll improve this softness. [Aside to her. 
 Heav n never made thy beauties to destroy, 
 They were to bless, and not to blast mankind; 
 Pity should dwell within thy lovely breast, 
 That sacred temple ne er was form d for hate 
 A habitation; but a residence 
 For love and gaiety. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 Oh! heav ns! 
 
 
The Prince of Parthia 
 
 99 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 That sigh, 
 Proclaims your kind consent to save Arsaces. 
 
 [Laying hold of her. 
 EVANTHE. 
 Ha! villain, off unhand me hence 
 
 VARDANES. 
 In vain 
 
 Is opportunity to those, who spend 
 An idle courtship on the fair, they well 
 Deserve their fate, if they re disdain d ; her charms 
 To rush upon, and conquer opposition, 
 Gains the Fair one s praise; an active lover 
 Suits, who lies aside the coxcomb s empty whine, 
 And forces her to bliss. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Ah ! hear me, hear me, 
 
 Thus kneeling, with my tears, I do implore thee: 
 Think on my innocence, nor force a joy 
 Which will ever fill thy soul with anguish. 
 Seek not to load my ills with infamy, 
 Let me not be a mark for bitter scorn, 
 To bear proud virtue s taunts and mocking jeers, 
 And like a flow r, of all its sweetness robb d, 
 Be trod to earth, neglected and disdain d, 
 And spurn d by ev ry vulgar saucy foot. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Speak, speak forever music s in thy voice, 
 Still attentive will I listen to thee, 
 Be hush d as night, charm d with the magic sound. 
 
 , EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh ! teach me, heav n, soft moving eloquence, 
 To bend his stubborn soul to gentleness. 
 Where is thy virtue? Where thy princely lustre? 
 Ah ! wilt thou meanly stoop to do a wrong, 
 And stain thy honour with so foul a blot? 
 Thou who shouldst be a guard to innocence. 
 Leave force to brutes for pleasure is not found 
 Where still the soul s averse; horror and guilt, 
 Distraction, desperation chace her hence. 
 
ioo Representative Plays 
 
 Some happier gentle Fair one you may find, 
 Whose yielding heart may bend to meet your flame, 
 In mutual love soft joys alone are found; 
 When souls are drawn by secret sympathy, 
 And virtue does on virtue smile. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 No more 
 
 Her heav nly tongue will charm me from th intent 
 Hence coward softness, force shall make me blest. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Assist me, ye bless t pow rs! oh! strike, ye Gods! 
 Strike me, with thunder dead, this moment, e er 
 I suffer violation 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Tis in vain, 
 
 The idle pray rs by fancy d grief put up, 
 Are blown by active winds regardless by, 
 Nor ever reach the heav ns. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 VARDANES, EVANTHE and LYSIAS. 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 Arm, arm, my Lord! 
 
 / VARDANES. 
 
 * jDamnation ! why this interruption now? 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Oh! arm! my noble Prince, the foe s upon us. 
 Arsaces, by Barzaphernes releas d, 
 Join d with the citizens, assaults the Palace, 
 And swears revenge for Artabanus death. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Ha! what? revenge for Artabanus death? 
 Tis the curse of Princes that their counsels, 
 Which should be kept like holy mysteries, 
 Can never rest in silent secrecy. 
 Fond of employ, some cursed tattling tongue 
 Will still divulge them. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 101 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Sure some fiend from hell, 
 In mischief eminent, to cross our views, 
 Has giv n th intelligence, for man could not. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Oh! ever blest event! All-gracious heav n! 
 This beam of joy revives me. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 VARDANES, EVANTHE, LYSIAS, to them, an OFFICER. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Haste! my Lord! 
 
 Or all will soon be lost; tho thrice repuls d 
 By your e erfaithful guards, they still return 
 With double fury. 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Hence, then, idle love 
 
 Come forth, my trusty sword curs d misfortune! 
 Had I but one short hour, without reluctance, 
 I d meet them, tho they brib d the pow rs of hell, 
 To place their furies in the van: Yea, rush 
 To meet this dreadful Brother midst the war 
 Haste to the combat Now a crown or death 
 The wretch who dares to give an inch of ground 
 Till I retire, shall meet the death he shun d. 
 Away away! delays are dang rous now 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 EVANTHE [alone]. 
 
 Now heav n be partial to Arsaces cause, 
 Nor leave to giddy chance when virtue strives; 
 Let victory sit on his warlike helm, 
 For justice draws his sword: be thou his aid, 
 And let the opposer s arm sink with the weight 
 Of his most impious crimes be still my heart, 
 For all that thou canst aid him with is pray r. 
 Oh! that I had the strength of thousands in me! 
 Or that my voice could wake the sons of men 
 To join, and crush the tyrant! 
 
IO2 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE V. 
 EVANTHE and CLEONE. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 My Cleone 
 Welcome thou partner of my joys and sorrows. 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 Oh! yonder terror triumphs uncontroul d, 
 And glutton death seems never satisfy d. 
 Each soft sensation lost in thoughtless rage, 
 And breast to breast, oppos d in furious war, 
 The fiery Chiefs receive the vengeful steel. 
 O er lifeless heaps of men the soldiers climb 
 Still eager for the combat, while the ground 
 Made slipp ry by the gushing streams of gore 
 Is treach rous to their feet. Oh! horrid sight! 
 Too much for me to stand, my life was chill d, 
 As from the turret I beheld the fight, 
 It forc d me to retire. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 What of Arsaces? 
 
 CLEONE. 
 
 I saw him active in the battle, now, 
 Like light ning, piercing thro the thickest foe, 
 Then scorning to disgrace his sword in low 
 Plebeian blood loud for Vardanes call d 
 To meet him singly, and decide the war. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Save him, ye Gods! oh! all my soul is fear 
 Fly, fly Cleone, to the tow r again, 
 See how fate turns the ballance; and pursue 
 Arsaces with thine eye ; mark ev ry blow, 
 Observe if some bold villain dares to urge 
 His sword presumptuous at my Hero s breast. 
 Haste, my Cleone, haste, to ease my fears. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 103 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 EVANTHE [alone]. 
 
 Ah! what a cruel torment is suspense! 
 My anxious soul is torn twixt love and fear, 
 Scarce can I please me with one fancied bliss 
 Which kind imagination forms, but reason, 
 Proud, surly reason, snatches the vain joy, 
 And gives me up again to sad distress. 
 Yet I can die, and should Arsaces fall 
 This fatal draught shall ease me of my sorrows. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 CLEONE [alone]. 
 
 Oh! horror! horror! horror! cruel Gods! 
 I saw him fall I did pierc d thro with wounds 
 Curs d! curs d Vardanes! hear d the gen ral cry, 
 Which burst, as tho all nature had dissolv d. 
 Hark! how they shout! the noise seems coming this way. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES and OFFICERS, with 
 VARDANES and LYSIAS, prisoners. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Thanks to the ruling pow rs who blest our arms, 
 Prepare the sacrifices to the Gods, 
 And grateful songs of tributary praise. 
 Gotarzes, fly, my Brother, find Evanthe, 
 And bring the lovely mourner to my arms. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 Yes, I ll obey you, with a willing speed. [Exit GOTARZES. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Thou, Lysias, from yon tow r s aspiring height 
 Be hurl d to death, thy impious hands are stain d 
 With royal blood Let the traitor s body 
 Be giv n to hungry dogs. 
 
IO4 Representative Plays 
 
 LYSIAS. 
 
 Welcome, grim death! 
 
 I ve fed thy maw with Kings, and lack no more 
 Revenge Now, do thy duty, Officer. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Yea, and would lead all traitors gladly thus, 
 The boon of their deserts. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 ARSACES, VARDANES, BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 But for Vardanes, 
 The Brother s name forgot 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 You need no more, 
 
 I know the rest Ah! death is near, my wounds 
 Permit me not to live my breath grows short, 
 Curs d be Phraates arm which stop d my sword, 
 Ere it had reach d thy proud exulting heart. 
 But the wretch paid dear for his presuming; 
 A just reward. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 He sinks, yet bear him up 
 
 VARDANES. 
 
 Curs d be the multitude which o erpowVd me, 
 And beat me to the ground, cover d with wounds 
 But, oh! tis done! my ebbing life is done 
 I feel death s hand upon me Yet, I die 
 Just as I wish, and daring for a crown, 
 Life without rule is my disdain; I scorn 
 To swell a haughty Brother s sneaking train, 
 To wait upon his ear with flatt ring tales, 
 And court his smiles; come, death, in thy cold arms, 
 Let me forget Ambition s mighty toil, 
 And shun the triumphs of a hated Brother 
 O ! bear me off Let not his eyes enjoy 
 My agonies My sight grows dim with death. 
 
 [They bear him off. 
 
The Prince of Parthia 105 
 
 SCENE (the Last}. 
 ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES, and EVANTHE supported. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Lead me, oh ! lead me, to my lov d Arsaces. 
 Where is he? 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Ha! what s this? Just heav ns! my fears 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Arsaces, oh! thus circl d in thy arms, 
 I die without a pang. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! die? why stare ye, 
 Ye lifeless ghosts? Have none of ye a tongue 
 To tell me I m undone? 
 
 GOTARZES. A AjJ) 
 
 Soon, my Brother, ^ 
 
 Too soon, you ll know it by the sad effects; 
 And if my grief will yet permit my tongue 
 To do its office, thou shalt hear the tale. 
 Cleone, from the turret, view d the battle, 
 And on Phraates fix d her erring sight, 
 Thy brave unhappy friend she took for thee, 
 By his garb deceiv d, which like to thine he wore. 
 Still with her eye she follow d him, where e er 
 He pierc d the foe, and to Vardanes sword 
 She saw him fall a hapless victim, then, 
 In agonies of grief, flew to Evanthe, 
 And told the dreadful tale the fatal bowl 
 I saw 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Be dumb, nor ever give again 
 Fear to the heart, with thy ill-boding voice. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Here, I ll rest, till death, on thy lov d bosom, 
 Here let me sigh my Oh ! the poison works 
 
 ARSACES. 
 Oh! horror! 
 
io6 Representative Plays 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Cease this sorrow pains me more 
 Than all the wringing agonies of death, 
 The dreadful parting of the soul from, this, 
 Its wedded clay Ah! there that pang shot thro 
 My throbbing heart 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Save her, ye Gods! oh! save her! 
 And I will bribe ye with clouds of incense; 
 Such num rous sacrifices, that your altars 
 Shall even sink beneath the mighty load. 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 When I am dead, dissolv d to native dust, 
 Yet let me live in thy dear mem ry 
 One tear will not be much to give Evanthe. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 My eyes shall e er two running fountains be, 
 And wet thy urn with everflowing tears, 
 Joy ne er again within my breast shall find 
 A residence Oh! speak, once more 
 
 EVANTHE. 
 
 Life s just out 
 
 My Father Oh ! protect his honour d age, 
 And give him shelter from the storms of fate, 
 He s long been fortune s sport Support me Ah! 
 I can no more my glass is spent farewell 
 Forever Arsaces ! Oh ! [Dies. 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Stay, oh! stay, 
 
 Or take me with thee dead! she s cold and dead! 
 Her eyes are clos d, and all my joys are flown 
 Now burst ye elements, from your restraint, 
 Let order cease, and chaos be again. 
 Break! break, tough heart! oh! torture life dissolve 
 Why stand ye idle? Have I not one friend 
 To kindly free me from this pain? One blow, 
 One friendly blow would give me ease. 
 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 The Gods 
 Forefend! Pardon me, Royal Sir, if I 
 
The Prince of Parthia 107 
 
 Dare, seemingly disloyal, seize your sword, 
 Despair may urge you far 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ha! traitors! rebels! 
 Hoary rev rend Villain! what, disarm me? 
 Give me my sword what, stand ye by, and see 
 Your Prince insulted? Are ye rebels all? 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 Be calm, my gracious Lord ! 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Oh! my lov d Brother! 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Gotarzes too! all! all! conspir d against me? 
 Still, are ye all resolv d that I must live, 
 And feel the momentary pangs of death? 
 Ha! this, shall make a passage for my soul 
 
 [Snatches BARZAPHERNES sword. 
 
 Out, out vile cares, from your distress d abode [Stabs himself. 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 Oh! ye eternal Gods! 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Distraction! heav ns! 
 I shall run mad 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 Ah! tis in vain to grieve 
 The steel has done its part, and I m at rest. 
 Gotarzes, wear my crown, and be thou blest, 
 Cherish, Barzaphernes, my trusty chief 
 I faint, oh! lay me by Evanthe s side 
 Still wedded in our deaths Bethas 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 Despair, 
 
 My Lord, has broke his heart, I saw him stretch d, 
 Along the flinty pavement, in his gaol 
 Cold, lifeless 
 
 ARSACES. 
 
 He s happy then had he heard 
 This tale, he d Ah ! Evanthe chides my soul. 
 For ling ring here so long another pang 
 And all the world, adieu oh ! adieu ! [Dies. 
 
io8 Representative Plays 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 Oh! 
 
 Fix me, heav n, immoveable, a statue, 
 
 And free me from o erwhelming tides of grief. 
 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 Oh! my lov d Prince, I soon shall follow thee; 
 Thy laurel d glories whither are they fled? 
 Would I had died before this fatal day! 
 Triumphant garlands pride my soul no more, 
 No more the lofty voice of war can charm 
 And why then am I here? Thus then 
 
 [Offers to stab himself. 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Ah! hold, 
 
 Nor rashly urge the blow think of me, and 
 Live My heart is wrung with streaming anguish, 
 Tore with the smarting pangs of woe, yet, will I 
 Dare to live, and stem misfortune s billows. 
 Live then, and be the guardian of my youth, 
 And lead me on thro virtue s rugged path. 
 
 BARZAPHERNES. 
 
 O, glorious youth, thy words have rous d the 
 Drooping genius of my soul ; thus, let me 
 Clasp thee, in my aged arms; yes, I will live 
 Live, to support thee in thy kingly rights, 
 And when thou rt firmly fix d, my task s perform d, 
 My honourable task Then I ll retire, 
 Petition gracious heav n to bless my work, 
 And in the silent grave forget my cares. 
 
 GOTARZES. 
 
 Now, to the Temple, let us onward move, 
 And strive t appease the angry pow rs above. 
 Fate yet may have some ills reserv d in store, 
 Continu d curses, to torment us more. 
 Tho , in their district, Monarchs rule alone, 
 Jove sways the mighty Monarch on his throne: 
 Nor can the shining honours which they wear, 
 Purchase one joy, or save them from one care. 
 
 Finis. 
 
PONTEACH 
 By ROBERT ROGERS 
 
MAJOR ROBERT ROGERS 
 
 
MAJOR ROBERT ROGERS 
 
 (1727-1795) 
 
 Robert Rogers, a soldier of fortune, is the Davy Crockett of 
 Colonial times. Born at Dumbarton, New Hampshire, on 
 November I7th (some authorities say 1730, another 1731, while 
 the Dictionary of National Biography says 1727), he was the son 
 of James Rogers, a farmer living in a frontier cabin at Methuen 1 
 in upper Massachusetts. 
 
 Robert s boyhood was spent in an atmosphere characteristic 
 of pioneer life. He had scarcely passed his fifteenth year (Nevins 
 claims in 1746), when he helped withstand an attack of Indians 
 near his home, and this may be considered his first active experi 
 ence with the Red Man. From this time on, the history of the 
 career of Robert Rogers is the history of the efforts of the Colo 
 nists against the Indians as far west as Detroit, and as far south 
 as South Carolina. The necessity which confronted all of the 
 Colonists made of young Rogers one of the most expert hunters 
 of the period, and in this connection he was associated with the 
 famous John Stark, of Green Mountain Boys reputation. In the 
 latter s Memoir, written by Caleb Stark, we have as graphic a 
 pen-picture of Rogers, the hunter, at twenty-two, as we have 
 actual likenesses of Rogers in the pictures of the time. 1 
 
 Evidently Rogers flourished financially at this period, for we 
 find him buying land in Massachusetts in 1753. His activity 
 as a soldier in the French and Indian War put him in command 
 of a company, known as "Rogers Rangers," and he participated 
 in the Siege of Detroit against Pontiac and the French. This 
 experience of his must have fired Rogers with the desire, after 
 careful consideration of the condition of the Indian, to put his 
 special plea for the cause of the Red Man in some permanent 
 literary form, for "Ponteach" was published in 1766, after Rogers 
 had left America, had gone to London, and thence had taken 
 vessel for Algiers, where he fought under Dey. 
 
 By 1761, Rogers had so far advanced in worldly standing that 
 he could afford to turn his attention to family affairs. We find 
 
 1 These pictures were struck off on October i, 1776. See Smith s "British Mez 
 zotint Portraits." 
 
112 Representative Plays 
 
 him visiting Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where Elizabeth, 
 daughter of the Reverend Arthur Browne, lived. The two were 
 married on June 3Oth of that year; but evidently there was 
 about Robert Rogers something his father-in-law did not quite 
 relish. For, in 1763, a dispute arose between the two, because 
 of Rogers increasing dissipation. That they did not reach, 
 however, any immediate open rupture, may have been due very 
 largely to the fact that Rogers was becoming quite a land-owner 
 in New York and New Hampshire. It was not until March 4, 
 1778, after Rogers had gone through many and varied experi 
 ences, not the least of which was serving a term in the Debtors 
 Prison in England, that his wife was granted, by the New Hamp 
 shire Legislature, a decree of divorce. She thereupon married 
 Captain John Poach. 
 
 Naturally, most of the interest attached to Rogers is historical, 
 not literary. His career in the French and Indian War, outlined 
 by him in his "Journal of the French and Indian War," which 
 was published in London in 1765; his activity in the Cherokee 
 War in South Carolina; 1 his association with William Bird, when 
 he had an opportunity of studying the methods of Indian guides; 
 his political ambitions when he returned to England in 1765 
 all of these are matters for the historian, and have received ade 
 quate consideration by Francis Parkman and other writers. 
 During these activities, Rogers was not idle with his pen. He 
 kept his Journals, and they clearly reveal how much of a ranger 
 he was. After the fashion of the times, when he returned to 
 England, anxious to let his friends know of the conditions in 
 America, he not only published his Journals (1769), but also a 
 concise account of North America (1770). But there must have 
 been something about Rogers as a soldier of fortune that was 
 not as straight or as honest as Davy Crockett. We find him, for 
 example, entrusted with the post of Governor of Mackinac, and 
 conducting affairs so illy that he was tried for treason. He may 
 have advanced as a soldier through the successive ranks to 
 Major, but it would seem that the higher up he advanced in 
 position the more unscrupulous he became. 
 
 After serving his term in the Debtors Prison, which began on 
 June 14, 1773, he returned to America, at the beginning of the 
 Revolution. Among his Colonial friends, he not only counted 
 John Stark, the ranger, but Israel Putnam as well, both of them 
 
 ^ee the South Carolina Gazette files for 1760, 1761. 
 
Ponteach 113 
 
 ardent patriots and upholders of the American cause. It would 
 seem, in 1775, that Rogers, to all outward appearance, was 
 himself in sympathy with America. He professed being the 
 staunch lover of those principles which America was upholding. 
 But General Washington soon had cause to doubt his loyalty, 
 and he was watched. With the result that his arrest was ordered, 
 and thereupon he confessed his adherence to the Crown. Rogers 
 then joined the forces of General Howe, bringing with him an 
 invaluable knowledge of the land in New York and New Jersey, 
 and adjacent territory. He was put in command of a company, 
 known as the "Queen s Rangers," and throughout the Revolu 
 tion fought bravely on the opposing side. After returning to 
 England, he battled for further recognition, but never received 
 the full honours he courted. He died on May 18, 1795, in South 
 London. 
 
 "Ponteach" was probably never given in Rogers s time. There 
 is no record of its even having been considered by any of the 
 theatrical companies. It was published in 1766, with a London 
 imprint on the title-page. 1 There is some slight probability that 
 it was given an amateur production at Lake George by the sum 
 mer residents there certainly an appropriate spot to present a 
 play by Rogers, inasmuch as the Ranger was known in that 
 neighbourhood, and there is now familiar to all visitors a place 
 called "Rogers s Slide," marking one of his escapades with the 
 Indians. 
 
 In the present collection, the editor has followed the text of 
 the 1766 edition, fully realizing the consistent changes made by 
 Mr. Allan Nevins in his edition of the play which, with an Intro 
 duction, Biography, and invaluable historical notes, was pub 
 lished in 1914 by the Caxton Club of Chicago. 2 
 
 This piece is one which is not only interesting as representative 
 of the early type of Indian drama in America, but it is also inter 
 esting as reflective of the attitude of a dramatist with a problem 
 to propound. "Ponteach" is our first American problem play. 
 Parkman claims that at least part of it was written by Rogers, 
 thus throwing doubt on his entire claim to authorship. There 
 is not only a dignity displayed in the drawing of the main char- 
 
 1 Ponteach :/or the/Savages of America,/A/Tragedy/ [Major Robert Rogers.] 
 London -./Printed for the Author; and Sold by J. Millan, /opposite the Admiralty, 
 Whitehall./M.DCC.LXVI./ [Price 2s. 6d.J 
 
 2 Ponteach/or the/Savages of America/A Tragedy/By Robert Rogers/With an 
 Introduction/and a Biography of the Author/By Allan Nevins/Chicago/The Caxton 
 Club/1914/ 
 
 
H4 Representative Plays 
 
 acter of the Indian, but there is a very naive attempt at subtle 
 humour in the characters of the Englishmen. There is no distinct 
 excellence in depicting Indian character as such, after the 
 romantic manner of Cooper, although Rogers, with his English 
 tradition, has been able to lend to his dialogue a certain dignity of 
 diction which is striking, and which gives the play a decided 
 literary value. Taken, however, as an historical document 
 and Mr. Nevins does this one can trace in "Ponteach" the 
 whole range of Rogers s experience as an Indian fighter. There 
 are constant allusions in the text to matters which Mr. Nevins 
 has found necessary to explain in copious footnotes, and therefore 
 to the student I would recommend this single edition of the play. 
 "Ponteach" is published here, not from a scholarly standpoint, 
 but simply as an example of early Indian drama. 
 
 Of these Indian dramas, there are many examples in the 
 early history of American playwriting. Laurence Hutton has an 
 entertaining chapter on the subject in his "Curiosities of the 
 American Stage," in which he enumerates such titles as "Oro- 
 loosa," "Oroonoka," "Miautoumah," to say nothing of "Hia 
 watha." "Metamora; or, The Last of the Wampanoags" was 
 brought to success through the powerful acting of Edwin Forrest, 
 December 15, 1829. William Wheatley, of the Park Theatre, 
 was likewise famed for his Indian impersonations. Among other 
 more or less well-known plays of the species, enumerated by 
 Wegelin, are: 
 
 F. DEFFENBACH. "Onliata; or, The Indian Heroine." Philadel 
 phia. 1821. 
 
 JOSEPH DODDRIDGE. "Logan: The Last of the Race of Skikel- 
 lemus, Chief of the Cayuga Nation." Buffalo Creek, Brooke 
 Co., Va. 1823. 
 
 G. W. P. CUSTIS. "The Indian Prophecy." A National Drama 
 in Two Acts, founded on a most interesting and romantic 
 occurrence in the life of General Washington. Georgetown. 
 1828. 
 
 NATHANIEL DEERING. "Carrabasset; or, The Last of the Nor- 
 
 ridgewocks." A Tragedy in Five Acts. Portland. 1830. 
 W. H. C. HOSMER. "The Fall of Tecumseh." Avon. 1830. 
 
PONTEACH: 
 
 OR T H E 
 
 Savages of America. 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for the Author ; and Sold by J. MILL AN, 
 oppofite the Admiralty -, Whitehall. 
 
 M.DCC.LXV1. 
 [ Price as. 6d, ] 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 PONTEACH, Indian Emperor on the Great Lakes 
 
 PHILIP and CHEKITAN, Sons of Ponteach. 
 
 TENESCO, 
 
 ASTINACO, 
 THE BEAR, 
 THE WOLF, 
 
 TORAX and 
 MONELIA 
 
 INDIAN 
 FRENCH 
 
 SHARP, 
 GRIPE, 
 CATCHUM, 
 
 Colonel COCKUM, 
 Captain FRISK, 
 
 M DOLE and 
 MURPHEY, 
 
 HONNYMAN and 
 ORSBOURN, 
 
 His chief Counsellor and Generalissimo. 
 Indian Kings who join with Ponteach. 
 
 Son and Daughter to Hendrick, Em 
 peror of the Mohawks. 
 
 Conjurer. 
 Priest. 
 
 Three English Governors. 
 
 Commanders at a Garrison in Pon- 
 teach s Country. 
 
 Two Indian Traders. 
 
 I Two English Hunters. 
 
 Mrs. HONNYMAN, Wife to Honnyman, the Hunter. 
 
 Warriors, Messengers, &c. 
 
PONTEACH : 
 OR THE SAVAGES OF AMERICA 
 
 ACT I. 
 SCENE I. An Indian Trading House. 
 
 Enter M DoLE and MURPHEY, two Indian Traders, 
 and their Servants. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 So, Murphey, you are come to try your Fortune 
 Among the Savages in this wild Desart? 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 Ay, any Thing to get an honest Living, 
 Which faith I find it hard enough to do; 
 Times are so dull, and Traders are so plenty, 
 That Gains are small, and Profits come but slow. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Are you experienc d in this kind of Trade? 
 Know you the Principles by which it prospers, 
 And how to make it lucrative and safe? 
 If not, you re like a Ship without a Rudder, 
 That drives at random, and must surely sink. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 I m unacquainted with your Indian Commerce, 
 And gladly would I learn the Arts from you, 
 Who re old, and practis d in them many Years. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 That is the curst Misfortune of our Traders, 
 A thousand Fools attempt to live this Way, 
 Who might as well turn Ministers of State. 
 But, as you are a Friend, I will inform you 
 Of all the secret Arts by which we thrive, 
 
n8 Representative Plays 
 
 Which if all practis d, we might all grow rich, 
 Nor circumvent each other in our Gains. 
 What have you got to part with to the Indians? 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 I ve Rum and Blankets, Wampum, Powder, Bells, 
 And such-like Trifles as they re wont to prize. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 "Pis very well : your Articles are good : 
 
 But now the Thing s to make a Profit from them, 
 
 Worth all your Toil and Pains of coming hither. 
 
 Our fundamental Maxim is this, 
 
 That it s no Crime to cheat and gull an Indian. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 How! Not a Sin to cheat an Indian, say you? 
 Are they not Men? hav n t they a Right to Justice 
 As well as we, though savage in their Manners? 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Ah! If you boggle here, I say no more; 
 This is the very Quintessence of Trade, 
 And ev ry Hope of Gain depends upon it; 
 None who neglect it ever did grow rich, 
 Or ever will, or can by Indian Commerce. 
 By this old Ogden built his stately House, 
 Purchas d Estates, and grew a little King. 
 He, like an honest Man, bought all by Weight, 
 And made the ign rant Savages believe 
 That his Right Foot exactly weigh d a Pound : 
 By this for many Years he bought their Furs, 
 And died in Quiet like an honest Dealer. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 Well, I ll not stick at what is necessary: 
 But his Device is now grown old and stale, 
 Nor could I manage such a barefac d Fraud. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 A thousand Opportunities present 
 
 To take Advantage of their Ignorance; 
 
 But the great Engine I employ is Rum, 
 
Ponteach 119 
 
 More powerful made by certain strength ning Drugs. 
 
 This I distribute with a lib ral Hand, 
 
 Urge them to drink till they grow mad and valiant; 
 
 Which makes them think me generous and just, 
 
 And gives full Scope to practise all my Art. 
 
 I then begin my Trade with water d Rum, 
 
 The cooling Draught well suits their scorching Throats. 
 
 Their Fur and Peltry come in quick Return : 
 
 My Scales are honest, but so well contriv d, 
 
 That one small Slip will turn Three Pounds to One; 
 
 Which they, poor silly Souls! ignorant of Weights 
 
 And Rules of Balancing, do not perceive. 
 
 But here they come; you ll see how I proceed. 
 
 Jack, is the Rum prepar d as I commanded? 
 
 JACK. 
 Yes, sir, all s ready when you please to call. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Bring here the Scales and Weights immediately. 
 You see the Trick is easy and conceal d. 
 
 [Shewing how to slip the scales. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 By Jupiter, it s artfully contriv d; 
 And was I King, I swear I d knight th Inventor. 
 Tom, mind the Part that you will have to act. 
 
 TOM. 
 
 Ah, never fear, I ll do as well as Jack. 
 But then, you know, an honest Servant s Pains 
 Deserve Reward. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 O! I ll take care of that. 
 
 Enter a number of INDIANS with packs of fur. 
 
 IST INDIAN. 
 So, what you trade with Indians here to-day? 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Yes, if my Goods will suit, and we agree. 
 
I2O Representative Plays 
 
 2ND INDIAN. 
 Tis Rum we want, we re tired, hot, and thirsty. 
 
 3RD INDIAN. 
 You, Mr. Englishman, have you got Rum? 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Jack, bring a Bottle, pour them each a Gill. 
 
 You know which Cask contains the Rum. The Rum? 
 
 IST INDIAN. 
 It s good strong Rum, I feel it very soon. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Give me a Glass. Here s Honesty in Trade; 
 We English always drink before we deal. 
 
 2ND INDIAN. 
 Good Way enough ; it makes one sharp and cunning. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Hand round another Gill. You re very welcome. 
 
 3RD INDIAN. 
 
 Some say you Englishmen are sometimes Rogues; 
 You make poor Indians drunk, and then you cheat. 
 
 IST INDIAN. 
 No, English good. The Frenchmen give no Rum. 
 
 2ND INDIAN. 
 I think it s best to trade with Englishmen. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 What is your Price for Beaver Skins per Pound? 
 
 IST INDIAN. 
 How much you ask per Quart for this strong Rum? 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Five Pounds of Beaver for One Quart of Rum. 
 
 IST INDIAN. 
 Five Pounds? Too much. Which is t you call Five Pound? 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 This little Weight. I cannot give you more. 
 
Ponteach 121 
 
 IST INDIAN. 
 Well, take em; weigh em. Don t you cheat us now. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 No: He that cheats an Indian should be hang d. 
 
 [Weighing the packs. 
 
 There s Thirty Pounds precisely of the Whole; 
 Five times Six is Thirty. Six Quarts of Rum. 
 Jack, measure it to them; you know the Cask. 
 This Rum is sold. You draw it off the best. 
 
 [Exeunt INDIANS to receive their rum. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 By Jove, you ve gain d more in a single Hour 
 Than ever I have done in Half a Year; 
 Curse on my Honesty ! I might have been 
 A little King, and liv d without Concern, 
 Had I but known the proper Arts to thrive. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Ay, there s the Way, my honest Friend, to live. 
 
 [Clapping his shoulder. 
 
 There s Ninety Weight of Sterling Beaver for you, 
 Worth all the Rum and Trinkets in my Store; 
 And, would my Conscience let me to the Thing, 
 I might enhance my Price, and lessen theirs, 
 And raise my Profits to an higher Pitch. 
 
 MURPHEY. 
 
 I can t but thank you for your kind Instructions, 
 As from them I expect to reap Advantage. 
 But should the Dogs detect me in the Fraud, 
 They are malicious, and would have Revenge. 
 
 M DOLE. 
 
 Can t you avoid them? Let their Vengeance light 
 On others Heads, no matter whose, if you 
 Are but secure, and have the Cain in Hand: 
 For they re indiff rent where they take Revenge, 
 Whether on him that cheated, or his Friend, 
 Or on a Stranger whom they never saw, 
 Perhaps an honest Peasant, who ne er dreamt 
 
122 Representative Plays 
 
 Of Fraud or Villainy in all his life ; 
 
 Such let them murder, if they will a Score, 
 
 The Guilt is theirs, while we secure the Gain, 
 
 Nor shall we feel the bleeding Victims Pain. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Desart. 
 Enter ORSBOURN and HONNYMAN, two English Hunters. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 Long have we toil d, and rang d the Woods in vain, 
 No Game, nor Track, nor Sign of any Kind 
 Is to be seen; I swear I am discourag d 
 And weary d out with this long fruitless Hunt. 
 No Life on Earth besides is half so hard, 
 So full of Disappointments, as a Hunter s: 
 Each Morn he wakes he views the destin d Prey, 
 And counts the Profits of th ensuing Day; 
 Each Ev ning at his curs d ill Fortune pines, 
 And till next Day his Hope of Gain resigns. 
 By Jove, I ll from these Desarts hasten home, 
 And swear that never more I ll touch a Gun. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 These hateful Indians kidnap all the Game. 
 Curse their black Heads! they fright the Deer and Bear, 
 And ev ry Animal that haunts the Wood, 
 Or by their Witchcraft conjure them away. 
 No Englishman can get a single Shot, 
 While they go loaded home with Skins and Furs. 
 Twere to be wish d not one of them survived, 
 Thus to infest the World, and plague Mankind. 
 Curs d Heathen Infidels! mere savage Beasts! 
 They don t deserve to breathe in Christian Air, 
 And should be hunted down like other Brutes. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 I only wish the Laws permitted us 
 To hunt the savage Herd where e er they re found; 
 I d never leave the Trade of Hunting then, 
 While one remain d to tread and range the Wood. 
 
Ponteach 123 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Curse on the Law, I say, that makes it Death . 
 To kill an Indian, more than to kill a Snake. 
 What if tis Peace? these Dogs deserve no Mercy; 
 Cursed revengeful, cruel, faithless Devils! 
 They kill d my Father and my eldest Brother. 
 Since which I hate their very Looks and Name. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 And I, since they betray d and kill d my Uncle; 
 Hell seize their cruel, unrelenting Souls! 
 Tho these are not the same, twould ease my Heart 
 To cleave their painted Heads, and spill their Blood. 
 I abhor, detest, and hate them all, 
 And now cou d eat an Indian s Heart with Pleasure. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 I d join you, and soop his savage Brains for Sauce; 
 I lose all Patience when I think of them, 
 And, if you will, we ll quickly have Amends 
 For our long Travel and successless Hunt, 
 And the sweet Pleasure of Revenge to boot. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 What will you do? Present, and pop one down? 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Yes, faith, the first we meet well fraught with Furs; 
 Or if there s Two, and we can make sure Work, 
 By Jove, we ll ease the Rascals of their Packs, 
 And send them empty home to their own Country. 
 But then observe, that what we do is secret, 
 Or the Hangman will come in for Snacks. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 Trust me for that; I ll join with all my Heart; 
 Nor with a nicer Aim, or steadier Hand, 
 Would shoot a Tyger than I would an Indian. 
 There is a. Couple stalking now this Way 
 With lusty Packs; Heav n favour our Design. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 Silence; conceal yourself, and mind your Eye. 
 
124 Representative Plays 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 Are you well charg d? 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 I am. Take you the nearest, 
 
 And mind to fire exactly when I do. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 A charming Chance! 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 Hush, let them still come nearer. 
 
 [They shoot, and run to rifle the INDIANS. 
 They re down, old Boy, a Brace of noble Bucks! 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 Well tallow d, faith, and noble Hides upon em. 
 
 [Taking up a pack. 
 
 We might have hunted all the Season thro 
 For Half this Game, and thought ourselves well paid. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 By Jove, we might, and been at great Expence 
 For Lead and Powder, here s a single Shot. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 I swear I ve got as much as I can carry. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 And faith I m not behind; this Pack is heavy. 
 But stop; we must conceal the tawny Dogs, 
 Or their blood-thirsty Countrymen will find them, 
 And then we re bit. There ll be the Devil to pay", 
 They ll murder us, and cheat the Hangman too. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 Right. We ll prevent all Mischief of this Kind. 
 Where shall we hide their savage Carcases? 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 There they will lie conceal d and snug enough 
 
 [They cover them. 
 
 But stay perhaps ere long there ll be a War, 
 And then their Scalps will sell for ready Cash 
 Two Hundred Crowns at least, and that s worth saving. 
 
Ponteach 125 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 Well! that is true, no sooner said than done [Drawing his knife. 
 I ll strip this Fellow s painted greasy Skull. [Strips of the scalp. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 A damn d tough Hide, or my Knife s devilish dull 
 
 [Takes the other scalp. 
 
 Now let them sleep to-night without their Caps, 
 And pleasant Dreams attend their long Repose. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 Their Guns and Hatchets now are lawful Prize, 
 For they ll not need them on their present Journey. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 The Devil hates Arms, and dreads the Smell of Powder; 
 He ll not allow such Instruments about him, 
 They re free from training now, they re in his Clutches. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 But, Honnyman, d ye think this is not Murder? 
 I vow I m shock d a little to see them scalp d, 
 And fear their Ghosts will haunt us in the Dark. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 It s no more Murder than to crack a Louse, 
 That is, if you ve the Wit to keep it private. 
 And as to Haunting, Indians have no Ghosts, 
 But as they live like Beasts, like Beasts they die. 
 I ve kill d a Dozen in this self-same Way, 
 And never yet was troubled with their Spirits. 
 
 ORSBOURN. 
 
 Then I m content; my Scruples are remov d. 
 And what I ve done, my Conscience justifies. 
 But we must have these Guns and Hatchets alter d, 
 Or they ll detect th Affair, and hang us both. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 That s quickly done Let us with Speed return, 
 And think no more of being hang d or haunted; 
 But turn our Fuf to Gold, our Gold to Wine, 
 Thus gaily spend what we ve so slily won, 
 And bless the first Inventor of a Gun. [Exeunt. 
 
126 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE III. An English Fort. 
 Enter Colonel COCKUM and Captain FRISK. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 What shall we do with these damn d bawling Indians? 
 They re swarming every Day with their Complaints 
 Of Wrongs and Injuries, and God knows what 
 I wish the Devil would take them to himself. 
 
 FRISK. 
 
 Your Honour s right to wish the Devil his Due. 
 I d send the noisy Hellhounds packing hence, 
 Nor spend a Moment in debating with them. 
 The more you give Attention to their Murmurs, 
 The more they ll plague and haunt you every Day, 
 Besides, their old King Ponteach grows damn d saucy, 
 Talks of his Power, and threatens what he ll do. 
 Perdition to their faithless sooty Souls, 
 I d let em know at once to keep their Distance. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 Captain, You re right; their Insolence is such 
 As beats my Patience; cursed Miscreants! 
 They are encroaching; fain would be familiar: 
 I ll send their painted Heads to Hell with Thunder! 
 I swear I ll blow em hence with Cannon Ball, 
 And give the Devil an Hundred for his Supper. 
 
 * 
 
 FRISK. 
 
 They re coming here; you see they scent your Track, 
 And while you ll listen, they will ne er be silent, 
 But every Day improve in Insolence. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 I ll soon dispatch and storm them from my Presence. 
 
 Enter PONTEACH, and other Indian CHIEFS. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Well, Mr. Colonel Cockum, what d they call you? 
 You give no Answer yet to my Complaint; 
 Your Men give my Men always too much Rum, 
 Then trade and cheat em. What! d ye think this right? 
 
Pon teach 127 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 Tush! Silence! hold your noisy cursed Nonsense; 
 I ve heard enough of it; what is it to me? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 What! you a Colonel, and not command your Men? 
 Let ev ry one be a Rogue that has a Mind to t. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 Why, curse your Men, I suppose they wanted Rum; 
 They ll rarely be content, I know, without it. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 What then? If Indians are such Fools, I think 
 White Men like you should stop and teach them better. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 I m not a Pedagogue to your curs d Indians. [Aside. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 Colonel, I hope that you ll consider this. 
 
 FRISK. 
 
 W 7 hy, don t you see the Colonel will not hear you? 
 You d better go and watch your Men yourself, 
 Nor plague us with your cursed endless Noise; 
 We ve something else to do of more Importance. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 * 
 
 Hah! Captain Frisk, what! you a great man too? 
 My Bus ness here is only with your Colonel; 
 And I ll be heard, or know the Reason why. 
 
 IST CHIEF. 
 I thought the English had been better Men. 
 
 2ND CHIEF. 
 
 Frenchmen would always hear an Indian speak, 
 And answer fair, and make good Promises. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 You may be d d, and all your Frenchmen too. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 Be d d ! what s that? I do not understand. 
 
128 Representative Plays 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 The Devil teach you ; he ll do it without a Fee. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 The Devil teach! I think you one great Fool. 
 Did your King tell you thus to treat the Indians? 
 Had he been such a Dunce he ne er had conquer d, 
 And made the running French for Quarter cry. 
 I always mind that such proud Fools are Cowards, 
 And never do aught that is great or good. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 Forbear your Impudence, you curs d old Thief; 
 This Moment leave my Fort, and to your Country. 
 Let me hear no more of your hellish Clamour, 
 
 Or to D n I will blow you all, 
 
 And feast the Devil with one hearty Meal. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 So ho! Know you whose Country you are in? 
 Think you, because you have subdu d the French, 
 That Indians too are now become your Slaves? 
 This Country s mine, and here I reign as King; 
 I value not your Threats, nor Forts, nor Guns; 
 I have got Warriors, Courage, Strength, and Skill. 
 Colonel, take care; the Wound is very deep, 
 Consider well, for it is hard to cure. [Exeunt INDIANS. 
 
 FRISK. 
 
 Vile Infidels! observe their Insolence; 
 Old Ponteach puts on a mighty Air. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 They ll always be a Torment till destroy d, 
 And sent all headlong to the Devil s Kitchen. 
 This curs d old Thief, no doubt, will give us Trouble, 
 Provok d and madded at his cool Reception. 
 
 FRISK. 
 
 Oh! Colonel, they are never worth our minding, 
 What can they do against our Bombs and Cannon? 
 True, they may skulk, and kill and scalp a few, 
 
Ponteach 129 
 
 But, Heav n be thank d, we re safe within these Walls: 
 Besides, I think the Governors are coming, 
 To make them Presents, and establish Peace. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 
 That may perhaps appease their bloody Minds, 
 And keep them quiet for some little Term. 
 God send the Day that puts them all to sleep, 
 Come, will you crack a Bottle at my Tent? 
 
 FRISK. 
 
 With all my Heart, and drink D n to them. 
 
 COCKUM. 
 I can in nothing more sincerely join. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. An Apartment in the Fort. 
 Enter Governors SHARP, GRIPE, and CATCHUM. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Here are we met to represent our King, 
 And by his royal Bounties to conciliate 
 These Indians Minds to Friendship, Peace, and Love. 
 But he that would an honest Living get 
 In Times so hard and difficult as these, 
 Must mind that good old Rule, Take care of On> 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 Ay, Christian Charity begins at home; 
 I think it s in the Bible, I know I ve read it. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 I join with Paul, that he s an Infidel 
 Who does not for himself and Friends provide. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Yes, Paul in fact was no bad Politician, 
 And understood himself as well as most. 
 All good and wise Men certainly take care 
 To help themselves and Families the first; 
 Thus dictates Nature, Instinct, and Religion, 
 Whose easy Precepts ought to be obey d. 
 
130 Representative Plays 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 But how does this affect our present Purpose? 
 We ve heard the Doctrine; what s the Application? 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 We are intrusted with these Indian Presents. 
 A Thousand Pound was granted by the King, 
 To satisfy them of his Royal Goodness, 
 His constant Disposition to their Welfare, 
 And reconcile their savage Minds to Peace. 
 Five hundred s gone; you know our late Division, 
 Our great Expence, Et cetera, no Matter: 
 The other Half was laid out for these Goods, 
 To be distributed as we think proper; 
 And whether Half (I only put the Question) 
 Of these said Goods, won t answer every End, 
 And bring about as long a lasting Peace 
 As tho the Whole were lavishly bestow d? 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 I m clear upon t they will, if we affirm 
 That Half s the Whole was sent them by the King. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 There is no doubt but that One Third wou d answer, 
 For they, poor Souls! are ign rant of the Worth 
 Of single Things, nor know they how to add 
 Or calculate, and cast the whole Amount. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Why, Want of Learning is a great Misfortune. 
 How thankful should we be that we have Schools, 
 And better taught and bred than these poor Heathen. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 Yes, only these Two simple easy Rules, 
 Addition and Subtraction, are great Helps, 
 And much contribute to our happiness. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Tis these I mean to put in Practice now; 
 Subtraction from these Royal Presents makes 
 Addition to our Gains without a Fraction. 
 
Pon teach 131 
 
 But let us overhaul and take the best, 
 Things may be given that won t do to sell. 
 
 [They overhaul the goods, &c. 
 CATCHUM. 
 Lay these aside; they ll fetch a noble Price. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 And these are very saleable, I think. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 The Indians will be very fond of these. 
 Is there the Half, think you? 
 
 GRIPE. 
 It s thereabouts. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 This bag of Wampum may be added yet. 
 
 SHARP. 
 Here, Lads, convey these Goods to our Apartment. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 The Indians, sir, are waiting at the Gate. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 Conduct them in when you ve disposed of these. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 This should have been new-drawn before they enter d. 
 
 [Pulling out an inventory of the whole goods. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 What matters that? They cannot read, you know, 
 And you can read to them in gen ral Terms. 
 
 Enter PONTEACH, with several of his Chieftains. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Welcome, my Brothers, we are glad to meet you, 
 And hope that you will not repent our coming. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 We re glad to see our Brothers here the English. 
 If honourable Peace be your Desire, 
 
132 .- Representative Plays 
 
 We/a always have the Hatchet buried deep, 
 While Sun and Moon, Rivers and Lakes endure, 
 And Trees and Herbs within our Country grow. 
 But then you must not cheat and wrong the Indians, 
 Or treat us with Reproach, Contempt, and Scorn; 
 Else we will raise the Hatchet to the Sky, 
 And let it never touch the Earth again, 
 Sharpen its Edge, and keep it bright as Silver, 
 Or stain it red with Murder and with Blood. 
 Mind what I say, I do not tell you Lies. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 We hope you have no Reason to complain 
 That Englishmen conduct to you amiss; 
 We re griev d if they have given you Offence, 
 And fain would heal the Wound while it is fresh, 
 Lest it should spread, grow painful, and severe. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Your Men make Indians drunk, and then they cheat em. 
 
 Your Officers, your Colonels, and your Captains 
 
 Are proud, morose, ill-natur d, churlish Men, 
 
 Treat us with Disrespect, Contempt, and Scorn. 
 
 I tell you plainly this will never do, 
 
 We never thus were treated by the French, 
 
 Them we thought bad enough, but think you worse. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 There s good and bad, you know, in every Nation; 
 There s some good Indians, some are the reverse, 
 Whom you can t govern, and restrain from ill; 
 So there s some Englishmen that will be bad. 
 You must not mind the Conduct of a few, 
 Nor judge the rest by what you see of them. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 If you ve some good, why don t you send them here? 
 These every one are Rogues, and Knaves, and Fools, 
 And think no more of Indians than of Dogs. 
 Your King had better send his good Men hither, 
 And keep his bad ones in some other Country; 
 Then you would find that Indians would do well, 
 Be peaceable, and honest in their Trade; 
 
Pon teach 133 
 
 We d love you, treat you, as our Friends and Brothers, 
 And Raise the Hatchet only in your Cause. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Our King is very anxious for your Welfare, 
 And greatly wishes for your Love and Friendship; 
 He would not have the Hatchet ever raised, 
 But buried deep, stamp d down and cover d o er, 
 As with a Mountain that can never move: 
 For this he sent us to your distant Country, 
 Bid us deliver you these friendly Belts, 
 
 [Holding out belts of wampum. 
 All cover d over with his Love and Kindness. 
 He like a Father loves you as his Children ; 
 And like a Brother wishes you all Good ; 
 We ll let him know the Wounds that you complain of, 
 And he ll be speedy to apply the Cure, 
 And clear the Path to Friendship, Peace, and Trade. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Your King, I hear s a good and upright Man, 
 True to his word, and friendly in his Heart; 
 Not proud and insolent, morose and sour, 
 Like these his petty Officers and Servants: 
 I want to see your King, and let him know 
 What must be done to keep the Hatchet dull, 
 And how the Path of Friendship, Peace, and Trade 
 May be kept clean and solid as a Rock. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Our King is distant over the great Lake, 
 But we can quickly send him your Requests; 
 To which he ll listen with attentive Ear, 
 And act as tho you told him with your Tongue. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Let him know then his People here are Rogues, 
 And cheat and wrong and use the Indians ill. 
 Tell him to send good Officers, and call 
 These proud ill-natur d Fellows from my Country, 
 And keep his Hunters from my hunting Ground. 
 
134 Representative Plays 
 
 He must do this, and do it quickly too, 
 Or he will find the Path between us bloody. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Of this we will acquaint our gracious King, 
 And hope you and your Chiefs will now confirm 
 A solid Peace as if our King was present; 
 We re his Ambassadors, and represent him, 
 And bring these Tokens of his Royal Friendship 
 To you, your Captains, Chiefs, and valiant Men. 
 Read, Mr. Catchum, you ve the Inventory. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 The British King, of his great Bounty, sends 
 To Ponteach, King upon the Lakes, and his Chiefs, 
 Two hundred, No [Aside] a Number of fine Blankets, 
 Six hundred [Aside] Yes, and several Dozen Hatchets, 
 Twenty thousand [Aside] and a Bag of Wampum, 
 A Parcel too of Pans, and Knives, and Kettles. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 This rich and royal Bounty you ll accept, 
 And as you please distribute to your Chiefs, 
 And let them know they come from England s King, 
 As Tokens to them of his Love and Favour. 
 We ve taken this long Journey at great Charge, 
 To see and hold with you this friendly Talk; 
 We hope your Minds are all disposed to Peace, 
 And that you like our Sovereign s Bounty well. 
 
 IST CHIEF. 
 
 We think it very small, we heard of more. 
 Most of our Chiefs and Warriors are not here, 
 They all expect to share a Part with us. 
 
 2ND CHIEF. 
 
 These won t reach round to more than half our Tribes, 
 Few of our Chiefs will have a single Token 
 Of your King s Bounty, that you speak so much of. 
 
 3RD CHIEF. 
 
 And those who haven t will be dissatisfied, 
 Think themselves slighted, think your King is stingy, 
 
Ponteach , 135 
 
 Or else that you his Governors are Rogues, 
 And keep your Master s Bounty for yourselves. 
 
 4TH CHIEF. 
 
 We hear such Tricks are sometimes play d with Indians. 
 King Astenaco, the great Southern Chief, 
 Who s been in England, and has seen your King, 
 Told me that he was generous, kind, and true, 
 But that his Officers were Rogues and Knaves, 
 And cheated Indians out of what he gave. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 The Devil s in t, I fear that we re detected. [Aside. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Indians a n t Fools, if White Men think us so; 
 We see, we hear, we think as well as you ; 
 We know there re Lies, and Mischiefs in the World; 
 We don t know whom to trust, nor when to fear; 
 Men are uncertain, changing as the Wind, 
 Inconstant as the Waters of the Lakes, 
 Some smooth and fair, and pleasant as the Sun, 
 Some rough and boist rous, like the Winter Storm; 
 Some are Insidious as the subtle Snake, 
 Some innocent, and harmless as the Dove; 
 Some like the Tyger raging, cruel, fierce, 
 Some like the Lamb, humble, submissive, mild, 
 And scarcely one is every Day the same; 
 But I call no Man bad, till such he s found, 
 Then I condemn and cast him from my Sight; 
 And no more trust him as a Friend and Brother. 
 I hope to find you honest Men and true. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Indeed you may depend upon our Honours, 
 We re faithful Servants of the best of Kings; 
 We scorn an Imposition on your Ignorance, 
 Abhor the Arts of Falsehood and Deceit. 
 These are the Presents our great Monarch sent, 
 He s of a bounteous, noble, princely Mind 
 And had he known the Numbers of your Chiefs, 
 Each would have largely shar d his Royal Goodness; 
 
Representative Plays 
 
 But these are rich and worthy your Acceptance, 
 Few Kings on Earth can such as these bestow, 
 For Goodness, Beauty, Excellence, and Worth. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 The Presents from your Sovereign I accept, 
 
 His friendly Belts to us shall be preserved, 
 
 And in Return convey you those to him. [Belts and furs. 
 
 Which let him know our Mind, and what we wish, 
 
 That we dislike his crusty Officers, 
 
 And wish the Path of Peace was made more plain, 
 
 The Calumet I do not choose to smoke, 
 
 Till I see further, and my other Chiefs 
 
 Have been consulted. Tell your King from me, 
 
 That first or last a Rogue will be detected, 
 
 That I have Warriors, am myself a King, 
 
 And will be honour d and obey d as such; 
 
 Tell him my Subjects shall not be oppress d, 
 
 But I will seek Redress and take Revenge; 
 
 Tell your King this; I have no more to say. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 To our great King your Gifts we will convey, 
 And let him know the Talk we ve had with you ; 
 WVre griev d we cannot smoke the Pipe of Peace, 
 And part with stronger Proofs of Love and Friendship; 
 Meantime we hope you ll so consider Matters, 
 As still to keep the Hatchet dull and buried, 
 And open wide the shining Path of Peace, 
 That you and we may walk without a Blunder. 
 
 [Exeunt INDIANS. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 Th appear not fully satisfied, I think. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 I do not like old Ponteach s Talk and Air, 
 He seems suspicious, and inclin d to war. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 They re always jealous, bloody, and revengeful, 
 You see that they distrust our Word and Honour; 
 No wonder then if they suspect the Traders, 
 And often charge them with downright Injustice. 
 
Ponteach 137 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 True, when even we that come to make them Presents, 
 Cannot escape their Fears and Jealousies. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 Well, we have this, at least, to comfort us; 
 Their good Opinion is no Commendation, 
 Nor their foul Slanders any Stain to Honour. 
 I think we ve done whatever Men could do 
 To reconcile their savage Minds to Peace. 
 If they re displeas d, our Honour is acquitted, 
 And we have not been wanting in our Duty 
 To them, our King, our Country, and our Friends. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 But what Returns are these they ve left behind? 
 These Belts are valuable, and neatly wrought. 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 This Pack of Furs is very weighty too; 
 The Skins are pick d, and of the choicest Kind. 
 
 SHARP. 
 By Jove, they re worth more Money than their Presents. 
 
 GRIPE. 
 Indeed they are; the King will be no Loser. 
 
 SHARP. 
 The King! who ever sent such Trumpery to him? 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 What would the King of England do with Wampum? 
 Or Beaver Skins, d ye think? He s not a Hatter! 
 
 GRIPE. 
 
 Then it s a Perquisite belongs to us? 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 Yes, they re become our lawful Goods and Chattels, 
 By all the Rules and Laws of Indian Treaties. 
 The King would scorn to take a Gift from Indians, 
 And think us Madmen, should we send them to him. 
 
138 Representative Plays 
 
 CATCHUM. 
 
 I understand we make a fair Division, 
 And have no Words nor Fraud among ourselves. 
 
 SHARP. 
 
 We throw the whole into one common Stock, 
 And go Copartners in the Loss and Gain. 
 Thus most who handle Money for the Crown 
 Find means to make the better Half their own ; 
 And, to your better Judgments with Submission, 
 The self Neglecter s a poor Politician. 
 These Gifts, you see will all Expences pay; 1 
 Heav n send an Indian Treaty every Day; f 
 We dearly love to serve our King this way. J 
 
 The End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. An Indian House. 
 Enter PHILIP and CHEKITAN from hunting, loaded -with venison. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 The Day s Toil s ended, and the Ev ning smiles 
 With all the Joy and Pleasantness of Plenty. 
 Our good Success and Fortune in the Chace 
 Will make us Mirth and Pastime for the Night. 
 How will the old King and his Hunters smile 
 To see us loaded with the fatt ning Prey, 
 And joyously relate their own Adventures? 
 Not the brave Victor s Shout, or Spoils of War, 
 Would give such Pleasure to their gladden d Hearts. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 These, Philip, are the unstain d Fruits of Peace, 
 Effected by the conqu ring British Troops. 
 Now may we hunt the Wilds secure from Foes, 
 And seek our Food and Clothing by the Chace, 
 While Ease and Plenty thro our Country reign. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Happy Effects indeed ! long may they last ! 
 But I suspect the Term will be but short, 
 
Ponteach 139 
 
 Ere this our happy Realm is curs d afresh 
 With all the Noise and Miseries of War, 
 And Blood and Murder stain our Land again. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 What hast thou heard that seems to threaten this, 
 Or is it idle Fancy and Conjectures? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Our Father s late Behaviour and Discourse 
 Unite to raise Suspicions in my Mind 
 Of his Designs? Hast thou not yet observ d, 
 That tho at first he favour d England s Troops, 
 When they late landed on our fertile Shore, 
 Proclaim d his Approbation of their March, 
 Convoy d their Stores, protected them from Harm, 
 Nay, put them in Possession of Detroit; 
 And join d to fill the Air with loud Huzzas 
 When England s Flag was planted on its Walls? 
 Yet, since, he seems displeas d at their Success, 
 Thinks himself injured, treated with Neglect 
 By their Commanders, as of no Account, 
 As one subdu d and conquer d with the French, 
 As one, whose Right to Empire now is lost, 
 And he become a Vassal of their Power, 
 Instead of an Ally. At this he s mov d, 
 And in his Royal Bosom glows Revenge, 
 Which I suspect will sudden burst and spread 
 Like Lightning from the Summer s burning Cloud, 
 That instant sets whole Forests in a Blaze. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Something like this I have indeed perceiv d; 
 And this explains what I but now beheld, 
 Returning from the Chace, myself concealed, 
 Our Royal Father basking in the Shade, 
 His Looks severe, Revenge was in his Eyes, 
 All his great Soul seem d mounted in his Face, 
 And bent on something hazardous and great. 
 With pensive Air he view d the Forest round ; 
 Smote on his Breast as if oppress d with Wrongs, 
 With Indignation stamp d upon the Ground; 
 
140 Representative Plays 
 
 Extended then and shook his mighty Arm, 
 
 As in Defiance of a coming Foe; 
 
 Then like the hunted Elk he forward sprung, 
 
 As tho to trample his Assailants down. 
 
 The broken Accents murmur d from his Tongue, 
 
 As rumbling Thunder from a distant Cloud, 
 
 Distinct I heard, "Tis fix d, I ll be reveng d; 
 
 "I will make War; I ll drown this Land in Blood." 
 
 He disappear d like the fresh-started Roe 
 
 Pursu d by Hounds o er rocky Hills and Dales, 
 
 That instant leaves the anxious Hunter s Eye; 
 
 Such was his Speed towards the other Chiefs. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 He s gone to sound their Minds to Peace and War, 
 And learn who ll join the Hazards in his Cause. 
 The Fox, the Bear, the Eagle, Otter, Wolf, 
 And other valiant Princes of the Empire, 
 Have late resorted hither for some End 
 Of common Import. Time will soon reveal 
 Their secret Counsels and their fix d Decrees. 
 Peace has its Charms for those who love their Ease, 
 But active Souls like mine delight in Blood. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Should War be wag d, what Discords may we fear 
 Among ourselves? The powerful Mohawk King 
 Will ne er consent to fight against the English, 
 Nay, more, will join them as firm Ally, 
 And influence other Chiefs by his Example, 
 To muster all their Strength against our Father. 
 Fathers perhaps will fight against their Sons, 
 And nearest Friends pursue each other s Lives; 
 Blood, Murder, Death, and Horror will be rife, 
 Where Peace and Love, and Friendship triumph now. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Such stale Conjectures smell of Cowardice. 
 Our Father s Temper shews us the reverse: 
 All Danger he defies, and, once resolv d, 
 No Arguments will move him to relent, 
 No Motives change his Purpose of Revenge, 
 
Pon teach 141 
 
 No Prayers prevail upon him to delay 
 
 The Execution of his fix d Design: 
 
 Like the starv d Tyger in Pursuit of Prey, 
 
 No Opposition will retard his Course; 
 
 Like the wing d Eagle that looks down on Clouds, 
 
 All Hindrances are little in his Eye, 
 
 And his great Mind knows not the Pain of Fear. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Such Hurricanes of Courage often lead 
 To Shame and Disappointment in the End, 
 And tumble blindfold on their own Disgrace. 
 True Valour s slow, deliberate, and cool, 
 Considers well the End, the Way, the Means, 
 And weighs each Circumstance attending them. 
 Imaginary Dangers it detects, 
 And guards itself against all real Evils. 
 But here Tenesco comes with Speed important; 
 His Looks and Face presage us something new. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Hail, noble Youth! The News of your Return 
 And great Success has reach d your Father s Ears. 
 Great is his Joy; but something more important 
 Seems to rest heavy on his anxious Mind, 
 And he commands your Presence at his Cabin. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 We will attend his Call with utmost Speed, 
 Nor wait Refreshment after our Day s Toil. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. PONTEACH S Cabin. 
 PONTEACH, PHILIP, CHEKITAN, and TENESCO. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 My Sons, and trusty Counsellor Tenesco, 
 
 As the sweet smelling Rose, when yet a Bud, 
 
 Lies close conceal d, till Time and the Sun s Warmth 
 
 Hath swell d, matur d, and brought it forth to View, 
 
 So these my Purposes I now reveal 
 
 Are to be kept with You, on pain of Death, 
 
I4 2 Representative Plays 
 
 Till Time hath ripen d my aspiring Plan, 
 
 And Fortune s Sunshine shall disclose the Whole; 
 
 Or should we fail, and Fortune prove perverse, 
 
 Let it be never known how far we fail d, 
 
 Lest Fools shou d triumph, or our Foes rejoice. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 The Life of Great Designs is Secrecy, 
 And in Affairs of State tis Honour s Guard; 
 For Wisdom cannot form a Scheme so well, 
 But Fools will laugh if it should prove abortive; 
 And our Designs once known, our Honour s made 
 Dependent on the Fickleness of Fortune. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 What may your great and secret Purpose be, 
 That thus requires Concealment in its Birth? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 To raise the Hatchet from its short Repose, 
 Brighten its Edge, and stain it deep with Blood ; 
 To scourge my proud, insulting, haughty Foes, 
 To enlarge my Empire, which will soon be yours: 
 Your Interest, Glory, Grandeur, I consult, 
 And therefore hope with Vigour you ll pursue 
 And execute whatever I command. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 When we refuse Obedience to your Will, 
 We are not worthy to be call d your Sons. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 If we inherit not our Father s Valour, 
 We never can deserve to share his Empire. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Spoke like yourselves, the Sons of Ponteach ; 
 Strength, Courage, and Obedience form the Soldier, 
 And the firm Base of all true Greatness lay. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Our Empire now is large, our Forces strong, 
 Our Chiefs are wise, our Warriors valiant Men; 
 We all are furnish d with the best of Arms, 
 
Ponteach 143 
 
 And all things requisite to curb a Foe; 
 
 And now s our Time, if ever, to secure 
 
 Our Country, Kindred, Empire, all that s dear, 
 
 From these Invaders of our Rights, the English, 
 
 And set their Bounds towards the rising Sun. 
 
 Long have I seen with a suspicious Eye 
 
 The Strength and growing Numbers of the French; 
 
 Their Forts and Settlements I ve view d as Snakes 
 
 Of mortal Bite, bound by the Winter Frost, 
 
 Which in some future warm reviving Day 
 
 Would stir and hiss, and spit their Poison forth, 
 
 And spread Destruction through our happy Land. 
 
 Where are we now? The French are all subdued, 
 
 But who are in their Stead become our Lords? 
 
 A proud, imperious, churlish, haughty Band. 
 
 The French familiarized themselves with us, 
 
 Studied our Tongue, and Manners, wore our Dress, 
 
 Married our Daughters, and our Sons their Maids, 
 
 Dealt honestly, and well supplied our Wants, 
 
 Used no One ill, and treated with Respect 
 
 Our Kings, our Captains, and our aged Men ; 
 
 Call d us their Friends, nay, what is more, their Children, 
 
 And seem d like Fathers anxious for our Welfare. 
 
 Whom see we now? their haughty Conquerors 
 
 Possess d of every Fort, and Lake, and Pass, 
 
 Big with their Victories so often gain d ; 
 
 On us they look with deep Contempt and Scorn, 
 
 Are false, deceitful, knavish, insolent; 
 
 Nay, think us conquered, and our Country theirs, 
 
 Without a Purchase, or ev n asking for it. 
 
 With Pleasure I wou d call their King my Friend, 
 
 Yea, honour and obey him as my Father; 
 
 I d be content, would he keep his own Sea, 
 
 And leave these distant Lakes and Streams to us; 
 
 Nay, I would pay him Homage, if requested, 
 
 And furnish Warriors to support his Cause. 
 
 But thus to lose my Country and my Empire, 
 
 To be a Vassal to his low Commanders, 
 
 Treated with disrespect and public Scorn 
 
 By Knaves, by Miscreants, Creatures of his Power; 
 
 Can this become a King like Ponteach, 
 
144 Representative Plays 
 
 Whose Empire s measured only by the Sun? 
 No, I ll assert my Right, the Hatchet raise, 
 And drive these Britons hence like frighted Deer, 
 Destroy their Forts, and make them rue the Day 
 That to our fertile Land they found the Way. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 No Contradiction to your great Design ; 
 But will not such Proceeding injure us? 
 Where is our Trade and Commerce to be carry d? 
 For they re possess d of all the Country round, 
 Or whence Supplies of Implements for War? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Whence? Take them from our conquered running Foes. 
 Their Fortresses are Magazines of Death, 
 Which we can quickly turn against themselves; 
 And when they re driven to their destin d Bounds, 
 Their Love of Gain will soon renew their Trade. 
 The heartless French, whene er they see us conquer, 
 Will join their little Force to help us on. 
 Nay, many of their own brave trusty Soldiers, 
 In Hope of Gain, will give us their Assistance; 
 For Gain s their great Commander, and will lead them 
 Where their brave Generals cannot force their March: 
 Some have engag d, when they see hope of Plunder, 
 In sly Disguise to kill their Countrymen. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 These Things indeed are promising and fair, 
 And seem a Prelude to our full Success. 
 But will not many Indian Chiefs refuse 
 To join the Lists, and hold themselves oblig d 
 T assist the Foe when hardly press d by us? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 I ve sounded all their Minds; there s but a few 
 That are not warm and hearty in our Cause, 
 And those faint Hearts we ll punish at our Leisure: 
 For hither tends my Purpose; to subdue 
 The Tribes who now their annual Homage pay 
 To the imperious haughty Mohawk Chief, 
 
Pon teach 145 
 
 
 
 Whose Pride and Insolence tis Time to curb. 
 He ever boasts the Greatness of his Empire, 
 The Swiftness, Skill and Valour of his Warriors, 
 His former Conquests, and his fresh Exploits, 
 The Terror of his Arms in distant Lands, 
 And on a Footing puts himself with me, 
 For Wisdom to contrive, and Power to do. 
 Such a proud Rival must not breathe the Air; 
 I ll die in fighting, or I ll reign alone 
 O er every Indian Nation, Tribe, and Chief. 
 But this in solemn Silence we conceal, 
 Till they re drawn in to fight the common Foe, 
 Then from my Face, the sly Disguise I ll cast, 
 And shew them Ponteach to their Surprise. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Thy Plan is wise, and may Success attend it; 
 May all the warlike numerous Tribes unite, 
 Nor cease to conquer while thou hast a Foe ! 
 Then may they join and own thee for their Sovereign, 
 Pay full Submission to thy scepter d Arm, 
 And universal Empire by thy own ! 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Would you the Mohawk Emperor displease, 
 And wage a bloody War, by which you made 
 Him and his num rous Tribes your certain Foes? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Most of his Tribes will welcome the Proposal ; 
 For long their galled Necks have felt the Yoke, 
 Long wish d for Freedom from his partial Sway, 
 In favour of the proud incroaching Britons. 
 Nay, they have oft, in spite of his Displeasure, 
 Rush d forth like Wolves upon their naked Borders, 
 And now, like Tygers broken from their Chains, 
 They ll glut themselves, and revel in their Blood. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Myself will undertake to make even Hendrick 
 Our zealous Friend against the common Foe; 
 His strong Attachment to them I ll dissolve, 
 And make him rage, and thirst for Vengeance on them. 
 
146 Representative Plays 
 
 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 This would be doing Honour to thyself, 
 
 And make thee worthy of thy Father s Crown. 
 
 The secret Means I will not now inquire, 
 
 Nor doubt but thus engag d you will perform. 
 
 The Chiefs in part are knowing to my Purpose, 
 
 And think of nought but War, and Blood, and Plunder, 
 
 Till in full Council we declare our Pleasure. 
 
 But first my last Night s Dream I will relate, 
 
 Which much disturb d my weary anxious Mind, 
 
 And must portend some signal grand Event 
 
 Of Good or Evil both to me or mine. 
 
 On yonder Plain I saw the lordly Elk 
 
 Snuffing the empty Air in seeming Sport, 
 
 Tossing his Head aloft, as if in Pride 
 
 Of his great Bulk and nervous active Limbs, 
 
 And Scorn of every Beast that haunts the Wood. 
 
 With mighty Stride he travelled to and fro, 
 
 And as he mov d his Size was still increas d, 
 
 Till his wide Branches reached above the Trees, 
 
 And his extended Trunk across the Plain. 
 
 The other Beasts beheld with wild Amaze, 
 
 Stood trembling round, nor dare they to approach 
 
 Till the fierce Tyger yell d the loud Alarm, 
 
 When Bears, Cats, Wolves, Panthers, and Porcupines, 
 
 And other Beasts of Prey, with Force united 
 
 And savage Rage, attack d the common Foe. 
 
 But as the busking Bull, when Summer Flies, 
 
 With keenest Sting disturb the grazing Herd, 
 
 Stands careless in some shady cool Retreat, 
 
 And from his Sides sweeps the envenom d Mites, 
 
 Or shakes them with a Stamp into the Dust; 
 
 So he unmov d amidst their Clamours stood, 
 
 Trampled and spurn d them with his Hoofs and Horns, 
 
 Till all dispers d in wild Disorder fled, 
 
 And left him Master of th extended Plain. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 This Dream no doubt is full of some great Meaning, 
 And in it bears the Fate of your Design, 
 But whether good or ill, to me s a Secret. 
 
Ponteach 147 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 It ne er was counted ill to dream of Elks, 
 But always thought portentous of Success, 
 Of happy Life, and Victories in War, 
 Or Fortune good when we attempt the Chace. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Such is the common Say; but here the Size 
 And all the Circumstances are uncommon, 
 And therefore can contain no common Meaning: 
 I fear these Things portend no Good to us, 
 That Mischiefs lurk like Serpents in the Grass, 
 Whose pois nous deadly Bite precedes all Warning. 
 That this Design will end in mighty Ruin 
 To us and ours, Discord among our Friends, 
 And Triumph to our Foes. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 A valiant Hero! 
 
 Thou always wast a Coward, and hated War, 
 And lov st to loll on the soft Lap of Peace. 
 Thou art a very Woman in thy Heart, 
 And talk st of Snakes and Bugbears in the Dark, 
 Till all is Horror and Amaze about thee, 
 And even thy own Shadow makes thee tremble. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Is there no Courage in delib rate Wisdom? 
 Is all rank Cowardice but Fire and Fury? 
 Is it all womanish to re-consider 
 And weigh the Consequences of our Actions, 
 Before we desperately rush upon them? 
 Let me then be the Coward, a mere Woman, 
 Mine be the Praise of Coolness, yours of Rage. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Peace, Peace, my Sons, nor let this casual Strife 
 Divide your Hearts; both mean the common Good; 
 Go Hand in Hand to conquer and promote it. 
 I ll to our worthy Doctor and the Priest, 
 Who for our Souls Salvation come from France; 
 They sure can solve the Mysteries of Fate, 
 
148 Representative Plays 
 
 And all the Secrets of a Dream explain; 
 Mean while, Tenesco, warn the other Chiefs 
 That they attend my Call within an Hour. 
 
 [Exeunt PONTEACH and TENESCO. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 My Warmth perhaps has carried me too far, 
 But it s not in me to be cool and backward 
 To act or speak when Kingdoms are the Prize. 
 My Blood runs high at the sweet Sound of Empire, 
 Such as our Father s Plan ensures to us, 
 And I m impatient of the least Delay. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Thy Fire thou hast a Right to style a Virtue; 
 Heat is our Friend when kept within due Bounds, 
 But if unbridled and allowed to rage, 
 It burns and blisters, torments and consumes, 
 And, Torrent-like, sweeps every Comfort by. 
 Think if our Father s Plan should prove abortive, 
 Our Troops repuls d, or in th Encounter slain, 
 Where are our conquer d Kingdoms then to share, 
 Where are our Vict ries, Trophies, Triumphs, Crowns, 
 That dazzle in thy Eye, and swell thy Heart; 
 That nerve thy Arm, and wing thy Feet to War 
 With this impetuous Violence and Speed? 
 Crest-fallen then, our native Empire lost, 
 In captive Chains we drag a wretched Life, 
 Or fly inglorious from the conquering Foe 
 To barren Mountains from this fertile Land, 
 There to repent our Folly when too late, 
 In Anguish mourn, and curse our wretched Fate. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 But why so much of Mischiefs that may happen? 
 
 These are mere Possibilities at most; 
 
 Creatures of Thought, which ne er can be Objections, 
 
 In valiant Minds, to any great Attempt; 
 
 They re empty Echoes of a tim rous Soul, 
 
 Like Bubbles driv n by the tempestuous Storm, 
 
 The Breath of Resolution sweeps them off. 
 
Ponteach 149 
 
 Nor dost thou judge them solid from thy Heart, 
 
 I know the secret Motive in thy Breast, 
 
 Thus to oppose our Father s great Design, 
 
 And from an Undertaking to dissuade, 
 
 In which thou lt share the Profit and the Glory. 
 
 Hendrick, the King of Mohawks, hath a Daughter, 
 
 With whom I saw you dallying in the Shade, 
 
 And thought you then a Captive to her Charms. 
 
 The bright Monelia hangs upon thy Heart, 
 
 And softens all the Passions of thy Soul ; 
 
 Her thou think st lost should we proclaim a War, 
 
 In which the King her Father will not join. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 What if I have a Value for Monelia, 
 Is it a Crime? Does she not merit Love 
 From all who see her move, or hear her speak? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 True, she is engaging, has a charming Air; 
 
 And if thy Love is fix d, I will assist it, 
 
 And put thee in Possession of the Joy 
 
 That thou desirest more than Crowns and Empire. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 As how, dear Philip? Should we wage a War, 
 Which Hendrick disapproves, the Prize is lost. 
 Not Empires then could make Monelia mine; 
 All Hopes are dash d upon that fatal Rock; 
 Nor Gold, nor Prayers, nor Tears, nor Promises, 
 Nor all the Engin ry of Love at Work, 
 Could save a single Moment of my Joy. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Yes, I will save it all, and make her thine, 
 
 Act but thy Part, and do as I prescribe, 
 
 In Peace or War thou shalt possess the Prize. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Thy Words revive my half-despairing Heart. 
 What must I act? or which Way must I turn? 
 
15 Representative Plays 
 
 I ll brave all Dangers, every 111 defy, 
 Risk Life itself, to call Monelia mine. 
 Help me, my Philip, and I ll be thy Slave, 
 Resign my Share of Empire to thy Hand, 
 And lay a Claim to nothing but Monelia. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Rewards I do not ask; I am thy Brother, 
 
 And hold my Kindness to thee as a Debt. 
 
 Thou know st I have ^ngag d to bring King Hendrick 
 
 To join the Lists, and fight against our Foes, 
 
 To rouse him to Revenge, and Rage, and War, 
 
 And make him zealous in the common Cause. 
 
 Nay, with uncommon Fury he shall rave, 
 
 And urge his Warriors on to Blood and Murder. 
 
 When this is done, Monelia may be thine, 
 
 Hendrick will court Alliance to our Tribe, 
 
 And joy to call great Ponteach s Son his own. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 But should you fail in these Attempts, and he 
 Prove obstinately fix d against the War, 
 Where s then Monelia? where is Chekitan? 
 My Hopes are blasted, all my Joys are fled, 
 Like the vain Phantoms of a Midnight Dream, 
 Are scattered like the Dust before a Whirlwind, 
 And all my Soul is left a Void for Pain, 
 Vexation, Madness, Frenzy, and Despair, 
 And all the Pains of disappointed Love. 
 Better I ne er had flattered my fond Heart, 
 Nor sooth d my Mind with Prospects of my Joy, 
 Than thus to perish on the Point of Hope. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Leave all to me; I ve so concerted Matters, 
 That I defy ev n Fate to disappoint me. 
 Exert thyself, and to Monelia go, 
 Before th assembled Chiefs in Council meet; 
 Urge it to her, and to her Brother Torax, 
 That should their Father prove refractory, 
 Withdraw himself, and order his Domestics 
 
Pon teach 151 
 
 To hasten home at News of our Design; 
 
 Urge it, I say, to them; Torax loves War; 
 
 To linger here in Hopes of his Return, 
 
 Which tell them I ll effect ere twice the Sun 
 
 Has run the Circuit of his daily Race. 
 
 Here they may loiter careless, range the Woods, 
 
 As tho the Noise of War had not been heard. 
 
 This will give full Success to both our Wishes: 
 
 Thou It gain the Prize of Love, and I of Wrath, 
 
 In favour to our Family and State. 
 
 Thou lt tame the Turtle, I shall rouse the Tyger; 
 
 The one will soothe thy Soul to soft Repose, 
 
 The other prove a Terror to our Foes. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 I see the subtle Argument thou lt use, 
 
 And how thou lt work upon the old King s Weakness, 
 
 Thou lt set his strong Affection for his Children 
 
 At War against his Kindness for our Foes, 
 
 By urging their Attachment to our Cause, 
 
 That they ll endure ev n Banishment and Death, 
 
 Rather than cease to be our steadfast Friends. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 All this I ll urge, nay, more, I will convince him, 
 These Foes to us can be no Friends to him; 
 I ll thunder in his Ears their growing Power, 
 Their Villainies and Cheats upon his Subjects: 
 That their fair Shew of Love is foul Disguise; 
 That in their Hearts they hate the Name of Indians, 
 And court his Friendship only for their Profit; 
 That when no longer he subserves their Ends, 
 He may go whistle up some other Friends. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 This must alarm and bring him to our Mind. 
 
 I ll hasten to my Charge with utmost Speed, 
 
 Strain every Nerve, and every Power exert; 
 
 Plead, promise, swear like any Christian Trader; 
 
 But I ll detain them till our Ends are answer d, 
 
 And you have won their Father to our Purpose. [Exit. 
 
152 Representative Plays 
 
 PHILIP [solus]. 
 
 Oh ! what a wretched Thing is a Man in Love ! 
 All Fear all Hope all Diffidence all Faith- 
 Distrusts the greatest Strength, depends on Straws 
 Soften d, unprovident, disarm d, unman d, 
 Led blindfold ; every Power denies its Aid, 
 And every Passion s but a Slave to this; 
 Honour, Revenge, Ambition, Interest, all 
 Upon its Altar bleed Kingdoms and Crowns 
 Are slighted and condemn d, and all the Ties 
 Of Nature are dissolved by this poor Passion : 
 Ojice have I felt its Poison in my Heart, 
 When this same Chekitan a Captive led 
 The fair Donanta from the Illinois; 
 I saw, admired, and lov d the charming Maid, 
 And as a Favour ask d her from his Hands, 
 But he refus d and sold her for a Slave. 
 My Love is dead, but my Resentment lives, 
 And now s my Time to let the Flame break forth, 
 For while I pay this ancient Debt of Vengeance, 
 I ll serve my Country, and advance myself. 
 ^He loves Monelia Hendrick must be won 
 Monelia and her Brother both must bleed 
 This is my Vengeance on her Lover s Head 
 Then I ll affirm, twas done by Englishmen 
 And to gain Credit both with Friends and Foes, 
 I ll wound myself, and say that I receiv d it 
 By striving to assist them in the Combat. 
 This will rouse Hendrick s Wrath, and arm his Troops 
 To Blood and Vengeance on the common Foe. 
 And further still my Profit may extend ; 
 My Brother s Rage will lead him into Danger, 
 And, he cut off, the Empire s all my own. 
 Thus am I fix d ; my Scheme of Goodness laid, 
 And I ll effect it, tho thro Blood I wade, 
 To desperate Wounds apply a desperate Cure, 
 And to tall Structures lay Foundations sure; 
 To Fame and Empire hence my Course I bend, 
 And every Step I take shall thither tend. 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
Ponteach 153 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. A Forest. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 [Seeing TORAX and MONELIA, coming towards them.] 
 
 As the young Hunter, anxious in the Chace, 
 
 With beating Heart and quivering Hand espies 
 
 The wish d for Game, and trembles for th Event, 
 
 So I behold the bright Monelia s Steps, 
 
 Whom anxiously I ve sought, approach this way 
 
 What shall I say? or how shall I accost her? 
 
 It is a fatal Minute to mistake in. 
 
 The Joy or Grief of Life depends upon t; 
 
 It is the important Crisis of my Fate. 
 
 I ve thought a thousand things to say and do, 
 
 But know not which to say or do the first. 
 
 Shall I begin with my old Tale of Love? 
 
 Or shall I shock her with the News of War? 
 
 Must I put on the Face of Joy or Grief? 
 
 Seem unconcern d or full of Doubts and Fears? 
 
 How unprepar d I am for the Encounter! 
 
 I d rather stand against an Host of Foes 
 
 But she draws near, and Fate must guide me now, 
 
 [Enter TORAX and MONELIA. 
 Where tend your Steps with such an Air of Joy? 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 To view the Beauties of th extended Lake, 
 And on its mossy Bank recline at Ease, 
 While we behold the Sports of Fish and Fowl, 
 Which in this Calm no doubt will be diverting. 
 And these are new Amusements to Monelia, 
 She never saw the Sea or Lakes before. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 I m glad our Country s aught to give such Pleasure 
 To one deservedly so welcome in it. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 That I am welcome you have oft assur d me. 
 That I deserve it you may be mistaken, 
 
154 Representative Plays 
 
 The outside Shew, the Form, the Dress, the Air, 
 That please at first Acquaintance, oft deceive us, 
 And prove more Mimickers of true Desert, 
 Which always brightens by a further Trial, 
 Appears more lovely as we know it better, 
 At least can never suffer by Acquaintance. 
 Perhaps then you To-morrow will despise 
 What you esteem To-day, and call deserving. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 My Love to you, Monelia, cannot change. 
 Your Beauty, like the Sun, for ever pleases, 
 And like the Earth, my Love can never move. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 The Earth itself is sometimes known to shake, 
 And the bright Sun by Clouds is oft conceal d, 
 And gloomy Night succeeds the Smiles of Day; 
 So Beauty oft by foulest Faults is veil d, 
 And after one short Blaze admir d no more, 
 Loses its Lustre, drops its sparkling Charms, 
 The Lover sickens, and his Passion dies, 
 Nay, worse, he hates what he so doted on. 
 Time only proves the Truth of Worth and Love, 
 The one may be a Cheat, the other change, 
 And Fears, and Jealousies, and mortal Hate, 
 Succeed the Sunshine of the warmest Passion. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Have I not vow d my Love to you, Monelia, 
 And open d all the Weakness of my Heart? 
 You cannot think me false and insincere, 
 When I repeat my Vows to love you still ; 
 Each time I see you move, or hear you speak, 
 It adds fresh Fuel to the growing Flame. 
 You re like the rising Sun, whose Beams increase 
 As he advances upward to our View; 
 We gaze with growing Wonder till we re blind, 
 And every Beauty fades and dies but his. 
 Thus shall I always view your growing Charm, 
 And every Day and Hour with fresh Delight. 
 
Ponteach 155 
 
 Witness thou Sun and Moon, and Stars above, 
 Witness ye purling Streams and quivering Lakes, 
 Witness ye Groves and Hills, and Springs and Plains, 
 Witness ye Shades, and the cool Fountain, where 
 I first espied the Image of her Charms, 
 And starting saw her on th adjacent Bank, 
 If I to my Monelia prove untrue. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Hoh ! now your Talk is so much like a Christian s, 
 
 That I must be excus d if I distrust you, 
 
 And think your fair Pretences all designing. 
 
 I once was courted by a spruce young Blade, 
 
 A lac d Coat Captain, warlike, active, gay, 
 
 Cockaded Hat and Medal on his Breast, 
 
 And every thing was clever but his Tongue; 
 
 He swore he lov d, O! how he swore he lov d, 
 
 Call d on his God and Stars to witness for him, 
 
 Wish d he might die, be blown to Hell and damn d, 
 
 If ever he lov d woman so before: 
 
 Call d me his Princess, Charmer, Angel, Goddess, 
 
 Swore nothing else was ever half so pretty, 
 
 So dear, so sweet, so much to please his Taste, 
 
 He kiss d, he squeez d, and press d me to his Bosom, 
 
 Vow d nothing could abate his ardent Passion, 
 
 Swore he should die, should drown, or hang himself, 
 
 Could not exist if I denied his Suit, 
 
 And said a thousand Things I cannot Name: 
 
 My simple Heart, made soft by so much Heat, 
 
 Half gave Consent, meaning to be his Bride. 
 
 The Moment thus unguarded, he embrac d, 
 
 And impudently ask d to stain my Virtue. 
 
 With just Disdain I push d him from my Arms, 
 
 And let him know he d kindled my Resentment; 
 
 The Scene was chang d from Sunshine to a Storm, 
 
 Oh! then he curs d, and swore, and damn d, and sunk, 
 
 Call d me proud Bitch, pray d Heav n to blast my Soul, 
 
 Wish d Furies, Hell, and Devils had my Body, 
 
 To say no more; bid me begone in Haste 
 
 Without the smallest Mark of his Affection. ~ 
 
 This was an Englishman, a Christian Lover. 
 
156 Representative Plays 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Would you compare an Indian Prince to those 
 Whose Trade it is to cheat, deceive, and flatter? 
 Who rarely speak the Meaning of their Hearts? 
 Whose Tongues are full of Promises and Vows? 
 Whose very Language is a downright Lie? 
 Who swear and call on Gods when they mean nothing? 
 Who call it complaisant, polite good Breeding, 
 To say Ten thousand things they don t intend, 
 And tell their nearest Friends the basest Falsehood? 
 I know you cannot think me so perverse, 
 Such Baseness dwells not in an Indian s Heart, 
 And I ll convince you that I am no Christian. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Then do not swear, nor vow, nor promise much, 
 An honest Heart needs none of this Parade; 
 Its Sense steals softly to the list ning Ear, 
 And Love, like a rich Jewel we most value, 
 When we ourselves by Chance espy its Blaze 
 And none proclaims where we may find the Prize. 
 Mistake me not, I don t impeach your Honour, 
 Nor think you undeserving my Esteem; 
 When our Hands join you may repeat your Love, 
 But save these Repetitions from the Tongue. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Forgive me, if my Fondness is too pressing, 
 Tis Fear, tis anxious Fear, that makes it so. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 What do you fear? have I not said enough? 
 
 Or would you have me swear some Christian Oath? 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 No, but I fear our Love will be oppos d, 
 Your Father will forbid our Hands to join. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 I cannot think it; you are Ponteach s Son, 
 Heir to an Empire large and rich as his. 
 
Pon teach 157 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 True; but your Father is a Friend to Britons, 
 And mine a Foe, and now is fix d on War, 
 Immediate War: This Day the Chiefs assemble, 
 To raise the Hatchet, and to arm the Troops. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Then I must leave your Realm, and bid Adieu, 
 In spite of your fond Passion, or my own; ->>. 
 For I can never disoblige my Father, 
 Though by it I were sure to gain an Empire. / 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Then Chekitan s undone, undone for ever. 
 Unless your Father by kind Fate is mov d 
 To be our Friend, and join the Lists with mine. 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 Nothing would please me better ; I love War, 
 And think it time to curb the English Pride, 
 And give a check to their increasing Power. 
 The Land is ravag d by their numerous Bands, 
 And every Day they re growing more our Lords. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 Are you sincere, or do you feign this Speech? 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 Indeed my Tongue does not bely my Heart; 
 And but my Father s wrong-turn d Policy 
 Forbids, I d instant join in War with you, 
 And help to set new Limits to their Power. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Tis plain, if they proceed, nor you nor I 
 Shall rule an Empire, or possess a Crown, 
 Our Countries all will soon become a Prey 
 To Strangers; we perhaps shall be their Slaves. 
 But will your Father be convinc d of this? 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 I doubt he ll not. The good old Man esteems 
 And dotes upon them as most worthy Friends; 
 
158 Representative Plays 
 
 I ve told him often that he cherish d Serpents, 
 To bite his Children, and destroy his Friends. 
 But this he calls the Folly of my Youth, 
 Bids me be silent, show Respect to Age, 
 Nor sow Sedition in my Father s Empire. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Stiff as he is, he yet may be subdued ; 
 
 And I ve a Power prepar d that will attack him. 
 
 Should he refuse his Aid to our Design, 
 
 Retire himself, and bid his Troops to follow, 
 
 Yet Philip stands engag d for his Return, 
 
 Ere twice the Sun has ris n and blest the Earth. 
 
 Philip is eloquent, and so prepar d, 
 
 He cannot fail to bend him to our Purpose. 
 
 You and Monelia have a Part to act; 
 
 To linger here, should he in Haste retreat 
 
 Till Philip follows and employs his Force. 
 
 Your Stay will add new Life to the Design, 
 
 And be of mighty Weight to gain Success. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 How shall we tarry midst the Noise of War, 
 In Danger of our Lives from Friends and Foes; 
 This will be deem d a Madness by our Father, 
 And will deserve his most severe Rebuke. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Myself will be a Sponsor for your Safety ; 
 And should your Father baffle our Attempts, 
 Conduct you home from all the Noise of War, 
 Where may you long in Peace and Plenty smile, 
 While I return to mourn my hapless Fate. 
 But should Success attend on Philip s Purpose, 
 Your Father will not discommend your Stay, 
 But smiling give new Vigour to the War; 
 Which being ended, and our Foes subdu d, 
 The happy Fruits of Peace succeed to all, 
 But we shall taste the greater Sweets of Love. 
 
 TORAX. 
 The Purport of our Stay is hid from me; 
 
Ponteach 1 59 
 
 But Philip s subtle, crafty as the Fox. 
 We ll give full Scope to his enticing Art, 
 And help him what we can to take the Prey. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 In your Protection then I trust myself, 
 Nor will delay beyond th appointed Term, 
 Lest anxious Fears possess our Father s Heart, 
 Or Mischiefs happen that incur his Anger. 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 It is agreed; we now pursue our Walk; 
 
 Mean time consult what else may be of Use, 
 
 You re pain d with Love, and I m in Pain for War. [Exeunt. 
 
 CHEKITAN [solus]. 
 
 The Game is sure Her Brother s on my Side 
 Her Brother and my own My Force is strong 
 But could her Father now be rous d to War, 
 How should I triumph and defy even Fate? 
 But Fortune favours all advent rous Souls: 
 I ll now to Philip; tell him my Success, 
 And rouse up every Spark of Vigour in him: 
 He will conceive fresh Hopes, and be more zealous. 
 
 SCENE II. PONTEACH S Cabin. 
 PONTEACH, an Indian CONJURER, and French PRIEST. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Well ! have you found the Secret of my Dream, 
 By all your Cries, and Howls, and Sweats, and Prayers? 
 Or is the Meaning still conceal d from Man, 
 And only known to Genii and the Gods? 
 
 CONJURER. 
 
 Two Hours I ve lain within the sultry Stove, 
 While Floods of Sweat ran trickling from my Skin; 
 With Howls and Cries and all the Force of Sound 
 Have I invok d your Genius and my own, 
 Smote on my Breast, and beat against my Head, 
 
160 Representative Plays 
 
 To move an Answer, and the Secret learn. 
 
 But all in vain, no Answer can I have, 
 
 Till I first learn what secret Purposes 
 
 And great Designs are brooding in your Mind. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 At our pure Virgin s Shrine I ve bowed my Knees, 
 And there in fervent Prayer pour d out my Soul; 
 Call d on Saint Peter, call d on all the Saints 
 That know the Secrets both of Heaven and Earth, 
 And can reveal what Gods themselves can do: 
 I ve us d the Arts of our most holy Mother, 
 Which I receiv d when I forsook the World, 
 And gave myself to Holiness and Heaven; 
 But can t obtain the Secret of your Dream, 
 Till I first know the Secrets of your Heart, 
 Or what you hope or wish to be effected. 
 Tis on these Terms we learn the Will of God, 
 What Good or 111 awaits on Kings or Kingdoms; 
 And without this, St. Peter s Self can t tell, 
 But at a Dream like yours would be confounded. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 You re well agreed Our Gods are much alike 
 
 And I suspect both Rogues What! won t they tell! 
 
 Should they betray my Scheme, the whole is blown. 
 
 And yet I fain would know. I ll charge them first. [Aside. 
 
 Look here; if I disclose a Secret to you, 
 
 Tell it to none but silent honest Gods; 
 
 Death to you both, if you reveal to Men. 
 
 BOTH. 
 
 We will, we will, the Gods alone shall know. 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Know then that I have fix d on speedy War, 
 To drive these new Encroachers from my Country. 
 For this I meant t engage our several Tribes, 
 And when our Foes are driven to their Bounds, 
 That we may stand and hold our Rights secure, 
 Unite our Strength under one common Head, 
 
Ponteach 161 
 
 Whom all these Petty Kings must own their Lord, 
 Not even Hendrick s self shall be excused. 
 This is my Purpose. Learn if it shall prosper, 
 Or will it end in Infamy and Shame? 
 
 CONJURER. 
 
 [Smiting on his breast, groaning, and muttering in his cloak or 
 blanket, falls down upon the ground, beats his head against 
 it, and pretends to listen: then rises, and says with a rumbling 
 hideous voice:] 
 
 Success and Victory shall attend your Arms; 
 
 You are the mighty Elk that none can conquer, 
 
 And all the Tribes shall own you for their King. 
 
 Thus, say the Genii, does your Dream intend. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 [Looking up to Heaven in a praying posture for a small space t 
 
 says: ] 
 
 Had I but known you was resolv d on War, 
 And War against those Heretics the English, 
 I need not to have ask d a God or Saint 
 To signify the Import of your Dream. 
 Your great Design shall have a prosperous End, 
 Tis by the Gods approv d, and must succeed. 
 Angels and Saints are dancing now in Heaven: 
 Your Enemies are theirs, are hated by them, 
 And they ll protect and help you as their Champion, 
 That fights their Battles, and defends their Cause. 
 Our great St. Peter is himself a Warrior; 
 He drew his Sword against such Infidels, 
 And now, like him, you ll gain immortal Honour, 
 And Gods in Heaven and Saints on Earth will praise you. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 The Gods and Genii do as you have said. 
 I ll to the Chiefs, and hasten them to Arms. 
 
 [Exeunt PONTEACH and CONJURER. 
 
 PRIEST [solus], 
 
 This, by St. Peter, goes as I would have it. 
 The Conjurer agreed with me to pump him, 
 
1 62 Representative Plays 
 
 Or else deny to solve his dubious Vision : 
 
 But, that we ve so agreed in our Responses, 
 
 Is all mere Providence, and rul d by Heaven, 
 
 To give us further Credit with this Indian. 
 
 Now he is fix d will wage immediate War 
 
 This will be joyful News in France and Rome, 
 
 That Ponteach is in Arms, and won t allow 
 
 The English to possess their new-gain d Empire: 
 
 That he has slain their Troops, destroy d their Forts, 
 
 Expell d them from the Lakes to their old Limits: 
 
 That he prefers the French, and will assist 
 
 To repossess them of this fertile Land. 
 
 By all the Saints, of this I ll make a Merit, 
 
 Declare myself to be the wise Projector; 
 
 This may advance me towards St. Peter s Chair, 
 
 And these blind Infidels by Accident 
 
 May have a Hand in making me a Pope 
 
 But stop Won t this defeat my other Purpose? 
 
 To gain the Mohawk Princess to my Wishes? 
 
 No by the holy Virgin, I ll surprise her, 
 
 And have one hearty Revel in her Charms. 
 
 But now I ll hasten to this Indian Council; 
 
 I may do something there that s apropos. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. An Indian Senate-House. 
 
 PONTEACH, TENESCO, PHILIP, ASTINACO, BEAR, WOLF, and 
 French PRIEST. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Are all the Chiefs and Warriors here assembled, 
 That we expect to honour this Day s Council? 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 All are conven d except the Mohawk King, 
 Who, as we are inform d, denies his Presence. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 I ve half succeeded with the stubborn Chief. 
 He will not join in Council, but hath promised, 
 Till further Notice, not to be our Foe: 
 
Ponteach 163 
 
 He ll see how we unite, and what Success 
 Attends our Arms; in short, he gives strong Hints 
 That he will soon befriend the common Cause. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Do what he will, tis this explains my Meaning; 
 
 [Taking up the hatchet. 
 
 You all are well appris d of my Design, 
 
 Which every passing Moment but confirms: 
 
 Nay, my Heart s pain d while I withhold my Hand 
 
 From Blood and Vengeance on our hated Foes. 
 ,Tho I should stand alone, I ll try my Power 
 
 To punish their Encroachments, Frauds, and Pride; 
 
 Yet tho I die, it is my Country s Cause, 
 \ Tis better thus to die than be despis d; 
 \. Better to die than be a Slave to Cowards, 
 
 Better to die than see my Friends abus d; 
 
 The Aged scorn d, the Young despis d and spurn d. 
 
 Better to die than see my .Country ruin d, 
 
 ^lyself, my Sons, my Friends reduc d to Famine, 
 
 Expell d from hence to barren Rocks and Mountains, 
 
 To curse our wretched Fate and pine in Want; 
 
 Our pleasant Lakes and Fertile Lands usurp d 
 
 By Strangers, Ravagers, rapacious Christians. 
 
 Who is it don t prefer a Death in War 
 
 To this impending Wretchedness and Shame? 
 
 Who is it loves his Country, Friends, or Self, 
 
 And does not feel Resentment in his Soul? 
 
 Who is it sees their growing Strength and Power, 
 
 And how we waste and fail by swift Degrees, 
 
 That does not think it Time to rouse and arm, 
 
 And kill the Serpent ere we feel it sting, 
 
 And fall the Victims of its painful Poison? 
 
 Oh ! could our Fathers from their Country see 
 
 Their ancient Rights encroach d upon and ravag d, 
 
 And we their Children slow, supine, and careless 
 
 To keep the Liberty and Land they left us, 
 
 And tamely fall a Sacrifice to Knaves ! 
 
 How would their Bosoms glow with patriot Shame, 
 
 To see their Offspring so unlike themselves? 
 
 They dared all Dangers to defend their Rights, 
 
164 Representative Plays 
 
 Nor tamely bore an Insult from a Foe. 
 Their plain rough Souls were brave and full of Fire, 
 Lovers of War, nor knew the Pain of Fear. 
 Rouse, then, ye Sons of ancient Heroes, rouse, 
 Put on your Arms, and let us act a Part 
 Worthy the Sons of such renowned Chiefs. 
 Nor urge I you to Dangers that I shun, 
 Or mean to act my Part by Words alone; 
 This Hand shall wield the Hatchet in the Cause, 
 These Feet pursue the frighted running Foe, 
 This Body rush into the hottest Battle; 
 There should I fall, I shall secure my Honour, 
 And, dying, urge my Countrymen to Vengeance 
 With more Success than all the Force of Words. 
 Should I survive, I ll shed the foremost Tear 
 O er my brave Countrymen that chance to fall; 
 I ll be the foremost to revenge their Blood, 
 And, while I live, honour both them and theirs. 
 I add no more, but wait to hear your Minds. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Tho I m a Warrior, and delight in Arms, 
 Have oft with Pleasure heard the Sound of Battle, 
 And oft return d with Victory and Triumph ; 
 Yet I m not fond to fight without just Cause, 
 Or shed the Blood of Men for my Diversion; 
 But I have seen, with my own Eyes I ve seen, 
 High Provocations from our present Foes, 
 Their Pride and Insults, Knavery and Frauds, 
 Their large Encroachments on our common Rights, 
 Which every Day increase, are seen by all, 
 And grown so common, they are disregarded. 
 What calls on us more loudly for Revenge, 
 Is their Contempt and Breach of public Faith. 
 When we complain, they sometimes promise fair; 
 When we grow restless, Treaties are propos d, 
 And Promises are gilded then with Presents. 
 What is the End? Still the old Trade goes on; 
 Their Colonels, Governors, and mighty Men, 
 Cheat, lie, and break their solemn Promises, 
 And take no care to have our Wrongs redress d. 
 
Ponteach 165 
 
 Their King is distant, would he hear our Prayers: 
 Still we ve no other Way to come at Justice, 
 But by our Arms to punish Wrongs like these, 
 And Wrongs like these are national and public, 
 Concern us all, and call for public Vengeance. 
 And Wrongs like these are recent in our Minds. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Public or private Wrongs, no matter which. 
 I think our Hunters ought to be reveng d; 
 Their Bodies are found torn by rav nous Beasts, 
 But who doubts they were kill d by Englishmen? 
 Their Heads are scalp d, their Arms and Jewels gone, 
 And Beasts of Prey can have no Use for these. 
 No, they were murdered, slyly, basely shot, 
 And who that has a Heart does not resent it? 
 Oh ! how I long to tear their mangled Limbs ! 
 Yes, I could eat their Hearts, and drink their Blood, 
 And revel in their Torments, Pains, and Tortures; 
 And, though I go alone, I ll seek Revenge. 
 
 ASTINACO. 
 
 This is the Fire and Madness of your Youth, 
 And must be curb d to do your Country Service. 
 Facts are not always what they seem to be, 
 And this perhaps may be the Fault of One 
 Whom their Laws punish if you once detect him. 
 Shall we then, to revenge your Countrymen, 
 To recompense a Wrong by one committed, 
 Rouse all to Arms, and make a general Slaughter? 
 Tis higher Motives move my Mind to War, 
 And make me zealous in the common Cause. 
 But hear me Tis no Trifle we re upon 
 If we have Wisdom, it must now be used; 
 If we have Numbers, they must be united; 
 If we have Strength, it must be all exerted; 
 If we have Courage it must be inflamed, 
 And every Art and Stratagem be practised: 
 We ve more to do than fright a Pigeon Roost, 
 Or start a timorous Flock of running Deer; 
 Yes, we ve a strong, a warlike stubborn Foe, 
 
1 66 Representative Plays 
 
 Unus d to be repuls d and quit the Field, 
 
 Nay, flush d with Victories and long Success, 
 
 Their Numbers, Strength, and Courage all renown d, 
 
 Tis little of them that you see or know. 
 
 I ve seen their Capital, their Troops and Stores, 
 
 Their Ships, their Magazines of Death and Vengeance, 
 
 And, what is more, I ve seen their potent King, 
 
 Who like a God sits over all the World, 
 
 And thunders forth his Vengeance thro the Earth. 
 
 When he is pleas d, Smiles sit upon his Face, 
 
 And Goodness flows in Rivers at his Feet; 
 
 When he s provok d, tis like a fiery Tempest, 
 
 All s Terror and Amazement in his Presence, 
 
 And frighted Heroes trembling flee his Wrath. 
 
 What then is to be done? what may we hope? 
 
 At most, by secret, sly, and subtle Means 
 
 To curb these vagrant Outcasts of his Subjects, 
 
 Secure our Countries from their further Ravage, 
 
 And make ourselves of more Importance to them, 
 
 Perhaps procure a Peace to our Advantage. 
 
 In this I ll join and head my valiant Troops, 
 
 Who will not fail to act a valiant Part. 
 
 THE BEAR. 
 
 What is the Greatness of their King to us? 
 
 What of his Strength or Wisdom? Shall we fear 
 
 A Lion chain d, or in another World? 
 
 Or what avails his flowing Goodness to us? 
 
 Does not the ravenous Tyger feed her Young? 
 
 And the fierce Panther fawn upon his Mate? 
 
 Do not the Wolves defend and help their Fellows, 
 
 The poisonous Serpent feed her hissing Brood, 
 
 And open wide her Mouth for their Protection? 
 
 So this good King shows Kindness to his own, 
 
 And favours them, to make a Prey of others; 
 
 But at his Hands we may expect no Favour, 
 
 Look back, my Friends, to our Forefathers Time, 
 
 Where is their Country? where their pleasant Haunts? 
 
 The running Streams and shady Forests where? 
 
 They chas d the flying Game, and liv d in Plenty. 
 
 Lo, these proud Strangers now possess the Whole; 
 
Ponteach 167 
 
 Their Cities, Towns, and Villages arise, 
 
 Forests are spoil d, the Haunts of Game destroy d, 
 
 And all the Sea Coasts made one general Waste; 
 
 Between the Rivers Torrent-like they sweep, 
 
 And drive our Tribes toward the setting Sun. 
 
 They who once liv d on yon delightful Plains 
 
 Are now no more, their very Name is lost. 
 
 The Sons of potent Kings, subdu d and murder d, 
 
 Are Vagrants, and unknown among their Neighbours. 
 
 Where will the Ravage stop? the Ruin where? 
 
 Does not the Torrent rush with growing Speed, 
 
 And hurry us to the same wretched End? 
 
 Let us grow wise then by our Fathers Folly, 
 
 Unite our Strength, too long it s been divided, 
 
 And mutual Fears and Jealousies obtain d: 
 
 This has encourag d our encroaching Foes, 
 
 But we ll convince them, once, we dare oppose them. 
 
 THE WOLF. 
 
 Yet we have Strength by which we may oppose, 
 But every Day this Strength declines and fails. 
 Our great Forefathers, ere these Strangers came, 
 Liv d by the Chace, with Nature s Gifts content, 
 The cooling Fountain quench d their raging Thirst. 
 Doctors, and Drugs, and Med cines were unknown, 
 Even Age itself was free from Pain and Sickness. 
 Swift as the Wind, o er Rocks and Hills they chas d 
 The flying Game, the bounding Stag outwinded, 
 And tir d the savage Bear, and tam d the Tyger; 
 At Evening feasted on the past Day s Toil, 
 Nor then fatigu d; the merry Dance and Song 
 Succeeded ; still with every rising Sun 
 The Sport renew d; or if some daring Foe 
 Provok d their Wrath, they bent the hostile Bow, 
 Nor waited his Approach, but rush d with Speed, 
 Fearless of Hunger, Thirst, Fatigue, or Death. 
 But we their soften d Sons, a puny Race, 
 Are weak in Youth, fear Dangers where they re not; 
 Are weary d with what was to them a Sport, 
 Panting and breathless in One short Hour s Chace; 
 And every Effort of our Strength is feeble. 
 
1 68 Representative Plays 
 
 We re poison d with the Infection of our Foes, 
 Their very Looks and Actions are infectious, 
 And in deep Silence spread Destruction round them. 
 Bethink yourselves while any Strength remains; 
 
 pare to be like your Fathers, brave and strong, 
 Nor further let the growing Poison spread. 
 And would you stop it, you must resolve to conquer, 
 Destroy their Forts and Bulwarks, burn their Towns, 
 And keep them at a greater Distance from us. 
 Oh! tis a Day I long have wish d to see, 
 
 /And, aged as I am, my Youth returns 
 
 j To act with Vigour in so good a Cause. 
 
 1 Yes, you shall see the old Wolf will not fail 
 
 \To head his Troops, and urge them on to Battle. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Your Minds are all for War, we ll not delay; 
 Nor doubt but others gladly will comply, 
 When they behold our Union and Success. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 This Holy Priest has something to propose 
 That may excite us all to greater Zeal. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Let him be heard : Tis something from his Gods, 
 And may import the common Interest much. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 [Coming from one side, where he hath stood listening.] 
 Tis not to shew my Eloquence of Speech, 
 Or drown your Senses with unmeaning Sound, 
 That I desire Admittance to your Council ; 
 It is an Impulse from the Gods that moves me, 
 That what I say will be to your Advantage. 
 Oh ! With what secret Pleasure I behold 
 So many wise and valiant Kings unite, 
 And in a Cause by Gods and Saints espous d. 
 Heaven smiles on your Design, and it shall prosper. 
 You re going to fight the Enemies of God; 
 Rebels and Traitors to the King of Kings; 
 
Ponteach 169 
 
 Nay, those who once betray d and kill d his Son, 
 Who came to save you Indians from Damnation 
 He was an Indian, therefore they destroy d himy 
 He rose again and took his flight to Heaven; 
 But when his Foes are slain he ll quick return; 
 And be your kind Protector, Friend, and King. 
 Be therefore brave and fight his Battles for him ; 
 Spare not his Enemies, where-e r you find em: 
 The more you murder them, the more you please him; 
 Kill all you captivate, both old and young, 
 Mothers and Children, let them feel your Tortures; 
 He that shall kill a Briton, merits Heaven. 
 And should you chance to fall, you ll be convey d 
 By flying Angels to your King that s there 
 Where these your hated Foes can never come. 
 Doubt you the Truth of this my Declaration? 
 I have a Witness here that cannot lie. 
 
 [Pulling out a burning glass. 
 
 This Glass was touch d by your great Saviour s Hand, 
 And after left in holy Peter s Care; 
 When I command, it brings down Fire from Heaven, 
 To witness for me that I tell no Lie. 
 
 [The INDIANS gather round and gaze. 
 
 Behold Great God, send Fire, convince these Indian Kings 
 That I m thy Servant, and report the Truth, 
 
 [In a very praying posture and solemn canting tone. 
 Am sent to teach them what they ought to do, 
 To kill and scalp, to torture and torment 
 Thy murderous treacherous Foes, the hateful English. 
 
 [It takes fire; the INDIANS are amaz d, and retreat from it. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Who now can doubt the Justice of our Cause, 
 Or this Man s Mission from the King above, 
 And that we ought to follow his Commands? 
 
 ASTINACO. 
 Tis wonderful indeed It must be so 
 
 TENESCO. 
 This cannot be a Cheat It is from Heaven - 
 
170 Representative Plays 
 
 ALL. 
 
 We are convinc d and ready to obey; 
 We are impatient to revenge our King. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 [Takes up the bloody hatchet and flourishes it round.] 
 Thus do I raise the Hatchet from the Ground, 
 Sharpen d and bright may it be stain d with Blood, 
 And never dull d nor rusted till we ve conquer d, 
 And taught proud Englishmen to dread its Edge. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 [Flourishing their hatchets, and striking them upon a block.] 
 Thus will we hew and carve their mangled Bodies, 
 And give them to the Beasts and Birds for Food. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 And thus our Names and Honours will maintain \ 
 While Sun and Moon, Rivers and Trees remain; 
 Our unborn Children shall rejoice to hear 
 How we their Fathers made the English fear. 
 
 THE WAR SONG. 
 
 To the tune of "Over the Hills and far away, 11 sung by TENESCO, 
 the head warrior. They all join in the Chorus, and dance, while 
 that is singing, in a circle round him; and during the Chorus the 
 music plays. 
 
 Where-e r the Sun displays his Light, 
 
 Or Moon is seen to shine by Night, 
 
 Where-e r the noisy Rivers flow 
 
 Or Trees and Grass and Herbage grow. Chorus. 
 
 Be t known that we this War begin 
 With proud insulting Englishmen; 
 The Hatchet we have lifted high, 
 
 [Holding up their hatchets. 
 And them we ll conquer or we ll die. Chorus. 
 
 The Edge is keen, the Blade is bright, 
 Nothing saves them but their Flight; 
 And then like Heroes we ll pursue, 
 Over the Hills and Valleys through. Chorus. 
 
Ponteach 171 
 
 They ll like frighted Women quake, 
 
 When they behold a hissing Snake; 
 
 Or like timorous Deer away, 
 
 And leave both Goods and Arms a Prey. Chorus. 
 
 Pain d with Hunger, Cold, or Heat, 
 In Haste they ll from our Land retreat; 
 While we ll employ our scalping Knives 
 
 {Drawing and flourishing their scalping knives. 
 Take off their Skulls, and spare their Lives. Chorus. 
 
 Or in their Country they ll complain, 
 
 Nor ever dare return again; 
 
 Or if they should they ll rue the Day, 
 
 And curse the Guide that shew d the Way. Chorus. 
 
 If Fortune smiles, we ll not be long 
 
 Ere we return with Dance and Song, 
 
 But ah ! if we should chance to die, 
 
 Dear Wives and Children do not cry. Chorus. 
 
 Our Friends will ease your Grief and Woe, 
 
 By double Vengeance on the Foe; 
 
 Will kill, and scalp, and shed their Blood, 
 
 Where-e r they find them thro the Wood. Chorus. 
 
 No pointing Foe shall ever say 
 
 Twas there the vanquish d Indian lay; 
 
 Or boasting to his Friends relate 
 
 The Tale of our unhappy Fate. Chorus. 
 
 Let us with Courage then away 
 To hunt and seize the frighted Prey; 
 Nor think of Children, Friend, or Wife, 
 While there s an Englishman alive. Chorus. 
 
 In Heat and Cold, thro Wet and Dry, 
 Will we pursue, and they shall fly 
 To Seas which they a Refuge think, 
 And there in wretched Crowds they ll sink. Chorus. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes singing. 
 
 The End of the Third Act. 
 
I7 2 Representative Plays 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The Border of a Grove. 
 Enter TENESCO to PHILIP and CHEKITAN. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 The Troops are all assembled, some have march d, 
 Perhaps are now engag d, and warm in Battle; 
 The rest have Orders where to bend their Course. 
 Each Tribe is headed by a valiant Chief, 
 Except the Bulls which fall to one of you ; 
 The other stays to serve the State at home, 
 Or back us, should our Forces prove too weak. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 The Bulls are brave, had they a brave Commander, 
 They d push the Battle home with sure Success. 
 I d choose of all the Troops to be their Leader; 
 For tho I d neither Courage, Skill, nor Strength, 
 Honour attends the Man who heads the Brave; 
 Many are dubb d for Heroes in these Times, .^ 
 
 Who owe their Fame to those whom they commanded. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 But we shall ne er suspect your Title false; 
 Already you ve connrm d your Fame and Courage, 
 And prov d your Skill and Strength as a Commander. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Still I ll endeavour to deserve your Praise, 
 Nor long delay the Honour you propose. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 But this will interfere with your Design, 
 
 And oversets the Scheme of winning Hendrick. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 Ah true and kills your Hope This Man s in Love. 
 
 [To TENESCO. 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Indeed! In Love with whom? King Hendrick s Daughter? 
 
Ponteach 173 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 The same; and I ve engag d to win her Father. 
 TENESCO. 
 
 This may induce him to espouse our Cause, 
 Which likewise you engag d should be effected. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 But then I can t command as was propos d, 
 I must resign that Honour to this Lover, 
 While I conduct and form this double Treaty. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 I am content if you but please yourselves 
 
 By Means and Ways not hurtful to the Public. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Was not the Public serv d, no private Ends 
 Would tempt me to detain him from the Field, 
 Or in his stead propose myself a Leader; 
 But every Power I have shall be exerted: 
 And if in Strength or Wisdom I should fail, 
 I dare presume you ll ever find me faithful. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 I doubt it not You ll not delay your Charge; 
 The Troops are all impatient for the Battle. 
 
 [Exeunt TENESCO and PHILIP. 
 
 CHEKITAN [solus]. 
 
 This is not to my Mind But I must do it 
 If Philip heads the Troops, my Hopes are blown 
 I must prepare, and leave the Event to Fate 
 And him Tis fix d There is no other Choice; 
 Monelia I must leave, and think of Battles 
 She will be safe But, Oh! the Chance of War 
 Perhaps I fall and never see her more 
 This shocks my Soul in spite of Resolution 
 The bare Perhaps is more than Daggers to me 
 To part for ever! I d rather stand against 
 Embattled Troops than meet this single Thought; 
 
174 Representative Plays 
 
 A Thought in Poison dipp d and pointed round; 
 Oh! how it pains my doubting trembling Heart! 
 I must not harbour it My Word is gone 
 My Honour calls and, what is more, my Love. 
 
 [Noise of MONELIA striving behind the scene. 
 What Sound is that? It is Monelia s Voice; 
 And in Distress What Monster gives her Pain? 
 
 [Going towards the sound, the Scene opens and discovers the 
 PRIEST with her. 
 
 SCENE II. MONELIA and PRIEST. 
 
 CHEKITAN 
 What do I see? The holy Priest is with her. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 [Struggling with the PRIEST, and trying to disengage herself.] 
 . No, I would sooner die than be dishonour d - 
 V^Cut my own Throat, or drown me in the Lake. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 Do you love Indians better than us white Men? 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 /Nay, should an Indian make the foul Attempt, 
 \J d murder him, or kill my wretched Self. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 I must I can, and will enjoy you now. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 v/ You must! You sha n t, you cruel, barbarous Christian. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Hold, thou mad Tyger What Attempt is this? [Seizing him. 
 Are you a Christian Priest? What do you here? [Pushes him. 
 What was his Will, Monelia? He is dumb. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 May he be dumb and blind, and senseless quite, 
 That had such brutal Baseness in his Mind. 
 
Ponteach 175 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Base, false Deceiver, what could you intend? 
 
 [Making towards him. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 /Oh, I am faint You have preserv d my Honour, 
 (^Which he, foul Christian, thirsted to destroy. 
 
 [PRIEST attempts to go. 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Stay; leave your Life to expiate your Crime: 
 Your heated Blood shall pay for your Presumption. 
 
 [Offering to strike him with a hatchet. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Good Prince, forbear your pious Hand from Blood ; 
 I did not know you was this Maiden s Lover, 
 I took her for a Stranger, half your Foe. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Did you not know she was King Hendrick s Daughter? 
 Did you not know that she was not your Wife? 
 Have you not told us, holy Men like you 
 Are by the Gods forbid all fleshly Converse? 
 Have you not told us, Death, and Fire, and Hell 
 Await those who are incontinent, 
 Or dare to violate the Rites of Wedlock? 
 That your God s Mother liv d and died a Virgin, 
 And thereby set Example to her Sex? 
 What means all this? Say you such Things to us, 
 That you alone may revel in these Pleasures? 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 I have a Dispensation from St. Peter 
 To quench the Fire of Love when it grows painful. 
 This makes it innocent like Marriage Vows; 
 And all our holy Priests, and she herself, 
 Commit no Sin in this Relief of Nature: 
 For, being holy, there is no Pollution 
 Communicated from us as from others; 
 Nay, Maids are holy after we ve enjoy d them, 
 And, should the Seed take Root, the Fruit is pure. 
 
176 Representative Plays 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Oh vain Pretense ! Falsehood and foul Deception ! 
 None but a Christian could devise such Lies! 
 Did I not fear it might provoke your Gods, 
 Your Tongue should never frame Deceit again. 
 If there are Gods, and such as you have told us, 
 They must abhor all Baseness and Deceit, 
 And will not fail to punish Crimes like yours. 
 To them I leave you But avoid my Presence, 
 Nor let me ever see your hated Head, 
 Or hear your lying Tongue within this Country. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 Now by St. Peter I must go He s raging. [Aside. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 That Day I do, by your great dreadful God, 
 
 This Hand shall cleave your Head, and spill your Blood, 
 
 Not all your Prayers, and Lies, and Saints shall save you. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 I ve got his Father s Secret, and will use it. 
 
 Such Disappointment ought to be reveng d. [Aside. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Don t mutter here, and conjure up your Saints, 
 I value not their Curses, or your Prayers. 
 
 [Stepping towards the PRIEST to hurry him. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 By all the Saints, young Man, thou shalt repent it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Base, false Dissembler Tyger, Snake, a Christian! 
 I hate the Sight; I fear the very Name. 
 O Prince, what has not your kind Presence sav d me! 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 It sav d to me more than my Father s Empire; 
 Far more than Crowns and Worlds It sav d Monelia, 
 The Hope of whom is more than the Creation. 
 
Pon teach 177 
 
 In this I feel the Triumph of an Hero, 
 
 And glory more than if I d conquer d Kingdoms. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Oh, I am thine, I m more than ever thine; 
 I am your Captive now, your lawful Prize: 
 You ve taken me in War, a dreadful War! 
 And snatch d me from the hungry Tyger s Jaw. 
 More than my Life and Service is your Due, 
 And had I more I would devote it to you. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 my Monelia! rich is my Reward, 
 Had I lost Life itself in the Encounter; 
 
 But still I fear that Fate will snatch you from me. 
 Where is your Brother? Why was you alone? 
 
 Enter TOR AX, from listening to their discourse, 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 Here am I : What would you of me? 
 
 MONELIA. 
 Torax ! 
 
 I ve been assaulted by a barbarous Man, 
 And by mere Accident escap d my Ruin. 
 
 TORAX. 
 What Foe is here? The English are not come? 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 No: But a Christian lurk d within the Grove, 
 And every Christian is a Foe to Virtue; 
 Insidious, subtle, cruel, base, and false! 
 Like Snakes, their very Eyes are full of Poison; 
 And where they are not, Innocence is safe. 
 
 TORAX. 
 The holy Priest! Is he so vile a Man? 
 
 1 heard him mutter Threat nings as I past him. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 I spar d his guilty Life, but drove him hence, 
 On Pain of Death and Tortures, never more 
 
178 Representative Plays 
 
 To tread the Earth, or breathe the Air with me. 
 Be warn d by this to better tend your Charge. 
 You see how Mischiefs lie conceal d about us, 
 We tread on Serpents ere we hear them hiss, 
 And Tygers lurk to seize the incautious Prey. 
 I must this Hour lead forth my Troops to Battle, 
 They re now in Arms, and waiting my Command. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 What Safety shall I have when you are gone? 
 I must not, cannot, will not longer tarry, 
 Lest other Christians, or some other Foe, 
 Attempt my Ruin. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Torax will be your Guard. 
 My Honour suffers, should I now decline; 
 It is my Country s Cause; I ve pawn d my Word, 
 Prevented Philip, to make sure of you. 
 He stays. Tis all in favour to our Love; 
 We must at present please ourselves with Hopes. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Oh! my fond Heart no more conceals its Flame; 
 I fear, my Prince, I fear our Fates are cruel : 
 There s something whispers in my anxious Breast, 
 That if you go, I ne er shall see you more. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Oh ! how her Words unman and melt my Soul ! 
 As if her Fears were Prophecies of Fate. [Aside. 
 
 I will not go and leave you thus in Fears; 
 I ll frame Excuses Philip shall command 
 I ll find some other Means to turn the King; 
 I ll venture Honour, Fortune, Life, and Love, 
 Rather than trust you from my Sight again. 
 For what avails all that the World can give? 
 If you re withheld, all other Gifts are Curses, 
 And Fame and Fortune serve to make me wretched. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 Now you grow wild You must not think of staying; 
 Our only Hope, you know, depends on Philip. 
 
Ponteach 179 
 
 I will not fear, but hope for his Success, 
 And your Return with Victory and Triumph, 
 That Love and Honour both may crown our Joy. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Now this is kind ; I am myself again. 
 You had unman d and soften d all my Soul, 
 Disarm d my Hand, and cowardiz d my Heart: 
 But now in every Vein I feel an Hero, 
 Defy the thickest Tempest of the War: 
 Yes, like a Lion conscious of his Strength, 
 Fearless of Death I ll rush into the Battle; 
 I ll fight, I ll conquer, triumph and return; 
 Laurels I ll gain and lay them at your Feet. 
 
 MONELIA. 
 
 May the Success attend you that you wish! 
 May our whole Scheme of Happiness succeed! 
 May our next Meeting put an End to Fear, 
 And Fortune shine upon us in full Blaze! 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 May Fate preserve you as her Darling Charge! 
 May all the Gods and Goddesses, and Saints, 
 If conscious of our Love, turn your Protectors! 
 And the great thundering God with Lightning burn 
 Him that but means to interrupt your Peace. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Indian Senate-House. 
 PONTEACH and PHILIP. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 Say you that Torax then is fond of War? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 He is, and waits impatient my Return. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Tis friendly in you thus to help your Brother; 
 But I suspect his Courage in the Field ; 
 A love-sick Boy makes but a cow rdly Captain. 
 
i8o Representative Plays 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 His Love may spur him on with greater Courage; 
 He thinks he s fighting for a double Prize; 
 And but for this, and Hopes of greater Service 
 In forwarding the Treaty with the Mohawk, 
 I now had been in Arms and warm in Battle. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 I much commend the Wisdom of your Stay. 
 
 Prepare yourself, and hasten to his Quarters; 
 
 You cannot make th Attempt with too much Speed. 
 
 Urge ev ry Argument with Force upon him, 
 
 Urge my strong Friendship, urge your Brother s Love, 
 
 His Daughter s Happiness, the common Good; 
 
 The general Sense of all the Indian Chiefs, 
 
 The Baseness of our Foes, our Hope of Conquest; 
 
 The Richness of the Plunder if we speed; 
 
 That we ll divide and share it as he pleases; 
 
 That our Success is certain if he joins us. 
 
 Urge these, and what besides to you occurs; 
 
 All cannot fail, I think, to change his Purpose. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 You d think so more if you knew all my Plan. [Aside. 
 
 I m all prepar d now I ve receiv d your Orders, 
 But first must speak t his Children ere I part, 
 I am to meet them in the further Grove. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Hark! there s a Shout We ve News of some Success; 
 It is the Noise of Victory and Triumph. 
 
 [Enter a MESSENGER. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Huzza ! for our brave Warriors are return d 
 Loaded with Plunder and the Scalps of Christians. 
 
 [Enter WARRIORS. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 What have you done? Why all this Noise and Shouting? 
 
Ponteach 181 
 
 IST WARRIOR. 
 
 Three Forts are taken, all consum d and plunder d; 
 The English in them all destroy d by Fire, 
 Except some few escap d to die with Hunger. 
 
 2ND WARRIOR. 
 
 We ve smok d the Bear in spite of all his Craft, 
 Burnt up their Den, and made them take the Field: 
 The mighty Colonel Cockum and his Captain 
 Have dull d our Tomhocks; here are both their Scalps: 
 
 [Holding out the two scalps. 
 Their Heads are split, our Dogs have eat their Brains. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 If that be all they ve eat, the Hounds will starve. 
 
 3RD WARRIOR. 
 
 These are the scalps of those two famous Cheats 
 Who bought our Furs for Rum, and sold us Water. 
 
 [Holding out the scalps, which PONTEACH takes. 
 Our Men are* loaded with their Furs again, 
 And other Plunder from the Villains Stores. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 All this is brave! [Tossing up the scalps, which others catch, and 
 
 toss and throw them about. 
 This Way we ll serve them all. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 We ll cover all our Cabins with their Scalps. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 We ll fat our Dogs upon their Brains and Blood. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 Ere long we ll have their Governors in Play. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 And knock their grey-wig d Scalps about this Way. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 The Game is started ; Warriors, hunt away, 
 Nor let them find a Place to shun your Hatchets. 
 
 
1 82 Representative Plays 
 
 ALL WARRIORS. 
 We will : We will soon shew you other Scalps. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Bring some alive; I long to see them dance 
 In Fire and Flames, it us d to make them caper. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 Such Sport enough you ll have before we ve done. [Exeunt. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 This still will help to move the Mohawk King. 
 Spare not to make the most of our Success. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 Trust me for that Hark; there s another Shout; 
 
 [Shouting without. 
 A Shout for Prisoners Now I have my Sport. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 It is indeed; and there s a Number too. 
 
 Enter WARRIORS. 
 
 IST WARRIOR. 
 
 We ve broke the Barrier, burnt their Magazines, 
 Slew Hundreds of them, and pursu d the rest 
 Quite to their Settlements. 
 
 2ND WARRIOR. 
 There we took 
 
 Their famous Hunters Honnyman and Orsbourn; 
 The last is slain, this is his bloody Scalp. [Tossing it up. 
 
 With them we found the Guns of our lost Hunters, 
 And other Proofs that they re the Murderers; - 
 Nay, Honnyman confesses the base Deed, 
 And, boasting, says, he s kill d a Score of Indians. 
 
 3RD WARRIOR. 
 This is the bloody Hunter: This his Wife; 
 
 [Leading them forward, pinioned and tied together. 
 With two young Brats that will be like their Father. 
 We took them in their Nest, and spoil d their Dreams. 
 
Ponteach 183 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Oh I could eat their Hearts, and drink their Blood, 
 Were they not Poison, and unfit for Dogs. 
 Here, you Blood-hunter, have you lost your Feeling? 
 You Tygress Bitch! You Breeder up of Serpents! 
 
 [Slapping HONNYMAN in the face, and kicking his wife. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Stop We must first consult which way to torture. 
 And whether all shall die We will retire. 
 
 PHILIP [going]. 
 Take care they don t escape. 
 
 WARRIOR. 
 They re bound secure. 
 
 [Exeunt INDIANS; manent PRISONERS. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, Honnyman, how desperate is our Case! 
 There s not a single Hope of Mercy left: 
 How savage, cruel, bloody did they look! 
 Rage and Revenge appear d in every Face. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 You may depend upon t, we all must die, 
 
 I ve made such Havoc, they ll have no Compassion; 
 
 They only wait to study out new Torments: 
 
 All that can be inflicted or endur d, 
 
 We may expect from their relentless Hands. 
 
 Their brutal Eyes ne er shed a pitying Tear; 
 
 Their savage Hearts ne er had a Thought of Mercy; 
 
 Their Bosoms swell with Rancour and Revenge, 
 
 And, Devil-like, delight in others Plagues, 
 
 Love Torments, Torture, Anguish, Fire, and Pain, 
 
 The deep-fetch d Groan, the melancholy Sigh, 
 
 And all the Terrors and Distress of Death, 
 
 These are their Music, and enhance their Joy. 
 
 In Silence then submit yourself to Fate: 
 
184 Representative Plays 
 
 Make no Complaint, nor ask for their Compassion; 
 
 This will confound and half destroy their Mirth; 
 
 Nay, this may put a stop to many Tortures, 
 
 To which our Prayers and Tears and Plaints would move them. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, dreadful Scene! Support me, mighty God, 
 
 To pass the Terrors of this dismal Hour, 
 
 All dark with Horrors Torments, Pains, and Death! 
 
 Oh, let me not despair of thy kind Help; 
 
 Give Courage to my wretched, groaning Heart! 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 Tush, Silence! You ll be overheard. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, my dear Husband ! Tis an Hour for Prayer, 
 An Infidel would pray in our Distress: 
 An Atheist would believe there was some God 
 To pity Pains and Miseries so great. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 If there s a God, he knows our secret Wishes; 
 This Noise can be no Sacrifice to him; 
 It opens all the Springs of our weak Passions. 
 Besides, it will be Mirth to our Tormentors; 
 They ll laugh, and call this Cowardice in Christians 
 And say Religion makes us all mere Women. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 I will suppress my Grief in Silence then, 
 
 And secretly implore the Aid of Heaven. 
 
 Forbid to pray ! Oh, dreadful Hour indeed ! [Pausing. 
 
 Think you they will not spare our dear sweet Babes? 
 
 Must these dear Innocents be put to Tortures, 
 
 Or dash d to Death, and share our wretched Fate? 
 
 Must this dear Babe that hangs upon my Breast 
 
 [Looking upon her infant. 
 
 Be snatch d by savage Hands and torn in Pieces! 
 Oh, how it rends my Heart! It is too much! 
 Tygers would kindly soothe a Grief like mine; 
 
Ponteach 185 
 
 Unconscious Rocks would melt, and flow in Tears 
 At this last Anguish of a Mother s Soul. 
 
 (Pauses, and views her child again. 
 Sweet Innocent! It smiles at this Distress, 
 And fondly draws this final Comfort from me: 
 Dear Babe, no more: Dear Tommy too must die, 
 
 [Looking at her other child. 
 Oh, my sweet First-born ! Oh, I m overpower d. [Pausing. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 I had determin d not to shed a Tear; [Weeping. 
 
 But you have all unman d my Resolution; 
 You ve call d up all the Father in my Soul; 
 Why have you nam d my Children? Oh, my Son! 
 
 [Looking upon him. 
 
 My only Son My Image Other Self! 
 How have I doted on the charming Boy, 
 And fondly plann d his Happiness in Life! 
 Now his Life ends: Oh, the Soul-bursting Thought! 
 He falls a Victim for his Father s Folly. 
 Had I not kill d their Friends, they might have spar d 
 My Wife, my Children, and perhaps myself, 
 And this sad, dreadful Scene had never happen d. 
 But tis too late that I perceive my Folly; 
 If Heaven forgive, tis all 1 dare to hope for. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 What! have you been a Murderer indeed! 
 And kill d the Indians for Revenge and Plunder? 
 I thought you rash to tempt their brutal Rage, 
 But did not dream you guilty as you said. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 I am indeed. I murder d many of them, 
 And thought it not amiss, but now I fear. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 O shocking Thought! Why have you let me know 
 Yourself thus guilty in the Eye of Heaven? 
 That I and my dear Babes were by you brought 
 To this Extreme of Wretchedness and Woe? 
 
1 86 Representative Plays 
 
 Why have you let me know the solemn Weight 
 
 Of horrid Guilt that lies upon us all? 
 
 To have died innocent, and seen these Babes 
 
 By savage Hands dash d to immortal Rest, 
 
 This had been light, for this implies no Crime: 
 
 But now we die as guilty Murderers, 
 
 Not savage Indians, but just Heaven s Vengeance 
 
 Pursues our Lives with all these Pains and Tortures. 
 
 This is a Thought that points the keenest Sorrow, 
 
 And leaves no Room for Anguish to be heighten d. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Upbraid me not, nor lay my Guilt to Heart; 
 You and these Fruits of our past Morning Love 
 Are innocent. I feel the Smart and Anguish, 
 The Stings of Conscience, and my Soul on Fire. 
 There s not a Hell more painful than my Bosoi 
 Nor Torments for the Damn d more keenly 
 How could I think to murder was no Sin? 
 Oh, my lost Neighbour ! I seduc d him too. 
 Now death with all its Terrors disappears, 
 And all I fear s a dreadful Something-after; 
 My Mind forebodes a horrid, woful Scene, 
 Where Guilt is chain d and tortur d with Despair. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 The Mind oppress d with Guilt may find Relief. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, could I reach the pitying Ear of Heaven, 
 And all my Soul evaporate in Sound, 
 T would ask Forgiveness! but I fear too late; 
 And next I d ask that you and these dear Babes 
 Might bear no Part in my just Punishment. 
 Who knows but by pathetic Prayers and Tears 
 Their savage Bosoms may relent towards you, 
 And fix their Vengeance where just Heaven points it? 
 I still will hope, and every Motive urge. 
 Should I succeed, and melt their rocky Hearts, 
 I d take it as a Presage of my Pardon, 
 And die with Comfort when I see you live. 
 
 [Death halloo is heard without. 
 
Ponteach 187 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Hark! they are coming Hear that dreadful Halloo. 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 It is Death s solemn Sentence to us all; 
 
 They are resolv d, and all Entreaty s vain. 
 
 Oh, horrid Scene! how shall I act my Part? 
 
 Was it but simple Death to me alone ! 
 
 But all your Deaths are mine, and mine the Guilt. 
 
 Enter INDIANS with stakes, hatchets, and firebrands. 
 Oh, horrid Preparation, more than Death! 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Plant down the Stakes, and let them be confin d : 
 
 [They loose them from each other. 
 First kill the Tygers, then destroy their Whelps. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 This Brat is in our Way, I will dispatch it. 
 
 [Offering to snatch the sucking infant. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 No, my dear Babe shall in my Bosom die; 
 There is its Nourishment, and there its End. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Die both together then, twill mend the Sport; 
 Tie the other to his Father, make a Pair; 
 Then each will have a Consort in their Pains; 
 Their sweet Brats with them, to increase the Dance. 
 
 [They are tied down, facing each other upon their knees, and 
 their backs to the stakes. 
 
 WARRIOR. 
 
 All now is ready; they are bound secure. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Whene er you please, their jovial Dance begins. 
 
 [To PONTEACH. 
 
1 88 Representative Plays 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, my dear Husband! What a Sight is this! 
 
 Could ever fabling Poet draw Distress 
 
 To such Perfection! Sad Catastrophe! 
 
 There are not Colours for such deep-dyed Woe, 
 
 Nor words expressive of such heighten d Anguish. 
 
 Ourselves, our Babes, O cruel, cruel Fate! 
 
 This, this is Death indeed with all its Terrors. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Is there no secret Pity in your Minds? 
 Can you not feel some tender Passion move, 
 When you behold the Innocent distress d? 
 True, I am guilty, and will bear your Tortures: 
 Take your Revenge by all the Arts of Torment; 
 Invent new Torments, lengthen out my Woe, 
 And let me feel the keenest Edge of Pain: 
 But spare this innocent afflicted Woman, 
 Those smiling Babes who never yet thought III, 
 They never did nor ever will offend you. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 It cannot be: They are akin to you. 
 Well learnt to hunt and murder, kill and rob. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Who ever spar d a Serpent in the Egg? 
 Or left young Tygers quiet in their Den? 
 
 WARRIOR. 
 Or cherishes young Vipers in his Bosom? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 Begin, begin; I ll lead the merry Dance. 
 
 [Offering at the woman with a firebrand. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Stop: Are we not unwise to kill this Woman? 
 Or Sacrifice her Children to our Vengeance? 
 They have not wrong d us; can t do present Mischief. 
 I know her Friends; they re rich and powerful, 
 
Ponteach 189 
 
 And in their Turn will take severe Revenge: 
 
 But if we spare, they ll hold themselves oblig d, 
 
 And purchase their Redemption with rich Presents. 
 
 Is not this better than an Hour s Diversion, 
 
 To hear their Groans, and Plaints, and piteous Cries! 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Your Counsel s wise, and much deserves our Praise; 
 They shall be spar. d. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 Untie, and take them hence; 
 
 [They untie the woman and the oldest child from HONNYMAN, 
 
 and retire a little to consult his death. 
 When the War ends her Friends shall pay us for it. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 I d rather have the Sport than all the Pay. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 O, now, kind Heaven, thou hast heard my Prayer, 
 And what s to follow I can meet with Patience. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, my dear husband, could you too be freed! 
 
 [Weeping. 
 
 Yet must I stay and suffer Torments with you. 
 This seeming Mercy is but Cruelty! 
 I cannot leave you in this Scene of Woe, 
 Tis easier far to stay and die together ! 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Ah ! but regard our Children s Preservation : 
 Conduct their Youth, and form their Minds to Virtue; 
 Nor let them know their Father s wretched End, 
 Lest lawless Vengeance should betray them too. 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 If I must live, I must retire from hence, 
 Nor see your fearful Agonies in Death; 
 This would be more than all the Train of Torments. 
 The horrid Sight would sink me to the Dust; 
 
190 Representative Plays 
 
 These helpless Infants would become a Prey 
 To worse than Beasts, to savage, bloody Men. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Leave me They are prepar d, and coming on 
 Heav n save you all! Oh, tis the last dear Sight! 
 
 MRS. HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, may we meet where Fear and Grief are banish d! 
 Dearest of Men, adieu Adieu till then. 
 
 [Exit, weeping with her children. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Bring Fire and Knives, and Clubs, and Hatchets all ; 
 Let the old Hunter feel the Smart of Pain. 
 
 [They fall upon HONNYMAN with various instruments of 
 torture. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 Oh! this is exquisite! [Groaning and struggling. 
 
 IST WARRIOR. 
 Hah ! Does this make you dance? 
 
 2ND WARRIOR. 
 This is fine fat Game! 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Make him caper. [Striking him with a club, kicking, &c. 
 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 O ye eternal Powers, that rule on high, 
 If in your Minds be Sense of human Woe, 
 Hear my Complaints, and pity my Distress T 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Ah, call upon your Gods, you faint-heart Coward! 
 HONNYMAN. 
 
 Oh, dreadful Racks! When will this Torment end? 
 
 Oh, for a Respite from all Sense of Pain! 
 
 Tis come I go You can no more torment. [Dies. 
 
Pon teach 191 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 He s dead ; he ll hunt no more ; h as done with Game. 
 
 [Striking the dead body, and spitting in the face. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Drive hence his wretched Spirit, lest it plague us; 
 Let him go hunt the Woods; he s now disarm d. 
 
 [They run round brushing the walls, &*c., to dislodge the 
 spirit. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Out, Hunter, out, your Business here is done. 
 Out to the Wilds, but do not take your Gun. 
 
 PONTEACH [to the Spirit]. 
 
 Go, tell our Countrymen, whose Blood you shed, 
 That the great Hunter Honnyman is dead: 
 That we re alive, we ll make the English know, 
 Whene er they dare to serve us Indians so: 
 This will be joyful News to Friends from France, 
 We ll join the Chorus then, and have a Dance. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes, dancing, and singing the last two lines. 
 
 End of the Fourth Act. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Border of a Grove, in which MONELIA awdTc-RAx 
 are asleep. 
 
 Enter PHILIP [speaking to himself]. 
 
 As a dark Tempest brewing in the Air, 
 
 For many Days hides Sun and Moon, and Stars, 
 
 At length grown ripe, bursts forth and forms a Flood 
 
 That frights both Men and Beasts, and drowns the Land; 
 
 So my dark Purpose now must have its Birth, 
 
 Long nourish d in my Bosom, tis matur d, 
 
 And ready to astonish and embroil 
 
 Kings and their Kingdoms, and decide their Fates. 
 
 Are they not here? Have I delay d too long? 
 
 [He espies them asleep. 
 
1 92 Representative Plays 
 
 Yes, in a Posture too beyond my Hopes, 
 Asleep ! This is the Providence of Fate, 
 And proves she patronizes my Design, 
 And I ll show her that Philip is no Coward. 
 
 [Taking up his hatchet in one hand, and scalping knife in 
 
 the other, towards them. ] 
 
 A Moment now is more than Years to come: 
 Intrepid as I am, the Work is shocking. 
 
 [He retreats from them. 
 
 Is it their Innocence that shakes my Purpose? 
 No; I can tear the Suckling from the Breast, 
 And drink their Blood who never knew a Crime. 
 Is it because my Brother s Charmer dies? 
 That cannot be, for that is my Revenge. 
 Is it because Monelia is a Woman? 
 I ve long been blind and deaf to their Enchantments. 
 Is it because I take them thus unguarded? 
 No; though I act the Coward, it s a Secret. 
 What is it shakes my firm and fix d Resolve? 
 Tis childish Weakness: I ll not be unman d. 
 
 [Approaches and retreats again. 
 There s something awful in the Face of Princes, 
 And he that sheds their Blood, assaults the Gods: 
 But I m a Prince, and tis by me they die; 
 
 [Advances arni d as before. 
 Each Hand contains the Fate of future Kings, 
 And, were they Gods, I would not balk my Purpose. 
 
 [Stabs MONELIA with the knife. 
 
 TORAX. 
 Hah! Philip, are you come? What can you mean? 
 
 [TORAX starts and cries out. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Go learn my Meaning in the World of Spirits; 
 
 [Knocks him down with his hatchet, &c. 
 Tis now too late to make a Question of it. 
 The Play is ended [Looking upon the bodies], now succeeds 
 the Farce. 
 
Ponteach 193 
 
 Hullo! Help! Haste! the Enemy is here. 
 
 [Calling at one of the doors, and returning. 
 
 Help is at Hand But I must first be wounded: [Wounds himself. 
 Now let the Gods themselves detect the Fraud. 
 
 Enter an INDIAN. 
 
 INDIAN. 
 What means your Cry? Is any Mischief here? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 Behold this flowing Blood ; a desperate Wound ! 
 
 [Shewing his wound. 
 And there s a Deed that shakes the Root of Empires. 
 
 [Pointing to the bodies. 
 2ND INDIAN. 
 Oh, fatal Sight ! the Mohawk Prince is murder d. 
 
 3RD INDIAN. 
 The Princess too is weltering in her Blood. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 Both, both are gone; tis well that I escap d. 
 
 Enter PONTEACH. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 What means this Outcry, Noise, and Tumult here? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Oh see, my Father! see the Blood of Princes, 
 A Sight that might provoke the Gods to weep, 
 And drown the Country in a Flood of Tears. 
 Great was my Haste, but could not stop the Deed; 
 I rush d among their Numbers for Revenge, 
 They frighted fled; there I receiv d this Wound. 
 
 [Shewing his wound to PONTEACH. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 Who, what were they? or where did they escape? 
 
 PHILIP. 
 A Band of English Warriors, bloody Dogs ! 
 
194 Representative Plays 
 
 This Way they ran from my vindictive Arm, [Pointing, &c. 
 Which but for this base Wound would sure have stopp d them. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Pursue, pursue, with utmost Speed pursue, 
 
 [To the WARRIORS present. 
 Outfly the Wind till you revenge this Blood ; 
 Tis royal Blood, we count it as our own. 
 
 [Exeunt WARRIORS in haste. 
 This Scene is dark, and doubtful the Event ; 
 Some great Decree of Fate depends upon it, 
 And mighty Good or 111 awaits Mankind. 
 The Blood of Princes cannot flow in vain, 
 The Gods must be in Council to permit it: 
 It is the Harbinger of their Designs, 
 To change, new-mould, and alter Things on Earth: 
 And much I fear, tis ominous of 111, 
 To me and mine; it happen d in my Kingdom. 
 Their Father s Rage will swell into a Torrent 
 They were my Guests His Wrath will centre here; 
 Our guilty Land hath drunk his Children s Blood. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 Had I not seen the flying Murderers, 
 
 Myself been wounded to revenge their Crime, 
 
 Had you not hasten d to pursue the assassins, 
 
 He might have thought us treacherous and false, 
 
 Or wanting in our hospitable Care: 
 
 But now it cannot but engage his Friendship, 
 
 Rouse him to Arms, and with a Father s Rage 
 
 He ll point his Vengeance where it ought to fall; 
 
 And thus this Deed, though vile and dark as Night, 
 
 In its Events will open Day upon us, 
 
 And prove of great Advantage to our State. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Haste then; declare our Innocence and Grief; 
 Tell the old King we mourn as for our own, 
 And are determin d to revenge his Wrongs; 
 Assure him that our Enemies are his, 
 And rouse him like a Tyger to the Prey. 
 
Ponteach 195 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 I will with Speed ; but first this bleeding Wound 
 Demands my Care, lest you lament me too. 
 
 [Exit, to have his wound dress d. 
 
 PONTEACH [solus]. 
 Pale, breathless Youths! Your Dignity still lives: 
 
 [Viewing the bodies. 
 
 Your Murderers were blind, or they d have trembled, 
 Nor dar d to wound such Majesty and Worth; 
 It would have tam d the savage running Bear, 
 And made the raging Tyger fondly fawn ; 
 But your more savage Murderers were Christians. 
 Oh, the distress d good King! I feel for him, 
 And wish to comfort his desponding Heart; 
 But your last Rites require my present Care. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The Senate-House. 
 PONTEACH, TENESCO, and others. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Let all be worthy of the royal Dead ; 
 Spare no Expense to grace th unhappy Scene, 
 And aggrandize the solemn, gloomy Pomp 
 With all our mournful, melancholy Rites. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 It shall be done; all Things are now preparing. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Never were Funeral Rites bestow d more just; 
 Who knew them living, must lament them dead; 
 Who sees them dead, must wish to grace their Tombs 
 With all the sad Respect of Grief and Tears. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 The Mourning is as general as the News; 
 Grief sits on every Face, in every Eye, 
 And gloomy Melancholy in Silence reigns: 
 Nothing is heard but Sighs and sad Complaints, 
 As if the First-born of the Realm were slain. 
 
196 Representative Plays 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Thus would I have it; let no Eye be dry, 
 
 No Heart unmov d, let every Bosom swell 
 
 With Sighs and Groans. What Shouting do I hear? 
 
 [A shouting without, repeated several times. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 It is the Shout of Warriors from the Battle; 
 The Sound of Victory and great Success. 
 
 [He goes to listen to it. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Such is the State of Men and human Things; 
 We weep, we smile, we mourn, and laugh thro Life, 
 Here falls a Blessing, there alights a Curse, 
 As the good Genius or the evil reigns. 
 It s right it should be so. Should either conquer, 
 The World would cease, and Mankind be undone 
 By constant Frowns or Flatteries from Fate; 
 This constant Mixture makes the Potion safe, 
 And keeps the sickly Mind of Man in Health. 
 
 Enter CHEKITAN. 
 It is my Son. What has been your Success? 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 We ve fought the Enemy, broke thro their Ranks, 
 Slain many on the Spot, pursu d the rest 
 Till Night conceal d and sav d them from our Arms. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Tis bravely done, and shall be duly honour d 
 With all the Signs and Marks of public Joy. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 What means this Gloom I see in every Face? 
 These smother d Groans and stifled half-drawn Sighs; 
 Does it offend that I ve return d in Triumph? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 I fear to name And yet it must be known. [Aside. 
 
 Be not alarm d, my Son, the Laws of Fate 
 Must be obey d: She will not hear our Dictates. 
 
Ponteach 197 
 
 I m not a Stranger to your youthful Passion, 
 And fear the Disappointment will confound you. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 Has he not sped? Has ill befell my Brother? 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Yes, he is wounded but Monelia s slain, 
 And Torax both. Slain by the cowardly English, 
 Who scap d your Brother s wounded threat ning Arm, 
 But are pursued by such as will revenge it. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 Oh wretched, wretched, wretched Chekitan! [Aside. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 I know you re shock d The Scene has shock d us all, 
 And what we could, we ve done to wipe the Stain 
 From us, our Family, our Land and State; 
 And now prepare due Honours for the Dead, 
 With all the solemn Pomp of public Grief, 
 To shew Respect as if they were our own. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Is this my Triumph after Victory? 
 A solemn, dreadful pompous Shew: 
 
 Why have I scap d their Swords and liv d to see it? [Aside. 
 Monelia dead! aught else I could have borne: 
 I m stupefy d: I can t believe it true; 
 Shew me the Dead ; I will believe my Eyes, 
 But cannot mourn or drop a Tear till then. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 I will conduct you to them Follow me 
 
 [Exeunt TENESCO and CHEKITAN. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 This is a sad Reception from a Conquest, 
 And puts an awful Gloom upon our Joy; 
 I fear his Grief will overtop his Reason ; 
 A Lover weeps with more than common Pain. 
 Nor flows his greatest Sorrow at his Eyes: 
 His Grief is inward, and his Heart sheds Tears, 
 
198 Representative Plays 
 
 And in his Soul he feels the pointed Woe, 
 
 When he beholds the lovely Object lost. 
 
 The deep-felt Wound admits no sudden Cure; 
 
 The festering Humour will not be dispers d, 
 
 It gathers on the Mind, and Time alone, 
 
 That buries all Things, puts an End to this. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 SCENE III. The Grove, with the dead bodies; TENESCO pointing 
 CHEKITAN to them. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 There lie the Bodies, Prince, a wretched Sight! 
 Breathless and pale. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 A wretched Sight indeed ; {Going towards* them. 
 
 Oh, my Monelia; has thy Spirit fled? 
 Art thou no more? a bloody, breathless Corpse! 
 Am I return d full flush d with Hopes of Joy, 
 With all the Honours Victory can give, 
 To see thee thus? Is this, is this my Welcome? 
 Is this our Wedding? Wilt thou not return? 
 Oh, charming Princess, art thou gone for ever? 
 Is this the fatal Period of our Love? 
 Oh! had I never seen thy Beauty bloom, 
 I had not now been griev d to see it pale: 
 Had I not known such Excellence had liv d, 
 I should not now be curs d to see it dead : 
 Had not my Heart been melted by thy Charms, 
 It would not now have bled to see them lost. 
 Oh, wherefore, wherefore, wherefore do I live: 
 Monelia is not What s the World to me? 
 All dark and gloomy, horrid, waste, and void: 
 The Light of the Creation is put out! 
 The Blessings of the Gods are all withdrawn! 
 Nothing remains but Wretchedness and Woe; 
 Monelia s gone; Monelia is no more. 
 The Heavens are veil d because she don t behold them: 
 The Earth is curs d, for it hath drunk her Blood; 
 The Air is Poison, for she breathes no more: 
 Why fell I not by the base Briton s Sword? 
 
Ponteach 199 
 
 Why press d I not upon the fatal Point? 
 Then had I never seen this worse than Death, 
 But dying said, tis well Monelia lives. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Comfort, my Prince, nor let your Passion swell 
 To such a Torrent, it o erwhelms your Reason, 
 And preys upon the Vitals of your Soul. 
 You do but feed the Viper by this View; 
 Retire, and drive the Image from your Thought, 
 And Time will soon replace your every Joy. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 my Tenesco, had you ever felt 
 
 The gilded Sweets, or pointed Pains of Love, 
 You d not attempt to sooth a Grief like mine. 
 Why did you point me to the painful Sight? 
 Why have you shown this Shipwreck of my Hopes, 
 And plac d me in this beating Storm of Woe? 
 Why was I told of my Monelia s Fate? 
 Why wa n t the wretched Ruin all conceal d 
 Under some fair Pretence That she ha d fled 
 Was made a Captive, or had chang d her Love 
 Why wa n t I left to guess her wretched End? 
 Or have some slender Hope that she still liv d? 
 You ve all been cruel; she died to torment me; 
 To raise my Pain, and blot out every Joy. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 1 fear d as much: His Passion makes him wild [Aside. 
 I wish it may not end in perfect Frenzy. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Who were the Murderers? Where did they fly? 
 
 Where was my Brother, not to take Revenge? 
 
 Show me their Tracks, I ll trace them round the Globe; 
 
 I ll fly like Lightning, ravage the whole Earth 
 
 Kill every thing I meet, or hear, or see. 
 
 Depopulate the World of Men and Beasts, 
 
 Tis all too little for that single Death. 
 
 [Pointing to MONELIA S corpse 
 
Representative Plays 
 
 I ll tear the Earth that dar d to drink her Blood; 
 Kill Trees, and Plants, and every springing Flower: 
 Nothing shall grow, nothing shall be alive, 
 Nothing shall move; I ll try to stop the Sun, 
 And make all dark and barren, dead and sad; 
 From his tall Sphere down to the lowest Centre, 
 There I ll descend, and hide my wretched Self, 
 And reign sole Monarch in a World of Ruin. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 This is deep Madness, it hath seiz d his Brain. [Aside.. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 But first I ll snatch a parting last Embrace. 
 
 [He touches and goes to embrace the corpse. 
 Thou dear cold Clay! forgive the daring Touch; 
 It is thy Chekitan, thy wounded Lover. 
 Tis; and he hastens to revenge thy Death. 
 
 [ToRAX groans and attempts to speak. 
 TORAX. 
 Oh, oh, I did not Philip Philip Oh. 
 
 [CHEKITAN starts. 
 CHEKITAN. 
 What did I not hear a Groan? and Philip call d? 
 
 TENESCO. 
 It was, it was, and there is Motion too. 
 
 [Approaches TORAX, who groans and speaks again. 
 
 TORAX. 
 Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Philip help. Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 TENESCO. 
 He is alive We ll raise him from the Ground. 
 
 [They lift him up, and speak to him. 
 Torax, are you alive? or are our Ears deceiv d? 
 
 TORAX. 
 Oh, Philip, do not do not be so cruel. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 He is bewilder d, and not yet himself. 
 Pour this into his Lips it will revive him. 
 
 [They give him something. 
 
Ponteach 201 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 This is a Joy unhop d for in Distress. 
 
 [ToRAX revives more. 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 Oh! Philip, Philip! Where is Philip gone? 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 The Murderers are pursued He will go soon. 
 And now can carry Tidings of your Life. 
 
 TORAX. 
 He carry Tidings! he s the Murderer. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 He is not murder d; he was slightly wounded, 
 And hastens now to see the King your Father. 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 He is false, a barbarous, bloody Man, 
 A Murderer, a base disguis d Assassin. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 He still is maz d, and knows not whom he s with 
 
 TORAX. 
 Yes, you are Chekitan, and that s Monelia. 
 
 [Pointing to the corpse. 
 This is Tenesco Philip stabb d my Sister, 
 And struck at me; here was the stunning Blow. 
 
 [Pointing to his head. 
 He took us sleeping in this silent Grove; 
 There by Appointment from himself we waited. 
 I saw him draw the bloody Knife from her, 
 And, starting, ask d him, Why, or what he meant? 
 He answered with the Hatchet on my Skull, 
 And doubtless thought me dead and bound in Silence. 
 I am myself, and what I say is Fact. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 The English twas beset you; Philip ran 
 For your Assistance, and himself is wounded. 
 
2O2 Representative Plays 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 He may be wounded, but he wounded me; 
 
 No Englishman was there, he was alone. 
 
 I dare confront him with his Villainy : 
 
 Depend upon t, he s treacherous, false, and bloody. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 May we believe, or is this all a Dream? 
 Are we awake? Is Torax yet alive? 
 Or is it Juggling, Fascination all? 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Tis most surprising! What to judge I know not. 
 I ll lead him hence; perhaps he s still confus d. 
 
 TORAX. 
 
 I gladly will go hence for some Relief, 
 But shall not change, from what I ve now aver d. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Then this sad Storm of Ruin s but begun. [Aside. 
 
 Philip must fly, or next it lights on him. 
 
 [Exeunt TENESCO and TORAX led by him. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 And can this be Can Philip be so false? 
 Dwells there such Baseness in a Brother s Heart? 
 So much Dissimulation in the Earth? 
 Is there such Perfidy among Mankind? 
 .It shocks my Faith But yet it must be so 
 Yes, it was he, Monelia, shed thy Blood. 
 This made him forward to commence our Friend, 
 And with unusual Warmth engage to help us; 
 It was for this so cheerful he resign d 
 To me the Honour of Command in War; 
 The English Troops would never come so near; 
 The Wounds were not inflicted by their Arms. 
 All, all confirms the Guilt on Philip s Head. 
 You died, Monelia, by my Brother s Hand; 
 A Brother too intrusted with our Love. 
 I m stupify d and senseless at the Thought; 
 My Head, my very Heart is petrify d. 
 
Ponteach 203 
 
 This adds a Mountain to my Weight of Woe. 
 
 It now is swell d too high to be lamented; 
 
 Complaints, and Sighs, and Tears are thrown away, 
 
 Revenge is all the Remedy that s left; 
 
 But what Revenge is equal to the Crime? 
 
 His Life for her s! An Atom for the Earth 
 
 A Single Fly a Mite for the Creation: 
 
 Turn where I will I find myself confounded : 
 
 But I must seek and study out new Means. 
 
 Help me, ye Powers of Vengeance! grant your Aid, 
 
 Ye that delight in Blood, and Dea.th, and Pain! 
 
 Teach me the Arts of Cruelty and Wrath, 
 
 Till I have Vengeance equal to my Love, 
 
 And my Monelia s Shade is satisfied. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 PHILIP [solus]. 
 
 His Grief no Doubt will rise into a Rage, 
 
 To see his Charmer rolling in her Blood, 
 
 I choose to see him not till my Return ; 
 
 By then the Fierceness of the Flame may cease; 
 
 Nay, he ll grow cool, and quite forget his Love, 
 
 When I report her Father s kindled Wrath, 
 
 And all the Vengeance he intends to take. 
 
 [CHEKITAN comes in 
 But this is he, I cannot now avoid him; 
 How shall I soothe his Grief He looks distracted 
 I m such a Stranger grown to Tears and Pity, 
 I fear he will not think I sympathize. 
 
 Enter CHEKITAN. 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Have I then found thee, thou false hearted Traitor? 
 Thou Tyger, Viper, Snake, thou worse than Christian; 
 Bloodthirsty Butcher, more than Murderer! 
 Thou every Thing but what Men ought to love ! 
 Do you still live to breathe and see the Sun? 
 And face me with your savage guilty Eye? 
 
204 Representative Plays 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 I fear d, alas, you would run mad and rave. 
 Why do you blame me that I am not dead? 
 I risk d my Life, was wounded for your Sake, 
 Did all I could for your Monelia s Safety, 
 And to revenge you on her Murderers. 
 Your Grief distracts you, or you d thank me for t. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Would you still tempt my Rage, and fire my Soul, 
 Already bent to spill your treacherous Blood? 
 You base Dissembler! know you are detected, 
 Torax still lives, and has discover d all. 
 
 [PHILIP starts and trembles. 
 PHILIP. 
 Torax alive! It cannot must not be. [Aside. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 Well may you shake You cannot mend your Blow. 
 He lived to see, what none but you could think of, 
 The bloody Knife drawn from Monelia s Breast. 
 Had you a thousand Lives, they d be too few; 
 Had you a Sea of Blood, t would be too small 
 To wash away your deep-dy d Stain of Guilt. 
 Now you shall die; and Oh, if there be Powers 
 That after Death take Vengeance on such Crimes, 
 May they pursue you with their Flames of Wrath, 
 Till all their Magazines of Pain are spent. 
 
 [He attacks PHILIP with his hatchet. 
 
 PHILIP. 
 
 I must defend myself [Drawing his hatchet], the Case is des 
 perate. [Fights; PHILIP falls. 
 Fate is too hard; and I m oblig d to yield. 
 Twas well begun but has a wretched End 
 Yet I m reveng d She cannot live again. 
 You cannot boast to ve shed more Blood than I 
 Oh, had I had I struck but one Blow more! [Dies. 
 
 CHEKITAN. 
 
 What have I done ! this is my Brother s Blood ! 
 A guilty Murderer s Blood! He was no Brother. 
 
Ponteach 205 
 
 All Nature s Laws and Ties are hence dissolv d; 
 
 There is no Kindred, Friendship, Faith, or Love 
 
 Among Mankind Monelia s dead The World 
 
 Is all unhing d There s universal War 
 
 She was the Tie, the Centre of the Whole; 
 
 And she remov d, all is one general Jar. 
 
 Where next, Monelia, shall I bend my Arm 
 
 To heal this Discord, this Disorder still, 
 
 And bring the Chaos Universe to Form? 
 
 Blood still must flow and float the scatter d Limbs 
 
 Till thy much injur d love in Peace subsides. 
 
 Then every jarring Discord once will cease, 
 
 And a new World from these rude Ruins rise. [Pauses. 
 
 jiere then I point the Edge, from hence shall flow 
 
 [Pointing his knife to his heart. 
 The raging crimson Flood, this is the Fountain 
 Whose swift Day s Stream shall waft me to thy Arms, 
 Lest Philip s Ghost should injure thy Repose. [Stabs himself. 
 -*I come, I come Monelia, now I come 
 Philip away She s mine in spite of Death. [Dies. 
 
 Enter TENESCO. 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Oh! I m too late, the fatal Work is done. 
 Unhappy Princes; this your wretched End; 
 Your Country s Hopes and your fond Father s Joy; 
 Are you no more? Slain by each other s Hands, 
 Or what is worse; or by the Air you breath d? 
 For all is Murder, Death, and Blood about us: 
 Nothing safe ; it is contagious all : 
 The Earth, and Air, and Skies are full of Treason! 
 The Evil Genius rules the Universe, 
 And on Mankind rains Tempests of Destruction. 
 Where will the Slaughter of the Species end? 
 When it begins with Kings and with their Sons, 
 A general Ruin threatens all below. 
 How will the good King hear the sad Report? 
 I fear th Event; but as it can t be hid, 
 I ll bear it to him in the softest Terms, 
 And summon every Power to soothe his Grief, 
 And slack the Torrent of his Royal Passion. [Exit. 
 
206 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE V. Senate-House. 
 
 PONTEACH [solus]. 
 
 The Torrent rises, and the Tempest blows; 
 
 Where will this rough, rude Storm of Ruin end? 
 
 What crimson Floods are yet to drench the Earth? 
 
 What new-form d Mischiefs hover in the Air, 
 
 And point their Stings at this devoted Head? 
 
 Has Fate exhausted all her Stores of Wrath, 
 
 Or has she other Vengeance in reserve? 
 
 What can she more? My Sons, my Name is gone; 
 
 My Hopes all blasted, my Delights all fled; 
 
 Nothing remains but an afflicted King, 
 
 That might be pitied by Earth s greatest Wretch. 
 
 My Friends; my Sons, ignobly, basely slain, 
 
 Are more than murder d, more than lost by Death. 
 
 Had they died fighting in their Country s Cause, 
 
 I should have smil d and gloried in their Fall ; 
 
 Yes, boasting that I had such Sons to lose, 
 
 I would have rode in Triumph o er their Tombs. 
 
 But thus to die, the Martyrs of their Folly, 
 
 Involv d in all the complicated Guilt 
 
 Of Treason, Murder, Falsehood, and Deceit, 
 
 Unbridled Passion, Cowardice, Revenge, 
 
 And every Thing that can debase the Man, 
 
 And render him the just Contempt of all, 
 
 And fix the foulest Stain of Infamy, 
 
 Beyond the Power of Time to blot it out; 
 
 This is too much ; and my griev d Spirit sinks 
 
 Beneath the Weight of such gigantic Woe. 
 
 Ye that would see a piteous, wretched King, 
 
 Look on a Father griev d and curs d like me; 
 
 Look on a King whose Sons have died like mine! 
 
 Then you ll confess that these are dangerous Names, 
 
 And put it in the Power of Fate to curse us; 
 
 It is on such she shews her highest Spite. 
 
 But I m too far Tis not a Time to grieve 
 
 For private Losses, when the Public calls. 
 
 Enter TENESCO, looking sorrowful. 
 What are your Tidings? I have no more Sons. 
 
Ponteach 207 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 But you have Subjects, and regard their Safety. 
 The treacherous Priest, intrusted with your Councils, 
 Has publish d all, and added his own Falsehoods; 
 The Chiefs have all revolted from your Cause, 
 Patch d up a Peace, and lend their Help no more. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 And is this all? we must defend ourselves, 
 Supply the Place of Numbers with our Couraj 
 And learn to conquer with our very Looks: 
 This is a Time that tries the Truth of Valour/ 
 He shows his Courage that dares stem the 
 And live in spite of Violence and Fate. 
 Shall holy Perfidy and seeming Lies 
 Destroy our Purpose, sink us into Cowards? 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 May your Hopes prosper! I ll excite the Troops 
 
 By your Example still to keep the Field. [Exit. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Tis coming on. Thus Wave succeeds to Wave, 
 
 Till the Storm s spent, then all subsides again 
 
 The Chiefs revolted : My Design betray d : 
 
 May he that trusts a Christian meet the same; 
 
 They have no Faith, no Honesty, no God, 
 
 And cannot merit Confidence from Men. 
 
 Were I alone the boist rous Tempest s Sport, 
 
 I d quickly move my shatter d, trembling Bark, 
 
 And follow my departed Sons to Rest. 
 
 But my brave Countrymen, my Friends, my Subjects, 
 
 Demand my Care: I ll not desert the Helm, 
 
 Nor leave a dang rous Station in Distress; 
 
 Yes, I will live, in spite of Fate I ll live; 
 
 Was I not Ponteach, was I not a King, 
 
 Such Giant Mischiefs would not gather round me. 
 
 And since I m Ponteach, since I am a King, , 
 
 I ll shew myself Superior to them all; / 
 
 I ll rise above this Hurricane of Fate, J 
 
 And shew my Courage to the Gods themselves. 
 
208 Representative Plays 
 
 Enter TENESCO, surprised and pausing. 
 
 I am prepar d, be not afraid to tell; / 
 
 You cannot speak what Ponteach dare not hearty 
 
 TENESCO. 
 
 Our bravest Troops are slain, the rest pursu d; 
 All is Disorder, Tumult, and Rebellion. 
 Those that remain insist on speedy Flight; 
 You must attend them, or be left alone 
 Unto the Fury of a conquering Foe, 
 Nor will they long expect your Royal Pleasure. 
 
 PONTEACH. 
 
 Will they desert their King in such an Hour, 
 When Pity might induce them to protect him? 
 Kings like the Gods are valued and ador d, 
 When Men expect their Bounties in Return, 
 Place them in Want, destroy the giving Power, 
 All Sacrifices and Regards will cease. 
 Go, tell my Friends that I ll attend their Call. 
 
 [Rising. Exit TENESCO. 
 
 I will not fear but must obey my Stars: [Looking round. 
 
 Ye fertile Fields and glad ning Streams, adieu; 
 Ye Fountains that have quench d my scorching Thirst, 
 Ye Shades that hid the Sun-beams from my Head, . 
 Ye Groves and Hills that yielded me the Chace, 
 Ye flow ry Meads, and Banks, and bending Trees, 
 And thou proud Earth, made drunk with Royal Blood, 
 I am no more your Owner and your King. 
 But witness for me to your new base Lords, \ 
 That my unconquer d Mind defies them still; 
 And though I fly, tis on the Wings of Hope. 
 Yes, I will hence where there s no British Foe, 
 And wait a Respite from this Storm of Woe ; 
 Beget more Sons, fresh Troops collect and arm, 
 And other Schemes of future Greatness form ; 
 Britons may boast, the Gods may have their Will, 
 Ponteach I am, and shall be Ponteach still. // [Exit. 
 
 Finis. 
 
THE GROUP 
 
 By MRS. MERCY WARREN 
 
MRS. MERCY WARREN 
 
MRS. MERCY WARREN 
 
 (1728-1814) 
 
 Most of the literature orations as well as broadsides created 
 in America under the heat of the Revolution, was of a strictly 
 satirical character. Most of the Revolutionary ballads sung at 
 the time were bitter with hatred against the Loyalist. When 
 the conflict actually was in progress, the theatres that regaled 
 the Colonists were closed, and an order from the Continental 
 Congress declared that theatre-going was an amusement from 
 which all patriotic people should abstain. These orders or 
 resolutions were dated October 12, 1778, and October 16. (Seil- 
 hamer, ii, 51.) The playhouses were no sooner closed, however 
 much to the regret of Washington than their doors were 
 thrown wide open by the British troops stationed in Boston, 
 New York, and Philadelphia. A complete history of the Ameri 
 can stage has to deal with Howe s players, Clinton s players, 
 and Burgoyne s players. 
 
 Of all these Red-Coat Thespians, two demand our attention 
 one, Major Andre, a gay, talented actor; the other, General JBur- 
 goyne, whose pride was as much concerned with playwriting as 
 with generalship. The latter dipped his pen in the satirical ink 
 pot, and wrote a farce, "The Blockade of Boston." It was 
 this play that drew forth from a woman, an American play 
 wright, the retort stinging. This lady was Mrs. Mercy Warren 1 
 who, although distinguished for being a sister of James Otis, 
 and the wife of General James Warren, was in her own name 
 a most important and distinct literary figure during the 
 Revolution. 
 
 So few women appear in the early history of American Drama 
 that it is well here to mention Mrs. Charlotte Ramsay Lennox 
 (1720-1804) and Mrs. Susanna Rowson (1762-1824). The for 
 mer has the reputation of being the first woman, born in Amer 
 ica, to have written a play, "The Sister" (1769). The author 
 moved to London when she was fifteen, and there it was her 
 
 1 Mrs. Warren was born at Barnstable, Mass., September 25, 1728, and died at 
 Plymouth, Mass., October 19, 1814. 
 
212 Representative Plays 
 
 piece was produced, with an epilogue by Oliver Goldsmith. She 
 is referred to in Boswell s Life of Johnson. 
 
 Of Susanna Rowson, whose Memoir has been issued by Rev. 
 Elias Nason, we know that, as a singer and actress, she created 
 sufficient reputation in London to attract the attention of Wig- 
 nell, the comedian. (Clapp. Boston Stage. 1853, p. 41.) 
 
 With her husband, she came to this country in 1793, and, 
 apart from her professional duties on the stage, wrote a farce, 
 "Volunteers" (1795), dealing with the Whiskey Insurrection in 
 Pennsylvania, "The Female Patriot" (1794), "Slaves in Algiers; 
 or, A Struggle for Freedom" (1794), and "Americans in Eng 
 land" (1796). All of these were produced. Her literary attain 
 ments were wide, her most popular novel being "Charlotte 
 Temple, a Tale of Truth" (1790). She likewise compiled many 
 educational works. (See Wegelin.) 
 
 The picture conjured up in our mind of Mrs. Warren is 
 farthest away from satire. To judge by the costume she wore 
 when she sat to Copley for her portrait, she must have been 
 graced with all the feminine wiles of the period. Behold Mrs. 
 Mercy Warren, satirist, as the records describe her: 
 
 Her head-dress is of white lace, trimmed with white satin ribbons. 
 Her robe is of dark-green satin, with a pompadour waist, trimmed 
 with point lace. There is a full plait at the back, hanging from the 
 shoulders, and her sleeves are also of point lace. White illusion, 
 trimmed with point lace, and fastened with a white satin bow, covers 
 her neck. The front of the skirt and of the sleeves are elaborately 
 trimmed with puffings of satin. 
 
 But however agreeable this picture may be, Mrs. Warren, on 
 reading Burgoyne s farce, immediately sharpened her pen, and 
 replied by writing a counter-farce, which she called "The Block 
 heads; or, the Affrighted Officers." l It was in the prologue to 
 this play that the poet-dramatist wrote: 
 
 Your pardon first I crave for this intrusion. 
 The topic s such it looks like a delusion; 
 And next your candour, for I swear and vow, 
 Such an attempt I never made till now. 
 But constant laughing at the Desp rate fate, 
 The bastard sons of Mars endur d of late, 
 Induc d me thus to minute down the notion, 
 
 1 The/Blockheads:/or, the/Affrighted Officers. /A/Farce. /Boston:/ Printed in 
 Queen-Street./M.DCC.LXXVI./ 
 
The Group 213 
 
 Which put my risibles in such commotion. 
 By yankees frighted too! oh, dire to say! 
 Why yankees sure at red-coats faint away! 
 Oh, yes They thought so too for lack-a-day, 
 Their gen ral turned the blockade to a play: 
 Poor vain poltroons with justice we ll retort, 
 And call them blockheads for their idle sport. 
 
 Unfortunately, we cannot test the comparative value of satire 
 as used by Burgoyne and Mrs. Warren, because the Burgoyne 
 play is not in existence. But, undoubtedly, our Revolutionary 
 enthusiast knew how to wield her pen in anger, and she reflects 
 all of the bitter spirit of the time. Not only is this apparent in 
 "The Blockheads," but likewise in "The Group," a piece which 
 holds up to ridicule a number of people well known to the Boston 
 of that day. 
 
 Mrs. Warren was the writer of many plays, as well as being / 
 noted for her "History of the American Revolution" (1805), 
 and for her slim volume of poems (1790), which follow the con 
 ventional sentiments of the conventionally sentimental English 
 poetry of that time. 
 
 In "The Group" we obtain her interesting impressions, in 
 dramatic form, of North and Gage and, from the standpoint of 
 the library, we regard with reverence the little copy of the play 
 printed on the day before the battle of Lexington a slim bro 
 chure, aimed effectively at Tory politicians. 1 
 
 In fact, mention the name Tory to Mrs. Warren, and her wit 
 was ever ready to sharpen its shafts against British life in 
 America. That is probably why so many believe she wrote 
 "TEe" Motley Assembly," a farce, though some there be who 
 claim that its authorship belongs to J. M. Sewall. Dr. F. W. 
 Atkinson asserts that this was the first American play to have 
 in it only American characters. 2 
 
 The satirical farce was a popular dramatic form of the time. 
 Mrs. Warren was particularly effective in wielding such a 
 polemic note, for instance, when she deals with the Boston 
 Massacre in her Tragedy, "The Adulateur" (Boston: Printed 
 
 1 On the title-page of the Boston edition there appears the following proem: 
 "As the great business of the polite world is the eager pursuit of amusement, and 
 as the Public diversions of the season have been interrupted by the hostile parade 
 in the capital; the exhibition of a new farce may not be unentertaining." 
 
 2 The /Motley /Assembly, /A /Farce. /Published /For the /Entertainment /of the / 
 Curious. /Boston: /Printed and Sold by Nathaniel Coverly, in /Newbury-Street, / 
 M.DCC.LXXIX./ 
 
214 Representative Plays 
 
 and sold at the New Printing-Office, /Near Concert-Hall./ 
 M,DCC,LXXIII./). On the King s side, however, the writers 
 were just as effective. Such an example is seen in "The Battle 
 of Brooklyn, A farce of Two Acts: as it was performed at 
 Long-Island, on Tuesday, the 27th of August, 1776, By the 
 Representatives of the Tyrants of America, Assembled at 
 Philadelphia" (Edinburgh: Printed in the Year M.DCC. 
 LXXVIL), in which the British ridicule all that is Continental, 
 even Washington. This farce was reprinted in Brooklyn, 1873. 
 
 Jonathan Mitchell Sewall s (1748-1808) "A Cure for the 
 Spleen; or, Amusement for a Winter s Evening" (1775) was 
 another Tory protest, which carried the following pretentious 
 subtitle: "Being the substance of a conversation on the Times, 
 over a friendly tankard and pipe, between Sharp, a country 
 Parson; Bumper, a country Justice; Fillpot, an inn-keeper; 
 Graveairs, a Deacon; Trim, a Barber; Brim, a Quaker; Puff, 
 a late Representative. Taken in short-hand by Roger de 
 Coverly." 
 
 Mrs. Warren was the intimate friend of many interesting 
 people. It concerns us, however, that her most significant cor 
 respondence of a literary nature was carried on with John Adams, 
 afterwards President of the United States. This friendship 
 remained unbroken until such time as Mrs. Warren found it 
 necessary to picture Adams in her History of the Revolution; 
 when he objected to the portraiture. 
 
 The student of history is beholden to Mr. Adams for many 
 of those intimate little sketches of Revolutionary and early 
 national life in America, without which our impressions would 
 be much the poorer. His admiration for Mrs. Warren was great, 
 and even in his correspondence with her husband, James Warren, 
 he never allowed an opportunity to slip for alluding to her work 
 as a literary force in the life of the time. I note, for example, a 
 letter he wrote on December 22, 1773, suggesting a theme which 
 would "become" Mrs. Warren s pen, "which has no equal that 
 I know of in this country." 
 
 In 1775, after "The Group" was written, and, according to 
 custom, submitted by Warren to John Adams for criticism and 
 approval, we find him praising Mrs. Warren, and quoting from 
 her play. So poignantly incisive was Mrs. Warren s satire that 
 many people would not credit her with the pieces she actually 
 wrote, and there were those who thought it incredible that a 
 
The Group 215 
 
 woman should use satire so openly and so flagrantly as she. 
 The consequence is, many of her contemporaries attributed the 
 writing of "The Group" to masculine hands, and this attitude 
 drew from Mrs. Warren the following letter written to Mr. 
 Adams: 
 
 My next question, sir, you may deem impertinent. Do you re 
 member who was the author of a little pamphlet entitled, The Group? 
 To your hand it was committed by the \vriter. You brought it for 
 ward to the public eye. I will therefore give you my reason for 
 naming it now. A friend of mine, who lately visited the Athenaeum 
 [a Boston Library], saw it among a bundle of pamphlets, with a 
 high encomium of the author, who, he asserted, was Mr. Samuel 
 Barrett. You can, if you please, give a written testimony contra 
 dictory of the false assertion. 
 
 This letter was -written long after the Revolution, when she 
 was not loath to let it be known that she was the creator of this 
 little play, and is clearly indicative of the general attitude the 
 public had toward Mrs. Warren as an author. Her appeal in 
 stantly called forth a courteous rejoinder from Mr. Adams, 
 who wrote: 
 
 What brain could ever have conceived or suspected Samuel Bar 
 rett, Esquire, to have been the author of "The Group"? The bishop 
 has neither the natural genius nor the acquired talents, the knowledge 
 of characters, nor the political principles, sentiments, or feelings, that 
 could have dictated that pungent drama. His worthy brother, the 
 Major, might have been as rationally suspected. 
 
 I could take my Bible oath to two propositions, 1st. That Bishop 
 Barrett, in my opinion, was one of the last literary characters in the 
 world who ought to have been suspected to have written "The 
 Group." 2d. That there was but one person in the world, male or 
 female, who could at that time, in my opinion, have written it; 
 and that person was Madam Mercy Warren, the historical, philo 
 sophical, poetical, and satirical consort of the then Colonel, since 
 General, James Warren of Plymouth, sister of the great, but for 
 gotten, James Otis. 
 
 According to Adams, he immediately went to the Boston 
 Athenaeum, where his nephew, W. S. Shaw, was Librarian. He 
 drew from the shelves a copy of "The Group", which had been 
 bought from the collection of Governor Adams of Massachusetts, 
 and forthwith, on looking it over, wrote down the original 
 
2i6 Representative Plays 
 
 names of the people satirized therein. 1 This copy is still a valu 
 able possession of the library. 
 
 While Mrs. Warren was writing "The Group," she sent it 
 piecemeal to her husband, who was on the field of battle. He, 
 being proud of the literary attainments of his wife, sent it 
 around to his friends, under seal of secrecy. And his appeal to 
 these friends was very significant of the pride he felt in the manu 
 script. Here is what he wrote to Adams, on January 15, 1775: 
 
 Inclosed are for your amusement two Acts of a dramatic perform 
 ance composed at my particular desire. They go to you as they 
 came out of the hand of the Copier, without pointing or marking. 
 If you think it worth while to make any other use of them than a 
 reading, you will prepare them in that way & give them such 
 other Corrections & Amendments as your good Judgment shall 
 suggest. 
 
 It gradually became known among Warren s friends who the 
 real writer of the satire was, much to the consternation of Mrs. 
 Mercy Warren. She was modest to the extreme, usually being 
 thrust into writing on particular subjects by the enthusiasm of 
 her friends. For example, she wrote a poem on the Boston 
 Tea Party, and, in sending it to her husband, she confessed that 
 it was a task 
 
 done in consequence of the request of a much respected friend. It 
 was wrote off with little attention. . . I do not think it has suf 
 ficient merit for the public eye. 
 
 By the same post, she sent him another scene from "The 
 Group." 
 
 Whatever you do with either of them [meaning the manuscripts], 
 you will doubtless be careful that the author is not exposed, and hope 
 your particular friends will be convinced of the propriety of not 
 naming her at present. 
 
 Mrs. Warren was the author of several other plays, among 
 them "The Adulateur" and "The Retreat," which preceded 
 
 1 Mrs. Warren s biographer, Alice Brown, quotes the list, as follows, the persons 
 satirized being in parentheses: Lord Chief Justice Hazlerod (Oliver); Judge 
 Meagre (E. Hutchinson); Brigadier Hateall (Ruggles); Hum Humbug, Esq., 
 (Jno. Erving); Sir Sparrow Spendall (Sir Wm. Pepperell); Hector Mushroom 
 (Col. Murray); Beau Trumps (Jno. Vassall); Dick, the Publican (Lechmere); 
 Monsieur de Frangois (N. R. Thomas); Crusty Crowbar, Esq. (J. Boutineau); 
 Dupe, Secretary of State (T. Flucker); Scriblerius Fribble (Leonard); Commo 
 dore Bateau (Loring). The significance of these names will be apparent to the 
 student of local Colonial history. 
 
The Group 217 
 
 "The Group" in date of composition, and "The Sack of Rome." 
 The latter was contained in a volume of poems issued in 1790, 
 in which "The Ladies of Castile" was dedicated to President 
 Washington, who wrote the author a courteous note in acknowl 
 edgment. 
 
 In the preface to this volume, Mrs. Warren gives her impres 
 sions of the stage, which are excellent measure of the regard 
 Americans of this period had for the moral influence of the play 
 house. Thus, she writes: 
 
 Theatrical amusements may, sometimes, have been prostituted 
 to the purposes of vice; yet, in an age of taste and refinement, les 
 sons of morality, and the consequences of deviation, may, perhaps, 
 be as successfully enforced from the stage, as by modes of instruc 
 tion, less censured by the severe; while, at the same time, the exhibi 
 tion of great historical events, opens a field of contemplation to the 
 reflecting and philosophic mind. 
 
 But Mrs. Warren was not entirely given over to the serious 
 occupations of literary work. We find her on intimate terms 
 with Mrs. Adams, the two of them in their daily association 
 calling each other Portia and Marcia. 
 
 Who actually played in "The Group" when it was given a 
 performance is not recorded. We know, however, from records, 
 that it was given for the delectation of the audiences assembled 
 "nigh head quarters, at Amboyne." This evidence is on the 
 strength of Mrs. Warren s own statement. Sanction for the 
 statement appears on the title-pages of the New York, John 
 Anderson, issue of I775, 1 and the Jamaica- Philadelphia, James 
 Humphreys, Jr., edition of the same year. 
 
 I have selected this play, "The Group," as being an excellent 
 example of the partisan writing done at the time of our Ameri 
 can Revolution, and no one can afford to overlook it, although 
 its actable qualities, according to our present-day judgment, 
 are doubtful. 
 
 1 The /Group,/ A / Farce: / As lately Acted, and to be Re-acted, to the Wonder/ 
 of all superior Intelligences; /Nigh Head Quarters, at/ Amboyne. /In Two Acts./ 
 New- York: / Printed by John Anderson,/ at Beekman s-Slip./ [The Boston edition 
 was printed and sold by Edes and Gill, in Queen-Street. 1775-1 
 
THE 
 
 GROUP, 
 
 FARCE: 
 
 As lately A&ed, and to be Re-ake<l, to the Wonder 
 of all fuperior Intelligences } 
 
 NIGH HEAP QUARTERS, AT 
 
 A M B O Y N E. 
 IN TWO ACTS. 
 
 JAMAICA, pmMTiD; 
 
 P H I L A D E L P H I A, RE-PRINTED; 
 BY JAMES HUMPHREYS, junior, in Front-ftreet. 
 
 M,DC C,iXXV, 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION 
 
The AUTHOR has thought proper to borrow the following 
 spirited lines from a late celebrated Poet, and offer to the public, 
 by way of PROLOGUE, which cannot fail of pleasing at this crisis. 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 WHAT ! arm d for virtue, and not point the pen, 
 Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men, 
 Dash the proud gamester from his gilded car, 
 Bare the mean heart which lurks beneath a star, 
 * * * 
 
 Shall I not strip the gilding off a knave, 
 Unplaced, unpension d, no man s heir, or slave? 
 I will, or perish in the gen rous cause; 
 Hear this and tremble, ye who scape the laws; 
 Yes, while I live, no rich or noble knave, 
 Shall walk the world in credit to his grave; 
 To virtue only, and her friends, a friend, 
 The world beside may murmur, or commend. 
 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Lord Chief Justice HAZLEROD, 
 Judge MEAGRE, 
 Brigadier HATEALL, 
 HUM HUMBUG, Esquire, 
 Sir SPARROW SPENDALL, 
 HECTOR MUSHROOM, Col. 
 BEAU TRUMPS, 
 DICK, the Publican, 
 SIMPLE SAPLING, Esquire, 
 Monsieur de FRANCOIS, 
 CRUSTY CROWBAR, Esquire, 
 DUPE, Secretary of State, 
 SCRIBLERIUS FRIBBLE, 
 Commodore BATEAU, 
 COLLATERALIS, a new-made Judge. 
 
 Attended by a swarm of court sycophants, hungry harpies, and 
 unprincipled danglers, collected from the neighbouring vil 
 lages, hovering over the stage in the shape of locusts, led by 
 Massachusettensis in the form of a basilisk; the rear brought 
 up by Proteus, bearing a torch in one hand, and a powder-flask 
 in the other. The whole supported by a mighty army and 
 navy, from Blunderland, for the laudable purpose of enslav 
 ing its best friends. 
 
The 
 GROUP 
 
 A 
 
 Farce 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A little dark Parlour in Boston: 
 GUARDS standing at the door. 
 
 HAZLEROD, CRUSTY CROWBAR, SIMPLE SAPLING, HATEALL, 
 and HECTOR MUSHROOM. 
 
 SIMPLE. 
 
 I know not what to think of these sad times, 
 The people arm d, and all resolv d to die 
 Ere they ll submit. 
 
 CRUSTY CROWBAR. 
 
 I too am almost sick of the parade 
 Of honours purchas d at the price of peace. 
 
 SIMPLE. 
 
 Fond as I am of greatness and her charms, 
 Elate with prospects of my rising name, 
 Push d into place, a place I ne er expected, 
 My bounding heart leapt in my feeble breast. 
 And ecstasies entranc d my slender brain. 
 But yet, ere this I hop d more solid gains, 
 As my low purse demands a quick supply. 
 Poor Sylvia weeps, and urges my return 
 To rural peace and humble happiness, 
 As my ambition beggars all her babes. 
 
224 Representative Plays 
 
 CRUSTY. 
 
 When first I listed in the desp rate cause, 
 And blindly swore obedience to his will, 
 So wise, so just, so good I thought Rapatio, 
 That if salvation rested on his word 
 I d pin my faith, and risk my hopes thereon. 
 
 HAZLEROD. 
 Any why not now? What staggers thy belief? 
 
 CRUSTY. 
 
 Himself his perfidy appears 
 It is too plain he has betray d his country; 
 And we re the wretched tools by him mark d out 
 To seal its ruins tear up the ancient forms, 
 And every vestige treacherously destroy, 
 Nor leave a trait of freedom in the land. 
 Nor did I think hard fate wou d call me up 
 From drudging o er my acres, 
 Treading the glade, and sweating at the plough, 
 To dangle at the tables of the great; 
 At bowls and cards to spend my frozen years; 
 To sell my friends, my country, and my conscience; 
 Profane the sacred sabbaths of my God ; 
 Scorn d by the very men who want my aid 
 To spread distress o er this devoted people. 
 
 HAZLEROD. 
 
 Pho what misgivings why these idle qualms, 
 This shrinking backwards at the bugbear conscience; 
 In early life I heard the phantom nam d, 
 And the grave sages prate of moral sense 
 Presiding in the bosom of the just; 
 Or planting thongs about the guilty heart. 
 Bound by these shackles, long my lab ring mind, 
 Obscurely trod the lower walks of life, 
 In hopes by honesty my bread to gain; 
 But neither commerce, or my conjuring rods, 
 Nor yet mechanics, or new fangled drills, 
 Or all the iron-monger s curious arts, 
 Gave me a competence of shining ore, 
 
The Group 225 
 
 Or gratify d my itching palm for more; 
 
 Till I dismiss d the bold intruding guest, 
 
 And banish d conscience from my wounded breast. 
 
 CRUSTY. 
 
 Happy expedient! Could I gain the art, 
 Then balmy sleep might sooth my waking lids, 
 And rest once more refresh my weary soul. 
 
 HAZLEROD. 
 
 Resolv d more rapidly to gain my point, 
 I mounted high in justice s sacred seat, 
 With flowing robes, and head equip d without, 
 A heart unfeeling and a stubborn soul, 
 As qualify d as e er a Jefferies was; 
 Save in the knotty rudiments of law, 
 The smallest requisite for modern times, 
 When wisdom, law, and justice are supply d 
 By swords, dragoons, and ministerial nods, 
 Sanctions most sacred in the Pander s creed, 
 I sold my country for a splendid bribe. 
 
 Now let her sink and all the dire alarms 
 
 Of war, confusion, pestilence, and blood, 
 And tenfold mis ry be her future doom- 
 Let civil discord lift her sword on high, 
 Nay, sheath its hilt e en in my brother s blood; 
 It ne er shall move the purpose of my soul; 
 Tho once I trembled at a thought so bold ; 
 By Philalethes s arguments, convinc d, 
 We may live Demons, as we die like brutes, 
 I give my tears, and conscience to the winds. 
 
 HATEALL. 
 
 Curse on their coward fears, and dastard souls, 
 Their soft compunctions and relented qualms, 
 Compassion ne er shall seize my steadfast breast 
 Though blood and carnage spread thro all the land; 
 Till streaming purple tinge the verdant turf, 
 Till ev ry street shall float with human gore, 
 I Nero-like, the capital in flames, 
 Could laugh to see her glotted sons expire, 
 Tho much too rough my soul to touch the lyre. 
 
226 Representative Plays 
 
 SIMPLE. 
 
 I fear the brave, the injur d multitude, 
 Repeated wrongs, arouse them to resent, 
 And every patriot like old Brutus stands, 
 The shining steel half drawn its glitt ring point 
 Scarce hid beneath the scabbard s friendly cell, 
 Resolv d to die, or see their country free. 
 
 HATE ALL. 
 
 Then let them die The dogs we will keep down 
 
 While N s my friend, and G approves the deed, 
 
 Tho hell and all its hell-hounds should unite, 
 I ll not recede to save from swift perdition 
 My wife, my country, family, or friends. 
 
 G- s mandamus I more highly prize 
 
 Than all the mandates of th etherial king. 
 
 HECTOR MUSHROOM. 
 
 Will our abettors in the distant towns 
 Support us long against the common cause, 
 When they shall see from Hampshire s northern bounds 
 Thro the wide western plains to southern shores 
 The whole united continent in arms? 
 
 HATE ALL. 
 
 They shall as sure as oaths or bond can bind ; 
 I ve boldly sent my new-born brat abroad, 
 Th association of my morbid brain, 
 To which each minion must affix his name, 
 As all our hope depends on brutal force, 
 On quick destruction, misery, and death; 
 Soon may we see dark ruin stalk around, 
 With murder, rapine, and inflicted pains; 
 Estates confiscate, slav ry, and despair, 
 Wrecks, halters, axes, gibbeting and chains, 
 
 All the dread ills that wait on civil war; 
 
 How I could glut my vengeful eyes to see 
 The weeping maid thrown helpless on the world, 
 Her sire cut off. Her orphan brothers stand, 
 While the big tear rolls down the manly cheek. 
 
The Group 227 
 
 Robb d of maternal care by grief s keen shaft, 
 The sorrowing mother mourns her starving babes, 
 Her murder d lord torn guiltless from her side, 
 And flees for shelter to the pitying grave 
 To screen at once from slavery and pain. 
 
 HAZLEROD. 
 
 But more complete I view this scene of woe, 
 By the incursions of a savage foe, 
 Of which I warn d them, if they dare refuse 
 The badge of slaves, and bold resistance use. 
 Now let them suffer I ll no pity feel. 
 
 HATEALL. 
 
 Nor I ! But had I power, as I have the will, 
 
 I d send them murm ring to the shades of hell. 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 The scene changes to a large dining room. The table furnished 
 
 with bowls, bottles, glasses, and cards. The Group appear 
 
 sitting round in a restless attitude. In one corner of the room is 
 discovered a small cabinet of books, for the use of the studious and 
 contemplative; containing, Hobbs s Leviathan, Sipthorp s Ser 
 mons, Hutchinsori 1 s History, Fable of the Bees, Philalethes on 
 Philanthropy, with an appendix by Massachusettensis, Hoyl 
 on Whist, Lives of the Stuarts, Statutes of Henry the Eighth, and 
 William the Conqueror, Wedderburne 1 s speeches, and acts of 
 Parliament, for 1774. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 HATEALL, HAZLEROD, MONSIEUR, BEAU TRUMPS, SIMPLE, 
 HUMBUG, SIR SPARROW, &c., &c. 
 
 SCRIBLERIUS. 
 
 Thy" toast, Monsieur, 
 
 Pray, why that solemn phiz: 
 
 Art thou, too, balancing twixt right and wrong? 
 
228 Representative Plays 
 
 Hast thou a thought so mean as to give up 
 
 Thy present good, for promise in reversion? 
 
 Tis true hereafter has some feeble terrors, 
 
 But ere our grizzly heads are wrapt in clay 
 
 We may compound, and make our peace with Heav n. 
 
 MONSIEUR. 
 
 Could I give up the dread of retribution, 
 The awful reck ning of some future day, 
 Like surly Hateall I might curse mankind, 
 And dare the threat ned vengeance of the skies. 
 
 Or like yon apostate 
 
 [Pointing to HAZLEROD, retired to a corner 
 to read Massachusettensis. 
 
 Feel but slight remorse 
 To sell my country for a grasp of gold. 
 But the impressions of my early youth, 
 Infix d by precepts of my pious sire, 
 Are stings and scorpions in my goaded breast; 
 Oft have I hung upon my parent s knee 
 And heard him tell of his escape from France; 
 He left the land of slaves, and wooden shoes; 
 From place to place he sought a safe retreat, 
 Till fair Bostonia stretch d her friendly arm 
 And gave the refugee both bread and peace: 
 (Shall I ungrateful rase the sacred bonds, 
 And help to clank the tyrant s iron chains 
 O er these blest shores once the sure asylum 
 From all the ills of arbitrary sway?) 
 With his expiring breath he bade his sons, 
 If e er oppression reach d the western world, 
 Resist its force, and break the servile yoke. 
 
 SCRIBLERIUS. 
 
 Well quit thy post: Go make thy flatt ring court 
 
 To Freedom s Sons and tell thy baby fears; 
 Shew the foot traces in thy puny heart, 
 Made by the trembling tongue and quiv ring lip 
 Of an old grandsire s superstitious whims. 
 
The Group 229 
 
 MONSIEUR. 
 
 No, 1 never can 
 
 So great the itch I feel for titl d place, 
 Some honorary post, some small distinction, 
 To save my name from dark oblivion s jaws, 
 I ll hazard all, but ne er give up my place, 
 For that I ll see Rome s ancient rites restor d, 
 And flame and faggot blaze in ev ry street. 
 
 BEAU TRUMPS. 
 
 That s right, Monsieur, 
 
 There s nought on earth that has such tempting charms 
 
 As rank and show, and pomp, and glitt ring dress, 
 
 Save the dear counters at belov d Quadril, 
 
 Viner unsoil d, and Littleton, may sleep, 
 
 And Coke lie mould ring on the dusty shelf, 
 
 If I by shuffling draw some lucky card 
 
 That wins the livres, or lucrative place. 
 
 HUM HUMBUG. 
 
 When sly Rapatio shew d his friends the scroll, 
 I wonder d much to see thy patriot name 
 Among the list of rebels to the state, 
 I thought thee one of Rusticus s sworn friends. 
 
 BEAU TRUMPS. 
 
 When first I enter d on the public stage 
 My country groan d beneath base Brundo s hand, 
 Virtue look d fair and beckon d to her lure, 
 Thro truth s bright mirror I beheld her charms 
 And wish d to tread the patriotic path 
 And wear the laurels that adorn his fame; 
 I walk d a while and tasted solid peace 
 With Cassius, Rusticus, and good Hortensius, 
 And many more, whose names will be rever d 
 When you, and I, and all the venal herd, 
 Weigh d in Nemesis, just impartial scale, 
 Are mark d with infamy, till time blot out 
 And in oblivion sink our hated names. 
 But twas a poor unprofitable path, 
 
230 Representative Plays 
 
 Nought to be gain d, save solid peace of mind, 1 
 
 No pensions, place or title there I found; 
 
 I saw Rapatio s arts had struck so deep 
 
 And giv n his country such a fatal wound, 
 
 None but his foes promotion could expect; 
 
 I trim d, and pimp d, and veer d, and wav ring stood, 
 
 But half resolv d to shew myself a knave, 
 
 Till the Arch Traitor prowling round for aid 
 
 Saw my suspense and bade me doubt no more; 
 
 He gently bow d, and smiling took my hand, 
 
 And whispering softly in my list ning ear, 
 
 Shew d me my name among his chosen band, 
 
 And laugh d at virtue dignifi d by fools, 
 
 Clear d all my doubts, and bade me persevere 
 
 In spite of the restraints, or hourly checks 
 
 Of wounded friendship, and a goaded mind, 
 
 Or all the sacred ties of truth and honour. 
 
 COLLATERALIS. 
 
 Come, mongst ourselves we ll e en speak out the truth. 
 Can you suppose there yet is such a dupe 
 As still believes that wretch an honest man? 
 
 The later strokes of his serpentine brain 
 Outvie the arts of Machiavel himself, 
 His Borgian model here is realiz d 
 And the stale tricks of politicians play d 
 
 Beneath a vizard fair 
 
 Drawn from the heav nly form 
 
 Of blest religion weeping o er the land 
 For virtue fall n, and for freedom lost. 
 
 BEAU TRUMPS. 
 I think with you 
 
 -unparalleled his effront ry, 
 
 When by chican ry and specious art, 
 
 Midst the distress in which he d brought the city, 
 
 He found a few (by artifice and cunning, 
 
 By much industry of his wily friend 
 
 The false Philanthrop sly undermining tool, 
 
 Who with the Syren s voice 
 
 Deals daily round the poison of his tongue) 
 
The Group 231 
 
 To speak him fair and overlook his guilt. 
 They by reiterated promise made 
 To stand his friend at Britain s mighty court, 
 And vindicate his native injur d land, 
 Lent him their names to sanctify his deeds. 
 
 But mark the traitor his high crimes gloss d o er 
 
 Conceals the tender feelings of the man, 
 
 The social ties that bind the human heart; 
 
 He strikes a bargain with his country s foes, 
 
 And joins to wrap America in flames. 
 
 Yet with feign d pity, and Satanic grin, 
 
 As if more deep to fix the keen insult, 
 
 Or make his life a farce still more complete, 
 
 He sends a groan across the broad Atlantic, 
 
 And with a phiz of Crocodilian stamp, 
 
 Can weep, and wreathe, still hoping to deceive, 
 
 He cries the gath ring clouds hang thick about her, 
 
 But laughs within then sobs 
 
 Alas! my country? 
 
 HUM HUMBUG. 
 
 Why so severe, or why exclaim at all, 
 Against the man who made thee what thou art? 
 
 BEAU TRUMPS. 
 
 I know his guilt, I ever knew the man, 
 Thy father knew him e er we trod the stage; 
 I only speak to such as know him well ; 
 Abroad I tell the world he is a saint, 
 But as for int rest I betray d my own 
 With the same views, I rank d among his friends: 
 But my ambition sighs for something more. 
 What merits has Sir Sparrow of his own, 
 And yet a feather graces the fool s cap: 
 Which did he wear for what himself achiev d, 
 
 Twould stamp some honour on his latest heir 
 
 But I ll suspend my murm ring care awhile; 
 
 Come, t other glass and try our luck at Loo, 
 
 And if before the dawn your gold I win, 
 Or e er bright Phcebus does his course begin, 
 The eastern breeze from Britain s hostile shore 
 
232 Representative Plays 
 
 Should waft her lofty floating towers o er, 
 Whose waving pendants sweep the wat ry main, 
 Dip their proud beaks and dance towards the plain, 
 The destin d plains of slaughter and distress, 
 Laden with troops from Hanover and Hess, 
 It would invigorate my sinking soul, 
 For then the continent we might control ; 
 Not all the millions that she vainly boasts 
 
 Can cope with Veteran Barbarian hosts; 
 
 But the brave sons of Albion s warlike race, 
 Their arms, and honours, never can disgrace, 
 Or draw their swords in such a hated cause, 
 
 In blood to seal a N-; s oppressive laws, 
 
 They ll spurn the service; Britons must recoil, 
 
 And shew themselves the natives of an isle 
 Who sought for freedom, in the worst of times 
 Produc d her Hampdens, Fairfaxes, and Pyms". 
 
 But if by carnage we should win the game, 
 Perhaps by my abilities and fame : 
 I might attain a splendid glitt ring car, 
 And mount aloft, and sail in liquid air. 
 Like Phaeton, I d then out-strip the wind, 
 And leave my low competitors behind. 
 
 Finis. 
 
THE BATTLE OF BUNKERS-HILL 
 
 By 
 
 HUGH HENRY BRACKENRIDGE 
 
 
HUGH HENRY BRACKENRIDGE 
 
HUGH HENRY BRACKENRIDGE 
 
 (1748-1816) 
 
 The battle of Bunker s Hill was an even.t which stirred what 
 ever dramatic activity there was in America at the time of the 
 Revolution. Therefore, a play written on the subject should not 
 be omitted from a collection supposed to be representative of 
 the different periods in American history and in American 
 thought. The reader has an interesting comparison to make in 
 Hugh Henry Brackenridge s play, which the title-page declares 
 is "A dramatic piece of five acts, in heroic measure, by a gentle 
 man of Maryland," and a later piece entitled "Bunker Hill, or 
 the Death of General Warren," written by John Daly Burk 
 (1776-1808), who came to America because of certain political 
 disturbances, and published his drama with a Dedication to 
 Aaron Burr (1797), the year it was given in New York for the 
 first time. 1 It will be found that the former play is conceived 
 in a better spirit, and is more significant because of the fact 
 that it was written so soon after the actual event. 
 
 It is natural that Hugh Henry Brackenridge should have been 
 inspired by the Revolution, and should have been prompted by 
 the loyal spirit of the patriots of the time. For he was the stuff 
 from which patriots are made, having, in his early life, been 
 reared in Pennsylvania, even though he first saw the light near 
 Campbletown, Scotland, in 1748. His father (who moved to 
 America in 1753) was a poor farmer, and Hugh received his 
 schooling under precarious conditions, as many boys of that 
 time did. We are given pictures of him, trudging thirty miles 
 in all kinds of weather, in order to borrow books and newspapers, 
 and we are told that, being quick in the learning of languages, 
 he made arrangements with a man, who knew mathematics, to 
 trade accomplishments in order that he himself might become 
 better skilled in the science of calculation. 
 
 1 Burk wrote another play, "Female Patriotism; or, The Death of Joan d Arc," 
 given a New York production in 1798. An interesting letter from Burk to J. Hodg- 
 kinson, who produced his "Bunker Hill," is to be found in Dunlap s "The American 
 Theatre" (London, 1833, i, 313). The play has been reissued by the Dunlap Society 
 (1891, no. 15), and edited, with an introduction by Brander Matthews. 
 
236 Representative Plays 
 
 At the age of fifteen, he was so well equipped that he was 
 engaged to teach school in Maryland, at Gunpowder Falls, some 
 of his pupils being so much larger and older than he that, at one 
 time, he had to take a brand from the fire, and strike one of them, 
 in order to gain ascendency over him. 
 
 At eighteen, pocketing whatever money he had saved, he went 
 to President Witherspoon, of the College of New Jersey, arrang 
 ing with that divine to teach classes in order that he might afford 
 to remain and study. While there, among his classmates may 
 be counted James Madison, future president of the United States, 
 Philip Freneau, the poet, and others of later note. Aaron Burr 
 was a Junior at the time of Brackenridge s graduation, as was 
 William Bradford. Though he was on intimate terms with 
 Madison, he was much more the friend of Freneau, the two 
 writing together "The Rising Glory of America." Should one 
 take the complete piece, which was read by Brackenridge at 
 Commencement, and mark therein that part of the poem com 
 posed by Freneau, and included later in Freneau s published 
 works, one might very readily understand that Brackenridge 
 was less the poet, even though in some ways he may have been 
 more versatile as a writer. 
 
 This piece, "The Rising Glory of America," 1 is representative 
 of a type of drama which was fostered and encouraged by the 
 colleges of the time. We find Francis Hopkinson, in the College 
 of Philadelphia, writing various dialogues, like his "Exercise: 
 Containing a Dialogue [by the Rev. Dr. Smith] and Ode, sacred 
 to the memory of his late gracious Majesty George II. Per 
 formed at the public commencement in the College of Phila 
 delphia, May, 1761." Yet Hopkinson was one of the Signers 
 of the Declaration of Independence! 
 
 What says Abbe Robin, viewing Harvard in 1781: 
 
 Their pupils often act tragedies, the subject of which is generally 
 taken from their national events, such as the battle of Bunker s Hill, 
 the burning of Charlestown, the death of General Montgomery, the 
 capture of Burgoyne, the treason of Arnold, and the Fall of British 
 Tyranny. You will easily conclude that in such a new nation as 
 this, these pieces must fall infinitely short of that perfection to 
 which our European literary productions of this kind are wrought 
 up; but, still, they have a greater effect upon the mind than the 
 best of ours would have among them, because those manners and 
 
 1 Philadelphia :/Printed by Joseph Crukshank, for R. Aitken./Bookseller, Oppo 
 site the London-Coffee-/House, in Front-Street./M.DCC.LXXII./ 
 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 237 
 
 customs are delineated, which are peculiar to themselves, and the 
 events are such as interest them above all others. The drama is 
 here reduced to its true and Ancient origin. 
 
 Nathaniel Evans also wrote dialogues, performed at the public 
 Commencements in Philadelphia, like the one on May 17, 1763. 
 We have already noted that "The Prince of Parthia" was written 
 as a college play. "The Military Glory of Great Britain" was 
 also prepared as an entertainment by the graduates of the College 
 of New Jersey, held in Nassau-Hall, September 29, 1762, with 
 the authorship unknown. It was a type of play which tempted 
 many men, who later tried their hand at more important dra 
 matic work. 
 
 Another interesting title of the time ran as follows: 
 
 An/Exercise,/containing/a Dialogue and Ode/On the Accession of 
 His present gracious Majesty./George 1 1 1. /Performed at the public 
 Commencement in the College of/Philadelphia, May i8th, 1762. / 
 Philadelphia :/Printed by W. Dunlap, in Market-Street, M,DCC, 
 LXII./ 
 
 In order to understand the spirit which prompted both Brack- 
 enridge and Freneau, one needs must turn to an account of the 
 latter s life, and learn therefrom certain facts concerning the 
 early college spirit of Brackenridge, which was ignored by his 
 son in the only authentic record of his life we have. 
 
 From Freneau we understand, for example, that, as early as 
 June 24, 1769, a certain number of students banded themselves 
 into an undergraduate fraternity, called the American Whig 
 Society, the chief members of that association being Madison, 
 Brackenridge, Bradford, and Freneau himself. There is a manu 
 script book in the possession of the Historical Society of Penn 
 sylvania, originally owned by Bradford, and containing some of 
 their later poetical tirades. It is called "Satires against the 
 Whigs," and is composed of ten pastorals by Brackenridge and 
 a number of satires by Freneau. It is strange that the intimacy 
 between Brackenridge and Freneau did not lead to their rooming 
 together while at College, Brackenridge giving way to James 
 Madison. But we do know that the two were very intimately 
 associated in early literary work, and, in the manuscript book 
 just mentioned, there is contained the fragment of a novel 
 written alternately by the two, and called "Father Bombo s 
 Pilgrimage to Mecca in Arabia." 
 
 
238 Representative Plays 
 
 Then followed "The Rising Glory of America," which, when 
 Brackenridge graduated, September 25, 1771, was announced on 
 the program of events afternoon division as being entirely 
 by himself. This must have been an oversight, inasmuch as 
 Freneau had more than a mere hand in the execution of the 
 piece, and inasmuch as we possess Brackenridge s own confession 
 "that on his part it was a task of labour, while the verse of his 
 associate flowed spontaneously." 
 
 The college life of the time was not devoted entirely to literary 
 creativeness or to political discussions. There is published an 
 address by President Witherspoon to the inhabitants of Jamaica 
 (1772), in which he outlined the course of study to which the 
 students were subjected. It indicates, very excellently, the 
 classical training that Brackenridge, Freneau, and Madison had 
 to undergo. In fact, we find, on Commencement Day, Freneau 
 debating on "Does Ancient Poetry excel the Modern?" and 
 throwing all his energy in favour of the affirmative argument. 
 And Brackenridge, selected to deliver the Salutatory, rendered 
 it in Latin, "De societate hominum." (See Pennsylvania 
 Chronicle; John Maclean s "History of the College of New 
 Jersey," i, 312; Madison s correspondence while a student; 
 also Philip Vickers Fithian s Journal and Letters: 1764-1774. 
 Student at Princeton College: 1770-1772. Tutor at Nomini 
 Hall in Virginia: 1773-1774. Ed. . . .by J. R. Williams. Prince 
 ton, 1900.) The Princeton historian points to this class of 1771 
 as being so patriotic that a unanimous vote was taken to appear 
 at graduation in nothing but things of American manufacture. 1 
 
 This much we do know regarding the early life of Brackenridge : 
 that he was always pressed for money, that it was his indefatiga- 
 bleness and thirst for knowledge which carried him through the 
 schools of the time, and through college. 
 
 His son even confesses that his father was obliged, on one 
 occasion, to write an address which one of the students had to 
 deliver, and to receive in payment therefor a new suit of clothes ! 
 It was after his graduation that Brackenridge tutored in the 
 College for a while, meantime taking up a course in theology. 
 After this, he accepted a position as teacher in a school on the 
 eastern shore of Maryland, because the "Academy" offered him 
 a most flattering salary, and he could not reject it, however much 
 
 *The students of Princeton have not revived the "Battle of Bunkers-Hill," 
 but they point still with some pride to the ivy which was planted by the class of 1771. 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 239 
 
 he may have been interested in his college work. No sooner was 
 he established there than he wrote to his friend, Freneau, invi 
 ting him to take the second position in the Maryland Seminary. 
 This position was accepted by Freneau, who wrote to James 
 Madison on November 22, 1772, mentioning therein that 
 Brackenridge was at the head of Sommerset Academy, to which 
 he himself had come on October i8th of that year, and where 
 he was teaching the young idea and pursuing at the same time 
 his theological studies. 
 
 As illustration of how much Freneau was at heart in tune with 
 the work, we note that he says, "We have about thirty students 
 in this Academy who prey upon me like leeches." 
 
 According to Brackenridge s son, whose Memoir of his father 
 is published in the 1846 edition of "Modern Chivalry," there 
 must, however, have been in this part of Maryland a polished 
 social atmosphere, which gave ample opportunity for the wit, 
 the scholarship, and the conversational and social powers of 
 Brackenridge to develop. 
 
 For the students of Sommerset Academy, Brackenridge wrote 
 his play, "The Battle of Bunkers-Hill," J and though there is no 
 record of this piece having been actually presented, it is generally 
 agreed that the Principal wrote his drama as an exercise for the 
 pupils to perform. It was published anonymously, the fashion 
 of the day which has led to many disputes, for example, as to 
 the authorship claims of John Leacock and Mrs. Mercy Warren. 
 Royall Tyler was likewise diffident about letting his name appear 
 on the title-page of "The Contrast." 
 
 When published in 1776, Brackenridge s piece was dedicated 
 to Richard Stockton, and its tone and temper are thoroughly 
 indicative of the spirit that must have dominated all his writings 
 while at College. 
 
 The year 1776 marks Brackenridge s severance from teaching 
 work. He soon after went to Philadelphia with his small fortune 
 of one thousand pounds, and continued his efforts to make a 
 livelihood by editing the United States Magazine, which afforded 
 him an opportunity of airing his patriotic views, and gave him 
 the added pleasure of inviting his associate, Freneau, to become 
 one of the leading contributors. The following year, even though 
 
 1 The/Bat tie/of /Bunkers-Hill. /A Dramatic Piece,/of Five Acts,/in Heroic Measure. 
 /By a Gentleman of Maryland./ Pulcrumque mori succurrit in armis./Virgil./ 
 Tis glorious to die in Battle. /Philadelphia :/Printed and Sold by Robert Bell, in 
 Third-Street. /MDCCLXXVI./ 
 
240 Representative Plays 
 
 he had never been ordained in the Church, Brackenridge, never 
 theless, a licensed divine, enlisted as Chaplain in the Revolu 
 tionary Army, and there are extant a number of vigorous political 
 sermons which it was his wont to deliver to the soldiers the 
 same fiery eloquence seen in his "Eulogium on the Brave Men 
 who fell in the Contest with Great Britain," delivered in 1778. 
 
 Some time elapsed while he travelled hither and thither with 
 a bible in his saddle-bags, according to description, and then 
 Brackenridge took up the study of law, inasmuch as his very 
 advanced views on religious questions would not allow him to 
 subscribe to all the tenets of his Presbyterian faith. This drew 
 down upon him the inimical strictures of the pulpit, but 
 marked him as a man of intellectual bravery and certain moral 
 daring. 
 
 Having completed his law reading in Annapolis, under Samuel 
 Chase, afterwards Supreme Court Judge, he crossed the Alle- 
 ghanies, in 1781, and established himself in Pittsburgh, where 
 he rapidly grew in reputation, through his personal magnetism 
 and his undoubted talents as a lawyer. He was strictly in 
 favour of the Federal Constitution, and those who wish to fathom 
 his full political importance should not only study his record as 
 Judge of the Supreme Court of the State of Pennsylvania, when 
 he was appointed by Governor McKean, but, more significant 
 still, the part he took in the Whiskey Insurrection, which brought 
 him in touch with Albert Gallatin. In accord with the temper 
 of the times, he was a man of party politics, although he never 
 allowed his prejudices to interfere with his duties on the bench. 
 As a Judge, his term of office ran from 1800 to the day of his 
 death, June 25, 1816. 
 
 Mr. Brackenridge, besides being the author of the dialogue 
 and play mentioned, likewise wrote several other dramas, among 
 them being a tragedy, "The Death of General Montgomery at 
 the Siege of Quebec" (1777), and a number of Odes and Elegies. 
 The historical student will find much material relating to Brack- 
 enridge s political manoeuvres, in his book on the Western 
 Insurrection ; but probably as an author he is more justly famous 
 for his series of stories and sketches published under the title, 
 "Modern Chivalry" (1792), and representing a certain type of 
 prose writing distinctive of American letters of the time of Clay 
 and Crawford. These impressions were later added to. It is a 
 type to be compared with the literary work done in the Southern 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 241 
 
 States by J. J. Hooper, Judge Longstreet, and Judge Baldwin 
 in ante-bellum days. 
 
 Among Brackenridge s other works may be mentioned: 
 
 An account of Pittsburgh in 1786. (Pittsburgh Gazette, July 
 29, 1786. Carnegie Library, Pittsburgh: Monthly Bulletin, 
 1902, v., 257-262, 288-290, 332-335.) 
 
 The Adventures of Captain Farrago. Philadelphia, 1856. 
 
 The Adventures of Major O Regan. Philadelphia, 1856. 
 
 Gazette Publications. Carlisle, 1806. 
 
 Incidents of the Insurrection in the western parts of Pennsyl 
 vania. Philadelphia, 1795. 
 
 Law Miscellanies. Philadelphia, 1814. 
 
 Narrative of the late Expedition against the Indians. 1798. 
 
 An Occasional Paper by Democritus, entitled "The Standard 
 of Liberty." 1802. 
 
 Political Miscellany. 1793. 
 
 There are many plays extant dealing specifically with events 
 connected with the Revolution and the War of 1812. For a dis 
 cussion of same, see an article by A. E. Lancaster, "Historical 
 American Plays," Chautauquan, 31:359-364, 1900; also see the 
 present editor s "The American Dramatist," Chapter III. Note 
 the fojlowing plays particularly: 
 C. E. GRICE. "The Battle of New Orleans; or, Glory, Love 
 
 and Loyalty." An Historical and National Drama. 1816. 
 W. loor. "The Battle of the Eutaw Springs, and Evacuation of 
 
 Charleston; or, the Glorious I4th of December, 1782." A 
 
 National Drama. Played in Charleston, 1817. 
 S. B. H. JUDAH. "A Tale of Lexington." A National Comedy, 
 
 founded on the opening of the Revolution. 1823.. 
 
T H S 
 
 BATTLE 
 
 o r 
 
 BUNKERS-HILL, 
 
 A DRAMATIC PIECE, 
 
 Or FIVE ACTS, 
 IN HEROIC MEASURE. 
 
 BY A GENTLEMAN ot MARYLAND. 
 
 Pulcrumqut nori /uccurrit IK armit. 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 
 Tis glorious to die in Baltic. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 Printed and Sold by ROBERT BELL, in Third-Street 
 
 MDCCLXXVI. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION 
 
TO 
 RICHARD STOCKTON, Esquire; 
 
 MEMBER 
 OF THE HONOURABLE, 
 
 THE 
 CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, 
 
 for the State 
 of 
 
 NEW-JERSEY. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I take the Freedom to Inscribe with YOUR Name, the following 
 short Performance in Honour of some brave MEN, who have 
 fallen in the Cause of LIBERTY. 
 
 It was at first drawn up for an Exercise in Oratory, to a 
 number of young Gentlemen in a southern Academy, but being 
 now Published, may serve the same Purpose, in other AMERICAN 
 Seminaries. 
 
 The many Civilities, received from YOUR Family, at an earlier 
 Period of my Life, while a Student at NEW-JERSEY College, de 
 mand the warmest Gratitude; and I do continually, with the 
 most sincere Pleasure, recollect and acknowledge them. 
 
 It is my fervent wish, that the Ruler of the Universe may 
 Crown with Success, the Cause of FREEDOM, and speedily relieve 
 our bleeding Country in whose Service YOU have distinguishedly 
 exerted YOUR eminent Abilities, by assisting HER Deliberations 
 in the grand Council of the Empire. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I am, 
 
 With great Respect, 
 
 Your much obliged, 
 
 and most humble Servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 to the 
 BATTLE 
 
 of 
 BUNKERS-HILL 
 
 By a Lieutenant Colonel in the CONTINENTAL ARMY. . UU r 
 
 This mighty Era big with dread alarms, 
 
 Aloud calls each AMERICAN to arms. 
 
 Let ev ry Breast with martial ardour glow, 
 
 Nor dread to meet the proud usurping foe. 
 
 What tho our bodies feel an earthly chain, 
 
 Still the free soul, unblemish d and serene 
 
 Enjoys a mental LIBERTY, a charm, 
 
 Beyond the power of fate itself to harm. 
 
 Should vict ry crown us in the doubtful strife 
 
 Eternal honours mark the hero s life. 
 
 Should Wounds and slaughter be our hapless doom 
 
 Unfading laurels deck the Martyr s Tomb: 
 
 A sure reward awaits his soul on high, 
 
 On earth his memory shall never die, 
 
 For when we read the fatal story o er, 
 
 One tear shall drop for him who is no more, 
 
 Who nobly struggled to support our laws, 
 
 And bravely fell in freedom s sacred cause. 
 
 Let virtue fire us to the martial deed ; 
 We fight to conquer and we dare to bleed: 
 Witness ye fathers ! whose protracted time, 
 Fruitful of story, chronicles the clime. 
 These howling deserts, hospitably tame, 
 Erst snatch d you martyrs, from the hungry flame; 
 Twas Heav n s own cause, beneath whose shelt ring power, 
 Ye grew the wonder of this present hour 
 
246 
 
 Representative Plays 
 
 The task be ours with unremitted toil, 
 To guard the rights of this dear-purchas d soil, 
 From Royal plund rers, greedy of our spoil, 
 Who come resolv d to murder and enslave, 
 To shackle FREEMEN and to rob the brave. 
 The loud mouth d cannon threaten from afar, 
 Be this our comfort in the storm of war 
 Who fights, to take our liberty away, 
 Dead-hearted fights, and falls an easy prey. 
 Then, on my brethren to the embattl d plain, 
 Who shrinks with fear, anticipates a chain. 
 
 WARREN 
 PUTNAM 
 GARDINER 
 
 GAGE 
 HOWE 
 BURGOYNE 
 CLINTON 
 LORD PIGOT 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 American Officers. 
 
 British Officers. 
 
 SHERWIN, Aide-de-camp to General Howe. 
 Soldiers, &c. 
 
THE 
 BATTLE 
 
 OF 
 BUNKERS-HILL 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Camp at Cambridge. 
 Enter WARREN, PUTNAM, and GARDINER. 
 
 WARREN. 
 
 Why thus, brave Putnam, shall we still encamp 
 Inactive here; and with this gentle flood, 
 By Cambridge murmuring, mix briny tears? 
 Salt tears of grief by many a parent shed, 
 For sons detain d, and tender innocents 
 In yon fair City, famishing for bread; 
 For not fond mothers or their weeping babes 
 Can move the hard heart of relentless Gage. 
 Perfidious man ! Who pledg d his oath so late, 
 And word of honour to those patriots 
 Yet in his power, that yielding him their arms, 
 They should receive permission to depart, 
 And join once more their valiant countrymen; 
 But now detains as hostages these men, 
 In low damp dungeons, and in gaols chain d down 
 While grief and famine on their vitals prey. 
 Say, noble Putnam, shall we hear of this, 
 And let our idle swords rust in the sheath, 
 While slaves of Royal Power impeach our worth 
 As vain, and call our patience cowardice? 
 
 PUTNAM. 
 
 Not less, bold Warren, have I felt the pangs 
 Of woe severe in this calamity: 
 
248 Representative Plays 
 
 And could I with my life redeem the times, 
 The richest blood that circles round my heart, 
 Should hastily be shed. But what avails 
 The genuine flame and vigour of the soul, 
 When nature s self, and all the strength of art, 
 Opposes every effort in our power? 
 These sons of slavery dare not advance, 
 And meet in equal fight our hostile arms. 
 For yet they well remember LEXINGTON, 
 And what they suffer d on that rueful day, 
 When wantoning in savage rage, they march d 
 Onward to CONCORD, in a firm array, 
 Mock music playing, and the ample flag 
 Of tyranny display d ; but with dire loss 
 And infamy drove back, they gain d the town, 
 And under cover of their ships of war, 
 Retir d, confounded and dismay d. No more 
 In mirthful mood to combat us, or mix 
 Their jocund music with the sounds of war. 
 To tempt no more unequal fight with men, 
 Who to oppose dire arbitrary sway, 
 Have grasp d the sword; and resolute to brave 
 Death in a thousand dreary shapes, can know, 
 In the warm breast, no sentiment of fear. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 The free born spirit of immortal fire 
 Is stranger to ignoble deeds, and shuns 
 The name of cowardice. But well thy mind, 
 Sage, and matur d by long experience, weighs 
 The perilous attempt, to storm the town, 
 And rescue thence, the suffering citizens. 
 For but one pass to that peninsula, 
 On which the city stands, on all sides barr d. 
 And here what numbers can supply the rage, 
 Of the all devouring, deep mouth d cannon, plac d, 
 On many a strong redoubt: while on each side, 
 The ships of war, moor d, in the winding bay, 
 Can sweep ten thousand from the level beach, 
 "And render all access impregnable." 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 249 
 
 WARREN. 
 
 True, valiant Gard ner, the attempt is vain, 
 To force that entrance to the sea-girt town ; 
 Which while we hop d for peace, and in that view, 
 Kept back our swords, we saw them fortify. 
 But what if haply, with a chosen few, 
 Led through the midnight shades, yon heights were gain d, 
 And that contiguous hill, whose grassy foot, 
 By Mystic s gentle tide is wash d. Here rais d, 
 Strong batt ries jutting o er the level sea, 
 With everlasting thunder, shall annoy 
 Their navy far beneath ; and in some lucky hour, 
 When dubious darkness on the land is spread, 
 A chosen band may pierce their sep rate fleet, 
 And in swift boats, across the narrow tide, 
 Pour like a flame, on their unguarded ranks, 
 And wither them : As when an angel smote 
 The Assyrian camp. The proud Sennacherib, 
 With impious rage, against the hill of God, 
 Blasphem d. Low humbl d, when the dawning light, 
 Saw all his host dead men : So yet I trust, 
 The God of battles will avouch our cause, 
 And those proud champions of despotic power, 
 Who turn our fasting to their mirth, and mock 
 Our prayers, naming us the SAINTS, shall yet, 
 Repay with blood, the tears and agonies, 
 Of tender mothers, and their infant babes, 
 Shut up in BOSTON. 
 
 PUTNAM. 
 
 Heaven, smile on us then, 
 
 And favour this attempt. Now from our troops, 
 Seven hundred gallant men, and skill d in arms, 
 With speed select, choice spirits of the war. 
 By you led on, brave Gard ner, to the heights, 
 Ere yet the morn with dawning light breaks forth, 
 Intrench on BUNKERS-HILL; and when the day 
 First o er the hill top rises, we shall join 
 United arms, against the assailing foe, 
 Should they attempt to cross the narrow tide, 
 In deep battalion to regain the hill. 
 
250 Representative Plays 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 The thought is perilous, and many men, 
 In this bold enterprise, must strew the ground. 
 But since we combat in the cause of God, 
 I draw rny sword, nor shall the sheath again 
 Receive the shining blade, till on the heights 
 Of CHARLES-TOWN, and BUNKER S pleasant HILL, 
 It drinks the blood of many a warrior slain. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Boston. 
 Enter GAGE, HOWE, and BURGOYNE. 
 
 BURGOYNE. 
 
 How long, brave gen rals, shall the rebel foe, 
 In vain arrangements, and mock siege, display 
 Their haughty insolence? Shall in this town, 
 So many thousands, of Britannia s troops, 
 With watch incessant, and sore toil oppress d, 
 Remain besieg d? A vet ran army pent, 
 In the inclosure, of so small a space, 
 By a disorder d herd, untaught, unofficer d. 
 Let not sweet Heav n, the envious mouth of fame, 
 With breath malignant, o er the Atlantic wave 
 Bear this to Europe s shores, or tell to France, 
 Or haughty Spain, of LEXINGTON S retreat. 
 Who could have thought it, in the womb of time, 
 That British soldiers, in this latter age, 
 Beat back by peasants, and in flight disgrac d, 
 Could tamely brook the base discomfiture; 
 Nor sallying out, with spirit reassum d, 
 Exact due tribute of their victory? 
 Drive back the foe, to Alleghany hills, 
 In woody valleys, or on mountain tops, 
 To mix with wolves and kindred savages. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 This mighty paradox, will soon dissolve. 
 Hear first, Burgoyne, the valour of these men, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 251 
 
 Fir d with the zeal, of fiercest liberty, 
 
 No fear of death, so terrible to all, 
 
 Can stop their rage. Grey-headed clergymen, 
 
 With holy bible, and continual prayer, 
 
 Bear up their fortitude and talk of heav n, 
 
 And tell them, that sweet soul, who dies in battle, 
 
 Shall walk, with spirits of the just. These words 
 
 Add wings to native rage, and hurry them 
 
 Impetuous to war. Nor yet in arms 
 
 Unpractised. The day of LEXINGTON 
 
 A sad conviction gave our soldiery, 
 
 That these AMERICANS, were not that herd, 
 
 And rout ungovern d, which we painted them. 
 
 HOWE. 
 
 Not strange to your maturer thought, Burgoyne, 
 This matter will appear. A people brave, 
 Who never yet, of luxury, or soft 
 Delights, effeminate, and false, have tasted. 
 But, through hate of chains, and slav ry, suppos d, 
 Forsake their mountain tops, and rush to arms. 
 Oft have I heard their valour published : S 
 
 Their perseverance, and untamable, 
 Fierce mind, when late they fought with us, and drove, 
 The French encroaching on their settlements, 
 Back to their frozen lakes. Or when with us 
 On Cape Breton, they stormed Louisburg. 
 With us in Canada, they took Quebec; 
 And at the Havannah, these NEW-ENGLAND MEN, 
 Led on by Putnam, acted gallantly. 
 I had a brother once, who in that war, 
 With fame commanded them, and when he fell, 
 Not unlamented ; for these warriors, 
 So brave themselves, and sensible of merit, 
 Erected him a costly monument; 
 And much it grieves me that I draw my sword, 
 For this late insurrection and revolt, 
 To chastise them. Would to Almighty God, 
 The task unnatural, had been assign d, 
 Elsewhere! But since by Heaven, determined, 
 Let s on, and wipe the day of LEXINGTON, 
 
252 Representative Plays 
 
 Thus soil d, quite from our soldiers memories. 
 This reinforcement, which with us have fail d, 
 In many a transport, from Britannia s shores, 
 Will give new vigour to the Royal Arms, 
 And crush rebellion, in its infancy. 
 Let s on, and from this siege, calamitous, 
 Assert our liberty; nay, rather die, 
 Transfix d in battle, by their bayonets, 
 Than thus remain, the scoff and ridicule 
 Of gibing wits, and paltry gazetteers, 
 On this, their madding continent, who cry, 
 Where is the British valour: that renown 
 Which spoke in thunder, to the Gallic shores? 
 That spirit is evaporate, that fire; 
 Which erst distinguish d them, that flame; 
 And gen rous energy of soul, which fill d 
 Their Henrys, Edwards, thunder-bolts of war; 
 /fheir Hampdens, Marlboroughs, and the immortal Wolfe, 
 On the Abraham heights, victorious. 
 Britannia s genius, is unfortunate, 
 And flags, say they, when Royal tyranny 
 Directs her arms. This let us then disprove, 
 In combat speedily, and take from them, 
 The wantonness of this fell pride, and boasting. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Tho much I dread the issue of the attempt, 
 So full of hazard, and advent rous spirit; 
 Yet since your judgment, and high skill in arms, 
 From full experience, boldly prompts you on, 
 I give my voice, and when one day hath pass d, 
 In whose swift hours, may be wrought, highly up, 
 The resolution, of the soldiery, 
 With soothing words, and ample promises, 
 Of rich rewards, in lands and settlements, 
 From the confiscate property throughout, 
 These rebel colonies, at length subdu d; 
 Then march we forth, beat up their drowsy camp, 
 And with the sun, to this safe capital, 
 Return, rich, with the triumphs of the war. 
 And be our plan, that which brave Haldiman, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 253 
 
 Ere yet recall d, advis d to us. Let first, 
 
 Brave Howe, and Clinton, on that western point, 
 
 Land with the transports, and mean time Burgoyne, 
 
 With the artillery, pour sharp cannonade, 
 
 Along the neck, and sweep, the beachy plain, 
 
 Which lies to Roxborough, where yon western stream, 
 
 Flowing from Cambridge, mixes with the Bay. 
 
 Thus, these AMERICANS, shall learn to dread, 
 
 The force of discipline, and skill in arms. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Bunkers-Hill. 
 Enter GARDINER, with seven hundred men. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 This is the hill, brave countrymen, whose brow 
 We mean to fortify. A strong redoubt, 
 With saliant angles, and embrasures deep, 
 Be speedily thrown up. Let each himself, 
 Not undeserving, of our choice approve, 
 For out of thousands, I have challeng d you, 
 To this bold enterprise, as men of might, 
 And valour eminent, and such this day, 
 I trust, will honour you. Let each his spade, 
 And pick-axe, vig rously, in this hard soil, 
 Where I have laid, the curved line, exert. 
 For now the morning star, bright Lucifer, 
 Peers on the firmament, and soon the day, / 
 Flush d with the golden sun, shall visit us. 
 Then gallant countrymen, should faithless Gage, 
 Pour forth his lean, and half-starv d myrmidons; 
 We ll make them taste our cartridges, and know, 
 What rugged steel, our bayonets are made of; 
 Or if o er charg d, with numbers, bravely fall, 
 Like those three hundred at Thermopylae, 
 And give our Country, credit in our deaths. 
 
254 Representative Plays 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I. Boston. 
 
 GAGE [solus\. 
 
 Oh, sweet tranquillity, and peace of soul, 
 That in the bosom of the cottager, 
 Tak st up thy residence cannot the beams, 
 Of royal sunshine, call thee to my breast ? 
 Fair honour, waits on thee, renown abroad, 
 And high dominion, o er this Continent, 
 Soon as the spirit, of rebellious war, 
 Is scourg d into obedience. Why then, ye Gods, 
 This inward gnawing, and remorse of thought, 
 For perfidy, and breach of promises! 
 Why should the spouse, or weeping infant babe, 
 Or meek ey d virgin, with her sallow cheek, 
 The rose by famine, wither d out of it; 
 Or why the father, or his youthful son, 
 By me detain d, from all their relatives, 
 And, in low dungeons, and, in Gaols chain d down, 
 Affect my spirit, when the mighty cause, 
 Of George and Britain, is endangered ? 
 For nobly struggling, in the cause of kings, 
 We claim the high, the just prerogative, 
 To rule mankind, and with an iron rod, 
 Exact submission, due, tho absolute. 
 What tho they style me, villain, murderer, 
 And imprecate from Heaven, dire thunderbolts, 
 To crush my purposes Was that a gun, 
 Which thunders o er the wave? Or is it guilt, 
 That plays the coward, with my trembling heart, 
 And cools the blood, with frightful images. 
 O guilt, thy blackness, hovers on the mind, 
 Nor can the morning dissipate thy shades. 
 Yon ruddy morn, which over BUNKERS-HILL, 
 Advancing slowly, blushes to the bay, 
 And tips with gold the spires of CHARLES-TOWN. 
 
 Enter BURGOYNE. 
 
 The rebel foe, grown yet more insolent, 
 By that small loss, or rout, at LEXINGTON, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 255 
 
 Prevent our purpose and the night by-past, 
 Have push d intrenchments, and some flimsy works, 
 With rude achievement, on the rocky brow, 
 Of that tall hill. A ship-boy, with the day, 
 From the tall mast-head, of the Admiral, 
 Descry d their aim, and gave the swift alarm. 
 Our glasses mark, but one small regiment there, 
 Yet, ev ry hour we languish in delay, 
 Inspires fresh hope, and fills their pig my souls, 
 With thoughts of holding it. You hear the sound 
 Of spades and pick-axes, upon the hill, 
 Incessant, pounding, like old Vulcan s forge, 
 Urg d by the Cyclops. 
 
 Enter HOWE. 
 
 To your alarm posts, officers; come, gallant souls, 
 Let s out, and drive them from that eminence, 
 On which the foe, doth earth himself. 
 I relish not, such haughty neighbourhood. 
 Give orders, swiftly, to the Admiral, 
 That some stout ship heave up the narrow bay, 
 And pour indignant, from the full-tide wave, 
 Fierce cannonade, across the isthmus point, 
 That no assistance may be brought to them. 
 If but seven hundred, we can treat with them. 
 Yes, strew the hill, with death, and carcasses, 
 And offer up, this band, a hecatomb, 
 To Britain s glory, and the cause of kings. 
 
 [Exeunt BURGOYNE and HOWE. 
 
 GAGE [solus], 
 
 May Heaven protect us, from their rage, I say, 
 When but a boy, I dream d of death in bed, 
 And ever since that time, I hated things 
 Which put him, like a pair of spectacles, 
 Before my eyes. The thought lies deep in fate, 
 Nor can a mortal see the bottom of it. 
 Tis here Tis there I could philosophize 
 Eternity, is like a winding sheet 
 
 The seven commandments like I think there s seven 
 I scratch my head but yet in vain I scratch 
 Oh Bute, and Dartmouth, knew ye what I feel, 
 
256 Representative Plays 
 
 You sure would pity an old drinking man, 
 That has more heart-ake, than philosophy. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 SCENE II. HOWE with the British Army. 
 
 HOWE. 
 
 The day at length, propitious shews itself, 
 And with full beams of majesty, the sun, 
 Hath bless d its fair nativity; when Heaven, 
 Brave soldiers, and the cause of kings, 
 Calls on the spirit of your loyalty, 
 To chastise this rebellion, and tread down, 
 Such foul ingratitude such monstrous shape, 
 Of horrid liberty, which spurns that love 
 That fond maternal tenderness of soul, 
 Which on this dreary coast, first planted them: 
 Restrain d the rage, of murdering savages, 
 Which, with fierce inroad, on their settlements, 
 Made N frequent war struck down the arm of France, 
 Just rais d, to crush them, in their infancy: 
 And since that time, have bade their cities grow, 
 To marts of trade: call d fair-ey d commerce forth, 
 To share dominion, on the distant wave, 
 And visjt every clime, and foreign shore. 
 Yet this, brave soldiers, is the proud return, 
 For the best blood of England, shed for them. 
 Behold yon hill, where fell rebellion rears 
 Her snake-stream d ensign, and would seem to brave 
 With scarce seven hundred, this sea-bounded Camp, 
 Where may be counted, full ten thousand men, 
 That in the war with France so late, acquir d 
 Loud fame, and shook the other continent. 
 Come on, brave soldiers, seize your gleaming arms, 
 And letlhis day, in after times be held, 
 As Minden famous, and each hostile field, 
 Where British valour shone victorious. 
 The time moves slow, which enviously detains, 
 Our just resentment from these traitors heads. 
 Their richest farms, and cultur d settlements, 
 By winding river, or extensive bay, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 257 
 
 ! Shall be your firstjewanL Our noble king, 
 As things confiscate, holds their property, 
 And in rich measure, will bestow on you, 
 Who face the frowns, and labour of this day. 
 He that outlives this battle, shall ascend, 
 In titled honour, to the height of state, 
 Dukedoms, and baronies, midst these our foes, 
 In tributary vassalage, kept down, 
 Shall be your fair inheritance. Come on, 
 Beat up th heroic sound of war. The word 
 Is, George our sov reign, and Britannia s arms. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Bunkers-Hill. 
 WARREN with the American Army. 
 
 WARREN. 
 
 To arms, brave countrymen, for see the foe 
 Comes forth to battle, and would seem to try, 
 Once more, their fortune in decisive war. 
 Three thousand, gainst seven hundred, rang d this day, 
 Shall give the world, an ample specimen, 
 What strength, and noble confidence, the sound 
 Of Liberty inspires. That Liberty, 
 Which, not the thunder of Bellona s voice, 
 With fleets, and armies, from the British Shore, 
 Shall wrest from us. Our noble ancestors, 
 Out-brav d the tempests, of the hoary deep, 
 And on these hills, uncultivate, and wild, 
 Sought an asylum, from despotic sway; 
 A short asylum, for that envious power, 
 With persecution dire, still follows us. 
 At first, they deem d our charters forfeited. 
 Next, our just rights, in government, abridg d. 
 Then, thrust in viceroys, and bashaws, to rule, 
 With lawless sovereignty. Now added force, 
 Of standing armies, to secure their sway. 
 Much have we suffer d from the licens d rage, 
 Of brutal soldiery, in each fair town. 
 
258 Representative Plays 
 
 Remember March, brave countrymen, that day 
 
 When BOSTON S streets ran blood. Think on that day, 
 
 And let the memory, to revenge, stir up, 
 
 The temper of your souls. There might we still, 
 
 On terms precarious, and disdainful liv d, 
 
 With daughters ravished, and butcher d sons, 
 
 But Heaven forbade the thought. These are the men, 
 
 Who in firm phalanx, threaten us with war, 
 
 And aim this day, to fix forever down, 
 
 The galling chains, which tyranny has forg d for us, 
 
 These count our lands and settlements their own, 
 
 And in their intercepted letters, speak, 
 
 Of farms, and tenements, secured for friends, 
 
 Which, if they gain, brave soldiers, let with blood, 
 
 The purchase, be seal d down. Let every arm, 
 
 This day be active, in fair freedom s cause, 
 
 And shower down, from the hill, like Heav n in wrath, 
 
 Full store of lightning, and fierce iron hail, 
 
 To blast the adversary. Let this ground, 
 
 Like burning ^Etna or Vesuvius top, 
 
 Be wrapt in flame The word is, LIBERTY, 
 
 And Heaven smile on us, in so just a cause. 
 
 SCENE II. Bunkers-Hill. 
 
 GARDINER [leading up his men to the engagement}. 
 Fear not, brave soldiers, tho their infantry, 
 In deep array, so far out-numbers us. 
 The justness of our cause, will brace each arm, 
 And steel the soul, with fortitude; while they, 
 Whose guilt hangs trembling, on their consciences, 
 Must fail in battle, and receive that death, 
 Which, in high vengeance, we prepare for them. 
 Let then each spirit, to the height, would up, 
 Shew noble vigour, and full force this day. 
 For on the merit, of our swords, is plac d, 
 The virgin honour, and true character, 
 Of this whole Continent: and one short hour, 
 May give complexion, to the whole event, 
 Fixing the judgment whether as base slaves, 
 We serve these masters, or more nobly live, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 259 
 
 Free as the breeze, that on the hill-top, plays, 
 
 With these sweet fields, and tenements, our own. 
 
 O fellow soldiers, let this battle speak, 
 
 Dire disappointment, to the insulting foe, 
 
 Who claim our fair possessions, and set down, 
 
 These cultur d-farms, and bowry-hills, and plains, 
 
 As the rich prize, of certain victory. 
 
 Shall we, the sons of MASSACHUSETTS-BAY, 
 
 NEW HAMPSHIRE, and CONNECTICUT ; shall we 
 
 Fall back, dishonour d, from our native plains, 
 
 Mix with the savages, and roam for food, 
 
 On western mountains, or the desert shores, 
 
 Of Canada s cold lakes? or state more vile, 
 
 Sit down, in humble vassalage, content 
 
 To till the ground for these proud conquerors? 
 
 No, fellow soldiers, let us rise this day, 
 
 Emancipate, from such ignoble choice. 
 
 And should the battle ravish our sweet lives, 
 
 Late time shall give, an ample monument, V 
 
 And bid her worthies, emulate our fame. 
 
 SCENE III. Boston. 
 
 The British Army being repulsed, SHERWIN is dispatch 1 d to 
 GENERAL GAGE, for assistance. 
 
 SHERWIN, GAGE, BURGOYNE, and CLINTON. 
 
 SHERWIN. 
 
 Our men advancing, have receiv d dire loss, 
 In this encounter, and the case demands, 
 In swift crisis, of extremity, 
 A thousand men to reinforce the war. 
 
 GAGE. 
 
 Do as you please, Burgoyne, in this affair, 
 I ll hide myself in some deep vault beneath. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 BURGOYNE. 
 
 Tis yours, brave Clinton, to command, these men. 
 Embark them speedily. I see our troops, 
 Stand on the margin of the ebbing flood 
 
26o Representative Plays 
 
 (The flood affrighted, at the scene it views), 
 And fear, once more, to climb the desp rate hill, 
 Whence the bold rebel, show rs destruction down. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 WARREN. 
 Mortatty wounded, jailing on his right knee, covering his breast 
 
 with his rcght hand, and supporting himself with his firelock 
 
 in his left. 
 
 A deadly ball hath limited my life, 
 And now to God, I offer up my soul. 
 But O my Countrymen, let not the cause, 
 The sacred cause of liberty, with me 
 Faint or expire. By the last parting breath, 
 And blood of this your fellow soldier slain, 
 Be now adjur d, never to yield the right, 
 The grand deposit of all-giving Heaven, 
 To man s free nature, that he rule himself. 
 With these rude Britons, wage life-scorning war, 
 Till they admit it, and like hell fall off, 
 With ebbing billows, from this troubl d coast, 
 Where but for them firm Concord, and true love, 
 Should individual, hold their court and reign. 
 Th infernal engin ry of state, resist 
 To death, that unborn times may be secure, 
 And while men flourish in the peace you win, 
 Write each fair name with worthies of the earth. 
 Weep not your Gen ral, who is snatch d this day, 
 From the embraces of a family, 
 Five virgin daughters young, and unendow d, 
 Now with the foe left lone and fatherless. 
 Weep not for him who first espous d the cause 
 And risking life have met the enemy, 
 In fatal opposition But rejoice 
 For now I go to mingle with the dead, 
 Great Brutus, Hampden, Sidney, and the rest, 
 Of old or modern memory, who liv d, 
 A mound to tyrants, and strong hedge to kings, 
 Bounding the inundation of their rage, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 261 
 
 Against the happiness and peace of man. 
 I see these heroes where they walk serene, 
 By crystal currents, on the vale of Heaven, 
 High in full converse of immortal acts, 
 Achiev d for truth and innocence on earth. 
 Mean time the harmony and thrilling sound 
 Of mellow lutes, sweet viols, and guitars, 
 Dwell on the soul and ravish ev ry nerve. 
 Anon the murmur of the tight-brac d drum, 
 With finely varied fifes to martial airs, 
 Wind up the spirit to the mighty proof 
 Of siege and battle, and attempt in arms. 
 Illustrious group! They beckon me along, 
 To ray my visage with immortal light, 
 And bind the amarinth around my brow. 
 I come, I come, ye first-born of true fame. 
 Fight on, my countrymen, be FREE, be FREE. 
 
 SCENE V. Charles-town. 
 
 The reinforcement landed, and orders given to burn Charles-town, 
 that they may march up more securely under the smoke. GENERAL 
 HOWE rallies his repuls d and broken troops. 
 
 HOWE. 
 
 Curse on the fortune, of Britannia s arms, 
 That plays the jilt with us. Shall these few men 
 Beat back the flower, and best half of our troops, 
 While on our side, so many ships of war, 
 And floating batt ries, from the mystic tide, 
 Shake all the hill, and sweep its ridgy top? 
 O Gods! no time can blot its memory out. 
 We ve men enough, upon the field today, 
 To bury, this small handful, with the dust 
 Our march excites back to the charge close ranks, 
 And drive these wizards from th enchanted ground. 
 The reinforcement, which bold Clinton heads, 
 Gives such superiority of strength, 
 That let each man of us but cast a stone, 
 We cover this small hill, with these few foes, 
 And over head, erect a pyramid. 
 The smoke, you see, enwraps us in its shade, 
 
262 Representative Plays 
 
 On, then, my countrymen, and try once more, 
 To change the fortune, of the inglorious day. 
 
 SCENE VI. Bunkers-Hill. 
 
 GARDINER [to the American Army}. 
 You see, brave soldiers, how an evil cause, 
 A cause of slavery, and civil death, 
 Unmans the spirit, and strikes down the soul. 
 The gallant Englishman, whose fame in arms, 
 Through every clime, shakes terribly the globe, 
 Is found this day, shorn of his wonted strength, 
 Repuls d, and driven from the flaming hill. 
 Warren is fallen, on fair honour s bed, 
 Pierc d in the breast, with ev ry wound before. 
 Tis ours, now tenfold, to avenge his death, 
 And offer up, a reg ment of the foe, 
 Achilles-like, upon the Hero s tomb. 
 See, reinforc d they face us yet again, 
 And onward move in phalanx to the war. 
 
 noble spirits, let this bold attack, 
 
 Be bloody to their host. GOD is our Aid, 
 Give then full scope, to just revenge this day. 
 
 SCENE VII. The Bay-Shore. 
 
 The British Army once more repuls d, HOWE again rallies his 
 flying troops. 
 
 HOWE. 
 But that so many mouths can witness it, 
 
 1 would deny myself an Englishman, 
 
 And swear this day, that with such cowardice, 
 No kindred, or alliance, has my birth. 
 O base degen rate souls, whose ancestors, 
 At Cressy, Poitiers, and at Agincourt, 
 With tenfold numbers, combated, and pluck d 
 The budding laurels, from the brows of France. 
 Back to the charge, once more, and rather die, 
 Burn d up, and wither d on this bloody hill, 
 Than live the blemish of your Country s fame, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 263 
 
 With everlasting infamy, oppress d. 
 Their ammunition, as you hear, is spent, 
 So that unless their looks, and visages, 
 Like fierce-ey d Basilisks, can strike you dead; 
 Return, and rescue yet, sweet Countrymen, 
 Some share of honour, on this hapless day. 
 Let some brave officers stand on the rear, 
 And with the small sword, and sharp bayonet, 
 Drive on each coward that attempts to lag, 
 That thus, sure death may find the villain out, 
 With more dread certainty, than him who moves, 
 Full in the van, to meet the wrathful foe. 
 
 SCENE VIII. Bunkers-Hill. 
 
 GARDINER, desperately wounded and borne from the field by two 
 soldiers. 
 
 GARDINER. 
 
 A musket-ball, death-wing d, hath pierc d my groin, 
 And widely op d the swift curr nt of my veins. 
 Bear me then, Soldiers, to that hollow space, 
 A little hence, just in the hill s decline. 
 A surgeon there may stop the gushing wound, 
 And gain a short respite to life, that yet 
 I may return, and fight one half hour more. 
 Then, shall I die in peace, and to my GOD, 
 Surrender up, the spirit, which He gave. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 PUTNAM [to the American Army}. 
 Swift-rising fame, on early wing, mounts up, 
 To the convexity of bending Heaven, 
 And writes each name, who fought with us this day, 
 In fairest character, amidst the stars. 
 The world shall read it, and still talk of us, 
 Who, far out-number d, twice drove back the foe, 
 With carnage horrid, murm ring to their ships. 
 The Ghost of Warren says, enough I see 
 One thousand veterans, mingled with the dust. 
 
264, Representative Plays 
 
 Now, for our sacred honour, and the wound, 
 
 Which Gard ner feels, once more we charge once more, 
 
 Dear friends, and fence the obscur d hill 
 
 With hecatombs of slain. Let every piece 
 
 Flash, like the fierce-consuming fire of Heaven, 
 
 And make the smoke, in which they wrap themselves, 
 
 "A darkness visible." Now once again, 
 
 Receive the battle, as a shore of rock 
 
 The ocean wave. And if at last we yield, 
 
 Leave many a death, amidst their hollow ranks, 
 
 To damp the measure, of their dear-bought joy. 
 
 SCENE X and Last. Bunkers-Hill. 
 
 The American Army overpowered by numbers are obliged to retreat. 
 
 Enter HOWE, PIGOT, and CLINTON with the British Army. 
 
 RICHARDSON [a young officer, on the parapet}. 
 
 The day is ours, huzza, the day is ours, 
 This last attack has forc d them to retreat. 
 
 CLINTON. 
 
 Tis true, full victory declares for us, 
 But we have dearly, dearly purchas d it. 
 Full fifteen hundred of our men lie dead, 
 Who, with their officers, do swell the list 
 Of this day s carnage On the well-fought hill, 
 Whole ranks cut down, lie struggling with their wounds, 
 Or close their bright eyes, in the shades of night. 
 No wonder! such incessant musketry, 
 And fire of Cannon, from the hill-top pour d, 
 Seem d not the agency of mortal men, 
 But Heaven itself, with snares, _and vengeance arm d, 
 T oppose our gaining it. E en when was spent 
 Their ammunition, and fierce Warren slain, 
 Huge stones were hurled from the rocky brow, 
 And war renew d, by these inveterate; 
 Till Gard ner wounded, the left wing gave way, 
 And with their shatter d infantry, the whole, 
 Drawn off by Putnam, to the causeway fled, 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 265 
 
 When from the ships, and batt ries on the wave 
 They met deep loss, and strew d the narrow bridge, 
 With lifeless carcases. Oh, such a day, 
 Since Sodom and Gomorrah sunk in flames, 
 Hath not been heard of by the ear of man, 
 Nor hath an eye beheld its parallel. 
 
 LORD PIGOT. 
 
 The day is ours, but with heart-piercing loss, 
 Of soldiers slain, and gallant officers. 
 Old Abercrombie, on the field lies dead. 
 Pitcairn and Sherwin, in sore battle slain. 
 The gallant reg ment of Welsh fusileers, 
 To seventeen privates, is this day reduc d. 
 The grenadiers stand thinly on the hill, 
 Like the tall fir-trees on the blasted heath, 
 Scorch d by the autumnal burnings, which have rush d, 
 With wasting fire fierce through its leafy groves. 
 Should ev ry hill by the rebellious foe, 
 So well defended, cost thus dear to us, 
 Not the united forces of the world, 
 Could master them, and the proud rage subdue 
 Of these AMERICANS. 
 
 HOWE. 
 
 E en in an enemy I honour worth, 
 And valour eminent. The vanquish d foe, 
 In feats of prowess shew their ancestry, 
 And speak their birth legitimate; 
 The sons of Britons, with the genuine flame, 
 Of British heat, and valour in their veins. 
 What pity tis, such excellence of mind, 
 Should spend itself, in the fantastic cause, 
 Of wild-fire liberty. Warren is dead, 
 And lies unburied, on the smoky hill; 
 But with rich honours he shall be inhum d, 
 To teach our soldiery, how much we love, 
 E en in a foe, true worth and noble fortitude. 
 Come then, brave soldiers, and take up the dead, 
 Majors, and Col nels, which are this day slain, 
 And noble Captains of sweet life bereft. 
 Fair flowers shall grow upon their grassy tombs, 
 
 
266 Representative Plays 
 
 And fame in tears shall tell their tragedy, 
 To many a widow and soft weeping maid, 
 Or parent woe-ful for an only son, 
 Through mourning Britain, and Hibernians isle. 
 
 Enter BURGOYNE from Boston. 
 Oft have I read, in the historic page, 
 And witnessed myself, high scenes in war: 
 But this rude day, unparallel d in time, 
 Has no competitor The gazing eye, 
 Of many a soldier, from the chimney-tops, 
 And spires of Boston, witnessed when Howe, 
 With his full thousands, moving up the hill, 
 Receiv d the onset of the impetuous foe. 
 The hill itself, like Ida s burning mount, 
 When Jove came down, in terrors, to dismay 
 The Grecian host, enshrouded in thick flames; 
 And round its margin, to the ebbing wave, 
 A town on fire, and rushing from its base, 
 With ruin hideous, and combustion down. 
 Mean time, deep thunder, from the hollow sides 
 Of the artill ry, on the hilltop hear d, 
 With roar of thunder, and loud mortars play d, 
 From the tall ships, and batt ries on the wave, 
 Bade yon blue ocean, and wide heaven resound. 
 A scene like which, perhaps, no time shall know, 
 Till Heav n with final ruin fires the ball, 
 Burns up the cities, and the works of men, 
 And wraps the mountains in one gen ral blaze. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 The End. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 Written by a Gentleman of the Army. 
 
 Supposed to be spoken, immediately after the Battle; by LIEUTEN 
 ANT COLONEL WEBB, Aide-de-camp to GENERAL .BUINAM. 
 
 The field is theirs, but dearly was it bought, 
 Thus long defended and severely fought. 
 Now pale-fac d death sits brooding o er the strand, 
 And views the carnage of his ruthless hand. 
 But why my heart this deep unbidden sigh, 
 Why steals the tear, soft trickling from the eye? 
 Is IT%EEDOM master d by our late defeat, 
 Or HONOUR wounded by a brave retreat? 
 Tis nature dictates; and in pride s despite, 
 I mourn my brethren slaughter d in the fight. 
 Th insulting foe now revels o er the ground, 
 Yet flush d with victory, they feel the wound. 
 Embru d in gore, they bleed from ev ry part, 
 And deep wounds rankle at Britannia s heart. 
 O fatal conquest! Speak thou crimson d plain, 
 Now press d beneath the weight of hundreds slain ! 
 There heaps of British youth promiscuous lie, 
 Here, murder d FREEMEN catch the wand ring eye. 
 Observe yon stripling bath d in purple gore, 
 He bleeds for FREEDOM on his native shore. 
 His livid eyes in drear convulsions roll, 
 While from his wounds escapes the flutt ring soul, 
 Breathless and naked on th ensanguin d plain, 
 Midst friends and brothers, sons and fathers slain. 
 No pitying hand his languid eyes to close, 
 He breathes his last amidst insulting foes; 
 His body plunder d, massacred, abus d; 
 By Christians Christian fun ral rites refus d 
 Thrown as a carrion in the public way, 
 To Dogs, to Britons, and to Birds a prey. 
 Enwrapt in sulph rous flame and clouds of smoke, 
 
268 Representative Plays 
 
 Brave Gard ner sinks beneath the deadly stroke, 
 
 And Warren bleeds to grace the bloody strife, 
 
 And for his injur d country gives his life. 
 
 Yet while his mighty soul ascends the skies, 
 
 On earth his blood for ten-fold vengeance cries. 
 
 Great spirit rest by Heaven it is decreed, 
 
 Thy murd ring tyrants by the sword shall bleed. 
 
 E en racks and gibbets would but consecrate, 
 
 And death repeated be too kind a fate. 
 
 The sword is drawn, in peace no more to rest, 
 
 Till justice bathes it in some tyrant s breast. 
 
 Honour my weapon with the glorious task, 
 
 And let me stab, tis all the boon I ask. 
 
 Kind pow rs, beneath your all-protecting shield, 
 
 I now unsheathe my sword, and take the field 
 
 Sure of success, with this sweet comfort giv n, 
 
 Who fights for FREEDOM, fights the cause of HEAV N. 
 
AN ODE 
 on the Battle of BUNKERS-HILL. 
 
 Sung and Acted by a Soldier in a Military Habit, with his Firelock, 
 
 fire. 
 
 In the Same Measure with a Sea Piece, Entitled the "Tempest." 
 Cease, rude Boreas, btust ring railer 
 
 I. 
 
 You bold warriors, who resemble 
 
 Flames, upon the distant hill, 
 At whose view, the heroes tremble, 
 
 Fighting with unequal skill. 
 Loud-sounding drums now with hoarse murmurs, 
 
 Rouse the spirit up to war, 
 Fear not, fear not, tho their numbers, 
 
 Much to ours, superior are. 
 Hear brave WARREN bold commanding, 
 
 "Gallant souls and vet rans brave, 
 See the enemy just landing, 
 
 From the navy-cover d wave. 
 Close the wings advance the center- 
 Engineers point well your guns 
 Clap the matches, let the rent air, 
 
 Bellow to Britannia s sons." 
 
 II. 
 
 Now think you see, three thousand moving, 
 
 Up the brow of BUNKERS-HILL, 
 Many a gallant vet ran shoving, 
 
 Cowards on against their will. 
 The curling volumes all behind them, 
 
270 Representative Plays 
 
 Dusky clouds of smoke arise, 
 Our cannon-balls, brave boys shall find them, 
 
 At each shot a hero dies. 
 Once more WARREN midst this terror, 
 
 "Charge, brave soldiers, charge again, 
 Many an expert vet ran warrior 
 
 Of the enemy is slain. 
 Level well your charged pieces, 
 
 In direction to the town; 
 They shake, they shake, their lightning ceases, 
 
 That shot brought six standards down." 
 
 III. 
 
 Maids in virgin beauty blooming, 
 
 On Britannia s sea-girt isle, 
 Say no more your swains are coming, 
 
 Or with songs the day beguile. 
 For sleeping sound in death s embraces, 
 
 On their clay-cold beds they lie, 
 Death, grim death, alas defaces, 
 
 Youth and pleasure which must die. 
 "March the right wing, GARD NER, yonder, 
 
 Take th assailing foe in flank, 
 The hero s spirit lives in thunder, 
 
 Close there, sergeants, close that rank. 
 The conflict now doth loudly call on 
 
 Highest proof of martial skill, 
 Heroes shall sing of them, who fall on, 
 The slipp ry brow of BUNKERS-HILL." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Unkindest fortune, still thou changest, 
 As the wind upon the wave, 
 
 The good and bad alike thou rangest, 
 Undistinguish d in the grave. 
 
 Shall kingly tyrants see thee smiling, 
 Whilst the brave and just must die, 
 
 Them of sweet hope and life beguiling 
 
The Battle of Bunkers-Hill 271 
 
 In the arms of victory? 
 Behave this day, my lads, with spirit, 
 
 Wrap the hill-top as in flame; 
 Oh, if we fall, let each one merit, 
 
 Immortality in fame. 
 From this high ground like Vesuv us 
 
 Pour the floods of fire along; 
 Let not, let not, numbers move us, 
 
 We are yet five hundred strong." 
 
 V. 
 
 Many a widow sore bewailing 
 
 Tender husbands, shall remain, 
 With tears and sorrows, unavailing, 
 
 From this hour to mourn them slain. 
 The rude scene striking all by-standers, 
 
 Bids the little band retire, 
 Who can live like salamanders, 
 
 In such floods of liquid fire? 
 "Ah! Our troops are sorely pressed, 
 
 HOWE ascends the smoky hill, 
 Wheel inward, let these ranks be faced, 
 
 We have yet some blood to spill. 
 Our right wing push d, our left surrounded, 
 
 Weight of numbers five to one, 
 WARREN dead, and GARD NER wounded, 
 
 Ammunition is quite gone." 
 
 VI. 
 
 See the steely points, bright gleaming, 
 
 In the sun s fierce dazzling ray, 
 Groans arising, life-blood streaming, 
 
 Purple o er the face of day. 
 The field is cover d with the dying, 
 
 Free-men mixt with tyrants lie, 
 The living with each other vying, 
 
 Raise the shout of battle high. 
 Now brave PUTNAM, aged soldier, 
 
272 Representative Plays 
 
 "Come, my vet rans, we must yield; 
 More equal match d, we ll yet charge bolder, 
 
 For the present quit the field. 
 The GOD of battles shall revisit, 
 
 On their heads each soul that dies, 
 Take courage, boys, we yet sha n t miss it, 
 
 From a thousand victories." 
 
A SPEECH 
 
 By GENERAL WASHINGTON, on his entering the Town of Boston, 
 at the head of the American Army, after the British troops were 
 by his skilful approaches obliged to abandon it. 
 
 Auspicious day, of happiness unmix d! 
 
 When this fair City, without blood-shed won, 
 
 Receives to her sweet bosom, once again, 
 
 Her free-born sons, of perseverance try d, 
 
 And noble fortitude, in deeds of arms. 
 
 Now let the father meet his infant son, 
 
 His virgin daughter, and long faithful spouse, 
 
 And kiss away all tears, but those of joy. 
 
 Now, let the ardent lover clasp his fair, 
 
 New flush the red rose in her damask cheek, 
 
 Light up the glad beam in her rolling eye, 
 
 And bid all pain and sorrowing be gone. 
 
 Oh, happy day Shine on thou blissful sun, 
 
 And not one vapour blemish thy career, 
 
 Till from thy mid-day champaign, wheeling do 
 
 Thou in the western ocean go to rest. 
 
 O happy town Now let thy buildings smile, 
 
 Thy streets run down, with silver floods of joy, 
 
 And from thy temples, loudly, hymn and song 
 
 Sweep the high arches of resounding Heaven. 
 
 Yes, fellow soldiers, let us bend to him 
 
 Who gave us strength, and confidence of soul, 
 
 To meet the Battle and fierce iron war, 
 
 Urg d on severe by the tyrannic foe, 
 
 With deadly thunder, and mischievous arms. 
 
 To him who with his tempest, bulg d the deep, 
 
 And their full hundred war-ships, on the bay, 
 
 Chain d, with his strong wind, to the North-east shore. 
 
 The hand of Heaven, is visible in this, 
 
 And we, O God, pour forth our souls in praise. 
 
 O fellow soldiers, let our off rings rise, 
 
274 Representative Plays 
 
 Not in rich hecatombs, of bulls and goats, 
 But in true piety, and light of love, 
 And warm devotion, in the inward part. 
 Let your festivity be mix d with thought, 
 And sober judgment, on this grand event. 
 March on, and take true pleasure to your arms, 
 You all are bridegrooms, to fair joy to-day. 
 
A 
 MILITARY SONG 
 
 by the 
 ARMY : 
 
 On GENERAL WASHINGTON S victorious entry into 
 the Town of Boston. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sons of valour, taste the glories, 
 
 Of Celestial LIBERTY, 
 Sing a Triumph o er the Tories 
 
 Let the pulse of joy beat high. 
 
 II. 
 
 Heaven this day hath foil d the many 
 
 Fallacies of GEORGE their King, 
 Let the echo reach Britan y, 
 
 Bid her mountain summits ring. 
 
 III. 
 
 See yon Navy swell the bosom, 
 
 Of the late enraged sea, 
 Where e er they go we shall oppose them, 
 
 Sons of valour must be free. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Should they touch at fair RHODE-ISLAND, 
 There to combat with the brave, 
 
 Driven, from each hill, and high-land, 
 They shall plough the purple wave. 
 
 V. 
 
 Should they thence, to fair VIRGIN Y 
 
 Bend a squadron to DUNMORE, 
 Still with fear and ignominy, 
 
 They shall quit the hostile shore. 
 
276 Representative Plays 
 
 VI. 
 To CAROLINA or to GEORG Y, 
 
 Should they next advance their fame, 
 This land of heroes shall disgorge the 
 
 Sons of tyranny and shame. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Let them rove to climes far distant, 
 
 Situate under Arctic skies, 
 Call on Hessian troops assistant, 
 
 And the Savages to rise. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Boast of wild brigades from Russia, 
 To fix down the galling chain, 
 
 Canada and Nova Scotia, 
 
 Shall discharge these hordes again. 
 
 IX. 
 In NEW- YORK State rejoin d by CLINTON, 
 
 Should their standards mock the air, 
 Many a surgeon shall put lint on 
 
 Wounds of death received there. 
 
 X. 
 
 War, fierce war, shall break their forces, 
 Nerves of tory men shall fail, 
 
 Seeing HOWE with alter d courses, 
 Bending to the western gale. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thus, from every bay of ocean, 
 Flying back, with sails unfurl d, 
 
 Tost with ever-troubl d motion, 
 They shall quit this smiling world. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Like Satan banished from HEAVEN, 
 Never see the smiling shore, 
 
 From this land so happy, driven, 
 Never stain its bosom more. 
 The End. 
 
THE FALL 
 
 OF 
 
 BRITISH TYRANNY 
 By JOHN LEACOCK 
 
JOHN LEACOCK 
 
 Among the elusive figures of early American Drama stands 
 John Leacock, author of "The Fall of British Tyranny," 1 pub 
 lished in 1776, in Philadelphia. Even more elusive is the identi- 
 fication, inasmuch as his name has been spelled variously Lea- 
 cock, Lacock, and Laycock. To add to the confusion, Watson s 
 "Annals of Philadelphia," on the reminiscent word of an old 
 resident of that town, declares that Joseph Leacock penned 
 "The Medley." 2 "He wrote also a play, with good humour," 
 says this authority, "called British Tyranny. " On careful 
 search of the files, no definite information in regard to Leacock 
 has been forthcoming. The dedication to "The Fall of British 
 Tyranny" was signed "Dick Rifle," but there is no informa 
 tion to be traced from this pseudonym. 
 
 Searching the Colonial Records of Pennsylvania, I discovered 
 no less than three John Leacocks mentioned, all of whom were 
 Coroners, as well as a Joseph Leacock, who occupied the same 
 position. Examining the Records of the Pennsylvania Soldiers 
 of the Revolution, I found several John Leacocks in the ranks 
 as privates, and also one John Laycock. 
 
 Professor Moses Coit Tyler, in his "Literary History of the 
 American Revolution" (ii, 198), giving a list of the characters 
 in the play and the names of those supposed to be lampooned, 
 analyzes the piece thoroughly, and says, "From internal evi 
 dence, it must be inferred that the writing of the play was fin 
 ished after the publication of Common Sense in January, 1776, 
 and before the news had reached Philadelphia of the evacuation 
 of Boston, March 17, 1776." Though Sabin takes for granted 
 that Leacock wrote "The Fall of British Tyranny," Hildeburn, 
 in the "Issues of the Press" (ii, 249), states that it is "said to have 
 
 1 The Fall/of/British Tyranny ;/or,/American Liberty/Triumphant. /The First 
 Campaign. /A Tragi-Comedy of Five Acts, /as Lately Planned/at the Royal Theatrum 
 Pandemonium,/at St. James s./The Principal Place of Action in America./Pub- 
 lish d According to Act of Parliament. /Quis furor 6 civesl quae tanta licentia ferri?/ 
 Lucan. lib. I. ver. 8. /What blind, detested madness could afford/Such horrid licence 
 to the murd ring sword?/Rowe./Philadelphia:/Printed byStyner and Cist, in Second- 
 street./near Arch-street. M DCC LXXVI. 
 
 2 "The Medley; or. Harlequin Have At Ye All." A pantomime produced at 
 Covent Garden, and published in 1778. 
 
280 Representative Plays 
 
 been written by Mr. Laycock of Philadelphia." If the John 
 Leacock, whose name appears in the Philadelphia Directory of 
 1802, is the one who wrote "The Fall of British Tyranny," fol 
 lowing that clue we find his name disappearing from the Direc 
 tory in 1804. Hence, he must either have died, or have moved 
 away from Philadelphia. 
 
 The elusive name of Leacock is to be considered also in con 
 nection with an opera entitled, "The Disappointment; or, The 
 Force of Credulity," signed by Andrew Barton, 1 supposed to be 
 a pseudonym, and attributed variously to "Colonel" Thomas 
 Forrest and to John Leacock. I already have had occasion to 
 mention "The Disappointment" in connection with Godfrey s 
 "The Prince of Parthia." The reader will remember that in 
 1767 "The Disappointment" was put into rehearsal, but was 
 suddenly withdrawn in preference to Godfrey s piece. This 
 play has been fully and interestingly analyzed by O. G. Sonneck, 
 who gives the reasons for the withdrawal of the play from 
 rehearsal by the American Company of Philadelphia, 1767. 
 These reasons are definitely stated in the Pennsylvania Gazette 
 for April 16, 1767, which contains this warning in the American 
 Company s advertisement of "The Mourning Bride" : "N.B. The 
 Disappointment (that was advertised for Monday), as it con 
 tains personal Reflections, is unfit for the Stage." 
 
 The reason why this piece is attributed to "Colonel" Thomas 
 Forrest is that there is a memorandum in substantiation on the 
 title-page of a copy owned by the Library Company of Phila 
 delphia. 
 
 Mr. Sonneck gives further and more extensive treatment of 
 the subject in his excellent book on "Early Opera in America," 
 (Schirmer, 1915) as well as in "Sammelbande der Internationale 
 Musik Gesellschaft," for 1914-1915. 
 
 We mention the matter here, because, although Sonneck enters 
 into a long discussion of the life of Forrest, he fails to give any 
 satisfactory account of John Leacock. In fact, he says in 
 closing, "If Andrew Barton, Esq., is to be a pseudonym, it seems 
 to me that John Leacock, claimed (by Mr. Hildeburn) to have 
 
 1 From Sabin, I take the following: 
 
 BARTON (A.) "The Disappointment; or, The Force of Credulity." A new Ameri 
 can Comic Opera, of two Acts. By Andrew Barton, Esq. [Motto.] New York, 
 Printed in the year M, DCC, LXVIII. 8vo, pp. v., 58. P. t. Second edition, revised 
 and corrected, with large additions, by the Author. Philadelphia, Francis Shallus, 
 1796. 12 mo. pp. iv., 94, p. 3801. [Sabin also notes that the Philadelphia Library 
 copy is very rare, with MS Key to the characters, who were Philadelphians. Air 
 No. iv is Yankee Doodle (1767).] 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 281 
 
 written the tragi-comedy of The Fall of British Tyranny, 
 should not be cast aside so cheerfully in favour of Thomas Forrest. 
 
 Seilhamer and Durang, referring to the matter, mention 
 Joseph Leacock as a claimant for the authorship of "The Dis 
 appointment," and say that he was a jeweler and a silversmith 
 in Philadelphia; they also mention John Leacock, the Coroner. 
 Durang, in the "History of the Philadelphia Stage," throws all 
 weight in favour of Thomas Forrest. Sonneck says further, 
 regarding the matter, "We may dispose of Joseph by saying 
 that he seems to have been among the dead when, in 1796, the 
 second edition of The Disappointment, revised and corrected 
 by the author, was issued. On the other hand, Coroner John 
 Leacock figures in the Philadelphia Directories even later." 
 
 So the matter stands. The play, however, is a very definite 
 contribution, illustrating how quickly the American spirit 
 changed in the* days preceding the Revolution. Imagine, in 
 1762, the students of the College of New Jersey giving a piece 
 entitled "The Military Glory of Great Britain;" 1 and so short 
 a time afterwards, only fourteen years, in fact, a piece with the 
 title, "The Fall of British Tyranny," being greeted by the 
 theatre-going public! Leacock s attempt may be taken as the 
 first example that we have of an American chronicle play. And 
 it is likewise significant as being the first literary piece in which 
 George Washington appears as a character. In the advertise 
 ment, the play is thus described (see Ford) : 
 
 "A plea.sing scene between Roger and Dick, two shepherds 
 near Lexington. 
 
 "Clarissa, etc. A very moving scene on the death of Dr. War 
 ren, etc., in a chamber near Boston, the morning after the battle 
 of Bunker s Hill. 
 
 "A humorous scene between the Boatswain and a Sailor on 
 board a man-of-war, near Norfolk in Virginia. 
 
 "Two very laughable scenes between the Boatswain, two 
 Sailors and the Cook, exhibiting specimens of seafaring oratory, 
 and peculiar eloquence of those sons of Neptune, touching 
 Tories, Convicts, and Black Regulars: and between Lord Kid 
 napper and the Boatswain. 
 
 1 The Title-page runs as follows : 
 
 The/Military Glory/of/Great-Britain,/an/Entertainment,/given by the l?te Can 
 didates for/ Bachelor s Degree, /At the close of the/Anniversary Commencement, 
 held/in/Nassau-Hall/New-Jersey/September 2Qth, i762./Philadelphia:/Printed by 
 William Bradford, M, DCC, LXII. 
 
282 Representative Plays 
 
 "A very black scene between Lord Kidnapper and Major 
 Cudjo. 
 
 "A religious scene between Lord Kidnapper, Chaplain, and 
 the Captain. 
 
 "A scene, the Lord Mayor, etc., going to St. James s with the 
 address. 
 
 "A droll scene, a council of war in Boston, Admiral Tombstone, 
 Elbow Room, Mr. Caper, General Clinton and Earl Piercy. 
 
 "A diverting scene between a Whig and a Tory. 
 
 "A spirited scene between General Prescott and Colonel Allen. 
 
 "A shocking scene, a dungeon, between Colonel Allen and an 
 officer of the guard. 
 
 "Two affecting scenes in Boston after the flight of the regu 
 lars from Lexington, between Lord Boston, messenger and 
 officers of the guard. 
 
 "A patriotic scene in the camp at Cambridge, between the 
 Generals Washington, Lee, and Putnam, etc., etc." 
 
 It is interesting to note that in the Abbe Robin s discerning 
 remarks, concerning the effect of drama on the pupils of Harvard 
 in 1781, and on the general appeal of drama among the Ameri 
 can Patriots, he mentions "The Fall of British Tyranny" with 
 out giving the author s name. 
 
THE FALL 
 
 O F 
 
 BRITISH TYRANNY 
 
 O R, 
 
 AMERICAN LIBERTY 
 
 TRIUMPHANT. 
 THE. FIRST CAMPAIGN. 
 
 A TRAGI-COMEDrov FIVE ACTS, 
 
 AS LATELY PLANNED 
 
 AT THE ROYAL THEATR.UM PANDEMONIUM, 
 AT ST. JAMES S. 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL PLACE OF ACTION IM AMERICA. 
 PUBLISHED. ACCORDING TO ACT Or PARLIAMENT. 
 
 Quis furor 6 civcs ! quae tanta licentia 
 
 LUCAN. lib. I. ver. 8 
 
 What Hind, teefitd madneft wdd afford 
 Stub horrid licence to tbe aturd ring /wor^f 
 
 Rows. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PRINTED svSTYNER AMD CIST, IN SECOND-STREET- 
 NEAR ARCHSTREET. M DCC LXXVI. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION 
 

THE DEDICATION 
 
 To Lord Boston, Lord Kidnapper, and the innumerable and 
 never-ending Clan of Macs and Donalds upon Donalds, and 
 the Remnant of the Gentlemen Officers, Actors, Merry 
 Andrews, strolling Players, Pirates, and Buccaneers in 
 America. 
 
 My Lords and Gentlemen: 
 
 Understanding you are vastly fond of plays and farces, and 
 frequently exhibit them for your own amusement, and the laudable 
 purpose of ridiculing your masters (the YANKEES, as you call 
 em], it was expected you would have been polite enough to have 
 favoured the world, or America at least (at whose expense you act 
 them), with some of your play-bills, or with a sample of your com 
 position. 
 
 I shall, however, not copy your churlishness, but dedicate the 
 following Tragi- Comedy to your patronage, and for your future 
 entertainment; and as the most of you have already acted your 
 particular parts of it, both comic and tragic, in reality at Lexington, 
 Bunker s-Hill, the Great-Bridge, &c., &c., &c., to the very great 
 applause of yourselves, tho not of the whole house, no doubt you will 
 preserve the marks, or memory of it, as long as you live, as it is 
 wrote in capital American characters and letters of blood on your 
 posteriors: And however some Whigs may censure you for your 
 affected mirth (as they term it, in the deplorable situation you are 
 now in, like hogs in a pen, and in want of elbow room), yet I can 
 by no means agree with them, but think it a proof of true heroism 
 and philosophy, to endeavour to make the best of a bad bargain, and 
 laugh at yourselves, to prevent others from laughing at you; and 
 tho 1 you are deprived of the use of your teeth, it is no reason you 
 should be bereaved of the use of your tongues, your eyes, your ears, 
 and your risible faculties and powers. That would be cruel indeed! 
 after the glorious and fatiguing campaign you have made, and the 
 many signal victories obtained over whole herds of cattle and swine, 
 routing flocks of sheep, lambs and geese, storming hen-roosts, and 
 taking them prisoners, and thereby raising the glory of Old England 
 
286 Representative Plays 
 
 to a pitch she never knew before. And ye Macs, and ye Donalds 
 upon Donalds, go on, and may our gallows-hills and liberty poles 
 be honoured and adorn d with some of your heads: Why should 
 Tyburn and Temple-bar make a monopoly of so valuable a com 
 modity? 
 
 Wishing you abundance of entertainment in the re-acting this 
 Tragi- Comedy, and of which I should be proud to take a part with 
 you, the? I have reason to think you would not of choice let me come 
 within three hundred yards of your stage, lest I should rob you of 
 your laurels, receive the clap of the whole house, and pass for a 
 second Garrick among you, as you know I always act with applause, 
 speak bold point blank off hand and without prompter. 
 
 I am, My Lords and Gentlemen Buffoons, 
 
 Your always ready humble servant, 
 
 DICK RIFLE. 
 
THE PREFACE 
 
 Solomon said, "Oppression makes a wise man mad:" but 
 what would he have said, had he lived in these days, and 
 seen the oppression of the people of Boston, and the distressed 
 situation of the inhabitants of Charlestown, Falmouth, Ston- 
 nington, Bristol, Norfolk, &c.? Would he not have said, "The 
 tongue of the sucking child cleaveth to the roof of his mouth for 
 thirst; the young children ask for bread, but no man breaketh 
 it unto them?" "They that did feed delicately, perish in the 
 streets; they that were brought up in scarlet, embrace the 
 dung." What would he have said of rejected petitions, disre 
 garded supplications, and contemned remonstrances? Would 
 he not have said, "From hardness of heart, good Lord, deliver 
 us?" What would he have said of a freeborn people butchered 
 their towns desolated, and become an heap of ashes their 
 inhabitants become beggars, wanderers and vagabonds by the 
 cruel orders of an unrelenting tyrant, wallowing in luxury, and 
 wantonly wasting the people s wealth, to oppress them the more? 
 Would he not have said, it was oppression and ingratitude in the 
 highest degree, exceeding the oppression of the children of Israel? 
 and, like Moses, have cried out, let the people go? Would he 
 not have wondered at our patience and long-suffering, and have 
 said, " Tis time to change our master! Tis time to part!" And 
 had he been an American born, would he not have shewed his 
 wisdom by adopting the language of independency? Happy 
 then for America in these fluctuating times, she is not without 
 her Solomons, who see the necessity of heark ning to reason, and 
 listening to the voice of COMMON SENSE. 
 
THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY 
 
 Hail! Patriots, 1 hail! by me inspired be! 
 
 Speak boldly, think and act for Liberty, 
 
 United sons, America s choice band, 
 
 Ye Patriots firm, ye sav ours of the land. 
 
 Hail ! Patriots, hail ! rise with the rising sun, 
 
 Nor quit your labour, till the work is done. 
 
 Ye early risers in your country s cause, 
 
 Shine forth at noon, for Liberty and Laws. 
 
 Build a strong tow r, whose fabric may endure 
 
 Firm as a rock, from tyranny secure. 
 
 Yet would you build my fabric to endure, 
 
 Be your hearts warm but let your hands be pure. 
 
 Never to shine, yourselves, your country sell ; 
 
 But think you nobly, while in place act well. 
 
 Let no self-server general trust betray, 
 
 No picque, no party, bar the public way. 
 
 Front an arm d world, with union on your side: 
 
 No foe shall shake you if no friends divide. 
 
 At night repose, and sweetly take your rest; 
 
 None sleeps so sound as those by conscience blest; 
 
 May martyr d patriots whisper in your ear, 
 
 To tread the paths of virtue without fear; 
 
 May pleasing visions charm your patriot eyes; 
 
 While Freedom s sons shall hail you blest and wise, 
 
 Hail! my last hope, she cries, inspired by me, 
 
 Wish, talk, write, fight, and die for LIBERTY. 
 
 1 The Congress 
 
THE PROLOGUE 
 
 Spoken by Mr. Peter Buckstail. 
 
 Since tis the fashion, preface, prologue next, 
 
 Else what s a play? like sermon without text! 
 
 Since tis the fashion then, I ll not oppose; 
 
 For what s a man if he s without a nose? 
 
 The curtain s up the music s now begun, 
 
 What is t? Why murder, fire, and sword, and gun. 
 
 What scene? Why blood! What act? Fight and be free! 
 
 Or be ye slaves and give up liberty! 
 
 Blest Continent, while groaning nations round 
 
 Bend to the servile yoke, ignobly bound, 
 
 May ye be free nor ever be opprest 
 
 By murd ring tyrants, but a land of rest! 
 
 What say ye to t? what says the audience? 
 
 Methinks I hear some whisper COMMON SENSE. 
 
 Hark! what say them Tories? Silence let em speak, 
 
 Poor fools! dumb they hav n t spoke a word this week, 
 
 Dumb let em be, at full end of their tethers, 
 
 Twill save the expense of tar and of feathers: 
 
 Since old Pluto s lurch d em, and swears he does not know 
 
 If more these Tory puppy curs will bark or no. 
 
 Now ring the bell Come forth, ye actors, come, 
 
 The Tragedy s begun, beat, beat the drum, 
 
 Let s all advance, equipt like volunteers, 
 
 Oppose the foe, and banish all our fears. 
 
 We will be free or bravely we will die, 1 
 
 And leave to Tories tyrants legacy, \ 
 
 And all our share of its dependency. J 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 LORD PARAMOUNT, Mr. Bute. 
 
 LORD MOCKLAW, Mr. Mansfield. 
 
 LORD HYPOCRITE, Mr. Dartmouth. 
 
 LORD POLTRON, Mr. Sandwich. 
 
 LORD CATSPAW, Mr. North. 
 
 LORD WISDOM, Mr. Chatham. 
 
 LORD RELIGION, Bishop of St. Asaph. 
 
 LORD JUSTICE, Mr. Camden. 
 
 LORD PATRIOT, Mr. Wilkes. 
 
 BOLD IRISHMAN, Mr. Burke. 
 
 JUDAS Mr. Hutchinson. 
 
 CHARLEY, Mr. Jenkinson. 
 
 BRAZEN, Mr. Wedderburne. 
 
 COLONEL, Mr. Barre. 
 
 LORD BOSTON, Mr. Gage. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE, Mr. Graves. 
 
 ELBOW RooM, 1 Mr. Howe. 
 
 MR. CAPER, Mr. Burgoyne. 
 
 LORD KIDNAPPER, Mr. Dunmore. 
 GENERAL WASHINGTON. 
 GENERAL LEE. 
 GENERAL PUTNAM. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Citizens, Negroes, &c., &c., &c. 
 
 1 It seems to be generally thought that the expression of "Elbow Room" is to be 
 attributed to General Howe, and not to General Burgoyne. 
 
THE FALL 
 
 OF 
 BRITISH TYRANNY, &c. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. At St. James s. 
 
 LORD PARAMOUNT [solus, strutting about]. 
 
 Many long years have rolled delightfully on, whilst I have 
 been basking in the sunshine of grandeur and power, whilst 
 I have imperceptibly (tho not unsuspected) guided the chariot 
 of state, and greased with the nation s gold the imperial wheels. 
 
 Tis I that move the mighty engine of royalty, and with the 
 tincture of my somniferous opiate or (in the language of a 
 courtier) by the virtue of my secret influence, I have lulled the 
 axletree to sleep, and brought on a pleasing insensibility. 
 
 Let their champion, Lord Wisdom, groan, he is now become 
 feeble and impotent, a mere cripple in politics ; their Lord Patri 
 ot s squint has lost its basilisk effect: and the bold Irishman may 
 bellow the Keenew till he s hoarse, he s no more when compar d 
 to me than an Irish salmon to a Scotch herring: I care not a 
 bawbee for them all. I ll reign in Britain, I ll be king of their 
 counsels, and chief among the princes. 
 
 Oh! ambition, thou darling of my soul! stop not till I rise 
 superior to all superlative, till I mount triumphantly the pin 
 nacle of glory, or at least open the way for one of my own family 
 and name to enter without opposition. 
 
 The work is now cut out, and must be finish d, I have ventur d 
 too far to recede, my honour s at stake, my importance, nay my 
 life, depends upon it! 
 
 Last night s three hours closeting has effectually done the 
 business; then I spoke my mind in such terms as to make a last 
 ing impression, never to be eradicated all all was given up 
 
 
292 Representative Plays 
 
 to me, and now since I hold the reins of government, since I am 
 possessed of supreme power, every thing shall be subservient 
 to my royal will and pleasure. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter MOCKLAW. 
 
 MOCKLAW. I am your Lordship s most obedient humble 
 servant. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Be seated, I sent for you to have a small con 
 ference with you and to let you know, your advice respecting 
 certain points of law, I have found succeeded to admiration; 
 even beyond my most sanguine expectations. 
 
 MOCKLAW. I am heartily glad of it, altho* the advice I gave 
 your Lordship, I cannot say, was law; yet, your Lordship can 
 easily pass it as such by a royal proclamation: and should it ever 
 be disputed, I have quirks and quibbles enough at your service, 
 with Mr. Brazen and Mr. Attorney-General s assistance, to 
 render it so doubtful, obscure and ambiguous, as to puzzle Lord 
 Justice, perplex Dunning, and confound Glynn. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Can you show me an instance of a royal procla 
 mation passing for a law? or advise me how to make it such, if 
 you can, I shall make it well worth your study. 
 
 MOCKLAW. My Lord, as you have now got a parliament ex 
 actly to your mind, ev ry thing you propose will be granted; but 
 in order that you may see precedents are not wanting there is 
 a statute in the reign of Henry the 8th that expressly shews 
 the then parliament passed a law that the king s proclamation 
 should be the law of the land 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Are you sure of that? 
 
 MOCKLAW. My Lord, here it is this is real law: Luce meri- 
 diana clariora. When we find any thing of this kind, ready made 
 to our hands, it s a treasure we should never part with. 
 
 [PARAMOUNT reads. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I see it plain ! this, this alone is worth a ton of 
 gold. Now, by St. Andrew! I ll strike a stroke that shall sur 
 prise all Europe, and make the boldest of the adverse party turn 
 pale and tremble Scotch politics, Scotch intrigues, Scotch in 
 fluence, and Scotch impudence (as they have termed it), they 
 shall see ere long shine with unheard of splendour, and the name 
 of Lord Paramount the mighty, shall blaze in the annals of 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 293 
 
 the world with far greater lustre (as a consummate politician) 
 than the name of Alexander the Great, as an hero! 
 
 MOCKLAW. That day I much wish for, but, with your Lord 
 ship s permission, I would just mention, that secrecy and dis 
 simulation are the soul of enterprise; your Lordship hath many 
 enemies, who watch ev ry movement of state with a jealous and 
 wary eye. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I know it, but the futile attempts of my timid 
 adversaries have hitherto proved abortive so far I have borne 
 down all opposition, and those (even some of the greatest of 
 them) who not long since were my most open, as well as secret 
 enemies, I now behold with the most princely pleasure, the 
 earliest to attend, to congratulate me on my birthday, tho 
 uninvited, bow down, and make the most submissive congees. 
 Have you not seen this, Mocklaw? and how I keep them in ex 
 pectation of something, by now and then bestowing part of a 
 gracious smile amongst a dozen of them? 
 
 MOCKLAW. I have, my Lord, and no doubt they interpret that 
 as a favourable omen; however, policy, my Lord, would dictate 
 that to you, if there were no other consideration. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. True, and yet they are cursedly mistaken and 
 now, Mocklaw, as I have ever found you to be well dispos d 
 towards me, and the cause I espouse, and as I trust you con 
 tinue satisfy d with my former bounty, and my promise now of 
 granting you a pension for life, with liberty to retire, I shall 
 make you my confident, and disclose to you a secret no man 
 except myself yet knows, which I expect you have so much 
 honour to let it remain a secret to all the world (I mean as to 
 the main point I have in view). 
 
 MOCKLAW. Depend upon it, my Lord, I am sincerely devoted 
 to your Lordship, command me, I care not what it is, I ll screw, 
 twist and strain the law as tight as a drumhead, to serve 
 you. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I shall at this time but just give you a hint of 
 the plan I ve drawn up in my own mind. You must have per 
 ceived in me a secret hankering for majesty for some time past, 
 notwithstanding my age; but as I have considered the great 
 dislike the nation in general have, as to my person, I ll wave my 
 own pretensions, and bend my power and assiduity to it in 
 favour of one, the nearest a kin to me, you know who I mean, 
 and a particular friend of yours, provided I continue to be dictator, 
 
 
294 Representative Plays 
 
 as at present; and further, I intend America shall submit. 
 What think you of it so far? 
 
 MOCKLAW. A day I ve long wish d to see! but you stagger 
 me, my Lord, not as to my honour, secrecy, or resolution to 
 serve you, but as to the accomplishment of such grand designs. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Tis true, I have undertaken a mighty task, a 
 task that would have perplexed the Council of Nice, and stag- 
 ger d even Julius Caesar but 
 
 MOCKLAW. You have need, my Lord, of all your wisdom, 
 fortitude and power, when you consider with whom you have 
 to contend Let me see Lord Wisdom Lord Religion Lord 
 Justice Lord Patriot the bold Irishman, &c., &c., &c., and 
 the wisdom of the United Colonies of America in Congress to 
 cope with; as individuals they are trifling, but in league com 
 bined may become potent enemies. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Granted But are you so little of a lawyer as not 
 to know the virtue of a certain specific I m possess dof, that will 
 accomplish any thing, even to performing miracles? Don t you 
 know there s such sweet music in the shaking of the treasury keys, 
 that they will instantly lock the most babbling patriot s tongue? 
 transform a Tory into a Whig, and a Whig into a Tory? make a 
 superannuated old miser dance, and an old Cynic philosopher 
 smile. How many thousand times has your tongue danc d at 
 Westminster Hall to the sound of such music? 
 
 MOCKLAW. Enchanting sounds, powerful magic, there s no 
 withstanding the charms of such music, their potency and in 
 fluence are irresistible that is a point of law I can by no means 
 give up, of more force than all the acts of parliament since 
 the days of King Alfred. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I m glad you acknowledge that Now then for 
 a line of politics I propose to begin first by taxing America, as a 
 blind that will create an eternal animosity between us, and by 
 sending over continually ships and troops, this will, of course, pro 
 duce a civil war weaken Britain by leaving her coasts defense 
 less, and impoverish America; so that we need not fear any thing 
 from that quarter. Then the united fleets of France and Spain 
 with troops to appear in the channel, and make a descent, while 
 my kinsman with thirty thousand men lands in Scotland, marches 
 to London, and joins the others: What then can prevent the 
 scheme from having the wish d for effect? This is the main 
 point, which keep to yourself. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 295 
 
 MOCKLAW. If it has failed heretofore, tis impossible it should 
 fail now; nothing within the reach of human ^wisdom was ever 
 planned so judiciously; had Solomon been alive, and a politician, I 
 would have sworn your Lordship had consulted him. But I would 
 beg leave to hint to your Lordship the opposition to be appre 
 hended from the militia of England, and the German forces that 
 may be sent for according to treaty. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. As to the militia, they are half of them my 
 friends, witness Lancaster, Manchester, Liverpool, &c.,&c.,&c., 
 the other half scarce ever fired a gun in their lives, especially 
 those of London; and I shall take care by shaking the keys a 
 little to have such officers appointed over them, who are well 
 known to be in my interest. As to the German forces, I have 
 nothing to apprehend from them; the parliament can soon 
 pass an act against the introduction of foreign troops, except 
 the French or Spaniards, who can t be called foreign, they are 
 our friends and nearest neighbours. Have you any thing 
 further to object against the probability of this plan? 
 
 MOCKLAW. Nothing, my Lord, but the people of Ireland, who 
 must be cajoled or humbugg d. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. As to that, let me alone, I shall grant the Roman 
 Catholics, who are by far the most numerous, the free exercise 
 of their religion, with the liberty of bearing arms, so long un 
 justly deprived of, and disarm in due time all the Protestants in 
 their turn. 
 
 MOCKLAW. That will be a noble stroke, the more I consider 
 it, the more I m surpris d at your Lordship s profound wisdom 
 and foresight: I think success is certain. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Then this is the favourable crisis to attempt it; 
 tis not the thought of a day, a month, or a year. Have you 
 any more objections? 
 
 MOCKLAW. I have one more, my Lord 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Well, pray let s hear it; these lawyers will be 
 heard. 
 
 MOCKLAW. The Bishops and Clergy are a powerful, numerous 
 body; it would be necessary, my Lord, to gain them over, or 
 keep them silent A religious war is the worst of wars. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. You are very right, I have em fast enough 
 Mammon will work powerfully on them The keys the keys 
 His Grace my Lord of Suffolk is managing this business for me, 
 and feeding them with the hopes of being all created Archbishops 
 
296 Representative Plays 
 
 here, and each to have a diocese, and Bishops of their own 
 appointment in America; not a city or town there but must be 
 provided with a Bishop : There let religion erect her holy altars, 
 by which means their revenues will be augmented beyond that 
 of a Cardinal. All this we must make em believe. 
 
 MOCKLAW. True, my Lord, what is a Bishop without faith? 
 This is the grandest stroke of religious circumvention that ever 
 was struck. I ve done, my Lord. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Very well, you ll not fail to meet the privy council 
 here this evening; in the mean time you ll go and search the 
 statutes for other precedents to strengthen the cause; and re 
 member I have enjoin d you to secrecy. 
 
 MOCKLAW. Depend upon it, my Lord, I cannot prove un 
 grateful to your Lordship, nor such an enemy to myself. 
 
 [Exit MOCKLAW. 
 
 SCENE III. LORD PARAMOUNT [solus]. 
 
 This Mocklaw is a cursed knowing dog, and I believe the father 
 of Brazen ; how readily he found an old act of parliament to my 
 purpose, as soon as I told him I would make it worth his study; 
 and the thoughts of a pension will make him search his old 
 worm-eaten statute books from the reign of King Arthur down 
 to this present time; how he raises objections too to make me 
 think his mind is ever bent on study to serve me. The shaking 
 of the treasury keys is a fine bait. [Rings the bell.] Charters, 
 magna chartas, bill of rights, acts of assembly, resolves of con 
 gresses, trials by juries (and acts of parliament too) when they 
 make against us, must all be annihilated; a suspending power I 
 approve of, and of royal proclamations. [Enter CHARLEY. 
 
 CHARLEY. I wait your Lordship s orders. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Write a number of cards, and see that the Lords 
 of the privy council, and Mr. Judas, be summoned to give their 
 attendance this evening at six o clock, at my Pandemonium. 
 
 CHARLEY. I m gone, my Lord. [Exit CHARLEY. 
 
 PARAMOUNT [solus]. 
 
 How do we shew our authority? how do we maintain the 
 royal prerogative? keep in awe the knowing ones of the opposite 
 party, and blind the eyes of the ignorant multitude in Britain? 
 Why, by spirited measures, by an accumulation of power, of 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 297 
 
 deception, and the shaking of the keys, we may hope to succeed, 
 should that fail, I ll enforce them with the pointed bayonet; the 
 Americans from one end to the other shall submit, in spite of 
 all opposition; I ll listen to no overtures of reconciliation from 
 any petty self-constituted congress, they shall submit implicitly 
 to such terms as I of my royal indulgence please to grant. I ll 
 shew them the impudence and weakness of their resolves, and 
 the strength of mine; I will never soften; my inflexibility shall 
 stand firm, and convince them the second Pharaoh is at least 
 equal to the first. I am unalterably determined at every hazard 
 and at the risk of every consequence to compel the colonies to 
 absolute submission. I ll draw in treasure from every quarter, 
 and, Solomon -like, wallow in riches; and Scotland, my dear 
 Scotland, shall be the paradise of the world. Rejoice in the 
 name of Paramount, and the sound of a bawbee shall be no 
 more heard in the land of my nativity. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Enter CHARLEY in haste. 
 
 CHARLEY. My Lord, the notices are all served. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. It s very well, Charley. 
 
 CHARLEY. My Lord, be pleased to turn your eyes, and look 
 out of the window, and see the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Common 
 Council and Liverymen going to St. James s with the address. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Where? Sure enough Curse their impudence; 
 how that squinting scoundrel swells with importance Mind, 
 Charley, how fond he is of bowing to the gaping multitude, and 
 ev ry upstart he sees at a window I hope he ll not turn his 
 blear eyes t wards me I want none of his bows, not I Stand 
 before me, Charley 
 
 CHARLEY. I will, my Lord, and if he looks this way, I ll give 
 him such a devilish grin as best suits such fellows as him, and 
 make him remember it as long as he lives. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Do so, Charley ; I hate the dog mortally, I reli 
 giously hate him, and hope ere long to have satisfaction for his 
 insolence and the freedoms he has taken with me and my con 
 nections: I shall never forget the many scandalous verses, 
 lampoons and pasquinades he made upon us. 
 
 CHARLEY. Indeed, he has used your Lordship too ill ever to 
 be forgotten or forgiven. 
 
298 Representative Plays 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Damn him, I never intend to do either See 
 again how he bows there again how the mob throw up their 
 hats, split their throats; how they huzza too; they make a mere 
 god of the fellow; how they idolize him Ignorant brutes! 
 
 CHARLEY. A scoundrel; he has climb d up the stilts of prefer 
 ment strangely, my Lord. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Strangely, indeed ; but it s our own faults. 
 
 CHARLEY. He has had better luck than honester folks; I m 
 surpris d to think he has ever rose to the honour of presenting a 
 remonstrance, or rather, that he could ever have the impudence 
 to think of remonstrating. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Aye, Charley, you see how unaccountably things 
 turn out; his audacity is unparalleled a Newgate dog. 
 
 CHARLEY. My Lord, I believe the fellow was never known to 
 blush; and, indeed, it s an observation I made some time ago, 
 and I believe a just one, without an exception, that those who 
 squint never blush. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. You must be mistaken, Charley. 
 
 CHARLEY. No, my Lord, it s a fact, I had an uncle squinted 
 exactly like him, who was guilty of many scandalous things, and 
 yet all the parish, with the parson at their head, could not make 
 him blush, so that at last he became a by-word Here comes 
 old shame-the-devil ; this dog is the very spawn of him. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Hoot, mon, ye give your uncle a shocking char 
 acter. 
 
 CHARLEY. I only mention it, my Lord, for the similarity s 
 sake. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. For the spawn of him, and the similarity s sake, 
 I m apt to think you ve been abusing your own cousin all this 
 while. 
 
 CHARLEY. God forbid, my Lord, I should be any how allied 
 to him. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I fancy, Charley, if the truth was known, your 
 uncle did not mention you in his will, and forgot to leave you 
 the mansion-house and farm at Gallows-hill. Am I right, 
 Charley? 
 
 CHARLEY. You re right, my Lord, upon my honour but 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I thought so Well, never mind Ha, ha, ha, 
 who are those two fat fellows there, that go in such state? 
 
 CHARLEY. I suppose them to be a couple of Livery Tallow- 
 chandlers, my Lord, by their big bellies. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 299 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Ha, ha, what work the guards would make 
 amongst them but they must not be called yet. And who are 
 those other two behind em? 
 
 CHARLEY. This is Mr. Hone, and the other Mr. Strap, a 
 couple of the Corporation Barbers, forsooth. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Ha, ha, ha, I thought they had been a couple 
 of Dukes; and that one who is he with the monstrous wig? 
 
 CHARLEY. That is Mr. Alderman Pipeshank, in Newgate-street. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. A parcel of Newgate dogs altogether Well it 
 is a good deal of satisfaction to me to think how this fellow will 
 be received at St. James s; he ll not return back so pleas d as 
 he seems to be now, I warrant you I have taken care he shall 
 
 meet with a d d cold reception there; he will have to make 
 
 his appearance before Lord Frostyface, Lord Scarecrow, Lord 
 Sneerwell, Lord Firebrand, Lord Mawmouth, Lord Waggon- 
 jaws, Lord Gripe, Lord Brass, Lord Surly and Lord Tribu 
 lation, as hard-fac d fellows as himself; and the beauty of it is, 
 not one of them loves him a whit more than I do. 
 
 CHARLEY. That will be rare diversion for them that are 
 present; he ll look then, my Lord, like Sampson making sport 
 for the Philistines. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. Aye, but I wish he was as blind too, as Sampson 
 was. Well Charley, we have been dispos d to be a little merry 
 with this ridiculous parade, this high life below stairs. I wish 
 you had begun your description a little sooner, before they were 
 all gone; the looks of these wiseacres afford us some mirth, tho 
 we despise them and their politics, and it s not unlikely it may 
 end in blood Be it so, I m prepar d for the worst. 
 
 CHARLEY. Rather so, my Lord, than submit to such rascals. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I ll give up my life first for a sacrifice. 
 
 [Exit CHARLEY. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Enter MOCKLAW, POLTRON, HYPOCRITE, CATSPAW, BRAZEN, 
 JUDAS. [All seated.] 
 
 PARAMOUNT. My Lords and Gentlemen, it seems opposition 
 to our measures are making hasty strides; the discontented 
 faction, the supporters and encouragers of rebellion, and whole 
 hearts are tainted therewith, seem bent, if possible, on the 
 destruction of Britain, and their own aggrandisement. Are not 
 the daily papers filled with treasonable resolves of American 
 
300 Representative Plays 
 
 congresses and committees, extracts of letters, and other 
 infamous pieces and scurrilous pamphlets, circulating with 
 unusual industry throughout the kingdom, by the enemies of 
 Britain, thereby poisoning the minds of our liege subjects with 
 their detestable tenets? And did you not this day see the 
 procession, and that vile miscreant Lord Patriot at their head, 
 going to St. James s with their remonstrance, in such state and 
 parade as manifestly tended to provoke, challenge and defy 
 majesty itself, and the powers of government? and yet nothing 
 done to stop their pernicious effects. Surely, my Lords and 
 Gentlemen, you must agree with me, that it is now become 
 highly expedient that an immediate stop should be put to such 
 unwarrantable and dangerous proceedings, by the most vigor 
 ous and coercive measures. 
 
 MOCKLAW. I entirely agree with your Lordship, and was ever 
 firmly of opinion, that licentiousness of every kind (particularly 
 that of the Press) is dangerous to the state; the rabble should be 
 kept in awe by examples of severity, and a proper respect should 
 be enforced to superiors. I have sufficiently shewn my dislike to 
 the freedom of the Press, by the examples I have frequently 
 made (tho too favourable) of several Printers, and others, who 
 had greatly trespassed, and if they still persist, other measures 
 should be taken with them, which the laws will point out; and 
 as to Lord Patriot, he s a fellow that has been outlaw d, scandal- 
 proof, little to be got by meddling with him; I would advise to 
 let him alone for the present, and humble America first. 
 
 MR. BRAZEN. I am very clear in it, please your Lordship; 
 there are numbers of men in this country who are ever study 
 ing how to perplex and entangle the state, constantly thwarting 
 government, in ev ry laudable undertaking; this clamorous 
 faction must be curbed, must be subdued and crush d our 
 thunder must go forth, America must be conquered. I am for 
 blood and fire to crush the rising glories of America They boast 
 of her strength ; she must be conquered, if half of Germany is 
 called to our assistance. 
 
 MR. POLTRON. 1 entirely agree with you, Mr. Brazen; my 
 advice is, that Lord Boston and Admiral Tombstone be imme 
 diately despatch d to Boston, with two or three regiments (tho 
 one would be more than sufficient) and a few ships to shut up 
 their ports, disannul their charter, stop their trade, and the 
 pusillanimous beggars, those scoundrel rascals, whose predomi- 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 301 
 
 nant passion is fear, would immediately give up, on the first 
 landing of the regulars, and fly before em like a hare before 
 the hounds; that this would be the case, I pawn my honour to 
 your Lordships, nay, I ll sacrifice my life: My Lords, I have 
 moreover the testimony of General Amherst and Colonel Grant 
 to back my assertion; besides, here s Mr. Judas, let him speak. 
 
 LORD HYPOCRITE. If this is the same Colonel Grant that was 
 at Fort Duquesne, the same that ran away from the French and 
 Indians, the same that was rescued by Colonel Washington, I 
 have no idea of his honour or testimony. 
 
 LORD POLTRON. He s a Gentleman, my Lord Hypocrite, of 
 undoubted veracity. 
 
 LORD HYPOCRITE. You might as well have said courage too, 
 I have exceptions against both; and as to General Amherst s 
 assertion that he could drive all America with five thousand 
 men, he must have been joking, as he is quite of a diffrent 
 opinion now. 
 
 LORD CATSPAW. What is your opinion of your countrymen, 
 Mr. Judas, with respect to their courage? 
 
 JUDAS. The same that I have ever told you, my Lord; as 
 to true courage they have none, I know em well they have a 
 plenty of a kind of enthusiastic zeal, which they substitute in 
 the room of it; I am very certain they would never face the 
 regulars, tho with the advantage of ten to one. 
 
 LORD HYPOCRITE. All this, and a great deal more, would 
 never convince me of the general cowardice of the Americans 
 but of the cowardice of Grant I ve been long convinced, by 
 numbers of letters formerly from America I m for doing the 
 business effectually; don t let us be too sanguine, trust to stories 
 told by every sycophant, and hurry heels over head to be laugh d 
 at; the Americans are bold, stubborn, and sour; it will require 
 foreign assistance to subdue em. 
 
 LORD CATSPAW. These four Americans, ignorant brutes, un- 
 broke and wild, must be tamed; they ll soon be humble if 
 punish d; but if disregarded, grow fierce. Barbarous nations 
 must be held by fear, rein d and spurr d hard, chain d to the 
 oar, and bow d to due control, till they look grim with blood; 
 let s first humble America, and bring them under our feet; the 
 olive-branch has been held out, and they have rejected it; it now 
 becomes us to use the iron rod to break their disobedience; and 
 should we lack it, foreign assistance is at hand. 
 
302 Representative Plays 
 
 LORD HYPOCRITE. All this I grant, but I m for sending a force 
 sufficient to crush em at once, and not with too much precipita 
 tion; I am first for giving it a colour of impartiality, forbearance 
 and religion. Lay it before parliament ; we have then law on our 
 side, and endeavour to gain over some or all of the Methodist 
 Teachers, and in particular my very good friend Mr. Wesley, their 
 Bishop, and the worthy Mr. Clapum, which task I would under 
 take; it will then have the sanction of religion, make it less sus 
 pected, and give it a better grace. 
 
 LORD CATSPAW. I should choose it to be done by consent of 
 parliament; we stand then on firmer ground; there s no doubt 
 they ll grant ev ry thing your Lordship proposes upon my motion: 
 but to tell the truth, I d rather be in Purgatory so long, than 
 to run the gauntlet of the Bold Irishman s tongue. 
 
 MOCKLAW. Aye, aye, don t part with the law while it s in our 
 favour, or we can have it by asking for and as to the Bold Irish 
 man, don t be brow-beaten, you must summon all your brass, 
 and put on a rugged highwayman s face like his; I expect some 
 work of that kind too, but the devil himself sha n t browbeat me. 
 
 PARAMOUNT. I am glad to find, my Lords and Gentlemen, you 
 all see the necessity of sending over troops and ships; I intend my 
 Lord Catspaw shall lay it before parliament, and am very certain 
 they ll pass any acts I can desire. I thank you, Lord Hypocrite, 
 for your kind offer, and accept of it; my Lord of Suffolk is nego 
 tiating the same business with the rest of my Lords the Bishops, 
 and will succeed; so that it will carry the appearance of law, of 
 religion, and will be sufficiently grac d; I ll warrant you no one 
 shall have cause to complain of its wanting grace. And now, 
 my Lords and Gentlemen, as it s so late, and we have gone 
 through all the business at this time proposed, you are at your 
 liberty to withdraw. [Exeunt. 
 
 PARAMOUNT [solus]. 
 
 The fate of England and America is now fixed, irrevocably 
 fixed; the storm is ready to burst; the low ring clouds portend 
 their fate my glory, their fall my triumph But |I must haste to 
 be gone, the ceremonies await my presence; deeds of darkness 
 must be done by night, and, like the silent mole s work, under 
 ground: 
 
 Now rushing forth in sober twilight gray, 
 Like prowling wolf, who ranges for his prey. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 303 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 LORD WISDOM, LORD RELIGION, LORD JUSTICE. 
 
 LORD WISDOM. 
 
 I much lament, my Lords, the present unhappy situation of 
 my country; where e er I turn mine eyes, to Europe, Asia, Africa, 
 or America, the prospect appears the same Look up to the 
 throne, and behold your king, if I may now call him by that soft 
 title Where is the wisdom, the justice, the religion, that once 
 adorn d that throne, and shed the benign influence of their bright 
 rays thro the four quarters of the globe? Alas! they re flown! 
 
 Mark his forlorn looks his countenance dejected, a sullen 
 greatness fixed on his brow, as if it veil d in blood some awful 
 purpose, his eyes flaming and sanguinary; how I bewail you, 
 for your predecessor s sake! Long, long have I been an old, 
 and I trust a faithful, servant in the family Can I then restrain 
 one tear? No, tis impossible! View that arch-dragon, that old 
 fiend, Paramount, that rebel in grain, whispering in his ear. 
 View his wretched ministers hovering round him, to accomplish 
 their accursed purpose, and accelerate his destruction. View the 
 whole herd of administration (I know em well) and tell me if 
 the world can furnish a viler set of miscreants? View both houses 
 of parliament, and count the number of Tyrants, Jacobites,. 
 Tories, Placemen, Pensioners, Sycophants, and Panders. View 
 the constitution, is she not disrob d and dismantled? is she not 
 become like a virgin deflower d? View our fleets and armies 
 commanded by bloody, murdering butchers! View Britain her 
 self as a sheep without a shepherd! And lastly view America, 
 for her virtue bleeding and for her liberty weltering in her blood ! 
 
 LORD RELIGION. Such hath, and ever will be the fate of 
 kings, who only listen to the voice of pleasure, thrown in their 
 way by the sirens of administration, which never fail to swallow 
 them up like quicksand like a serpent, who charms and fasci 
 nates, bewitches and enchants with his eye the unwary bird: 
 witness the fatal catastrophe of Rehoboam, who rejected the 
 counsel of the wise and experienced, and gave up all to the 
 advice and guidance of young, unskilful and wicked counsellors. 
 Had he listen d to you, my Lord, had he followed your advice, 
 all, all would have gone well Under your auspicious adminis- 
 
304 Representative Plays 
 
 tration Britain flourished, but ever since has been on the decline, 
 and patriotism, like religion, scarcely now more than a sounding 
 brass or a tinkling cymbal. 
 
 LORD WISDOM. My counsel has been rejected my concilia 
 tory plan thrown under the table, and treated with contempt; 
 the experience of gray hairs called the superannuated notions 
 of old age my bodily infirmities my tottering frame my 
 crazy carcase, worn out in the service of my country, and even 
 my very crutches, have been made the subject of their ridicule. 
 
 LORD JUSTICE. Gratitude, like religion and patriotism, are 
 about taking their flight, and the law of the land stands on tip 
 toe; the constitution, that admirable fabric, that work of ages, 
 the envy of the world, is deflower d indeed, and made to commit 
 a rape upon her own body, by the avaricious frowns of her own 
 father, who is bound to protect her, not to destroy. Her pillars 
 are thrown down, her capitals broke, her pedestals demolish d, 
 and her foundation nearly destroy d. Lord Paramount and his 
 wretched adviser Mocklaw baffle all our efforts. The statutes 
 of the land superseded by royal proclamations and dispensing 
 powers, &c., &c., the bloody knife to be held to the throats of 
 the Americans, and force them to submit to slav ry. Adminis 
 tration have commenced bloody tyrants, and those that should 
 protect the subject are become their executioners; yet will I 
 dispute with them inch by inch, while there s a statute book left 
 ,in the land. Come forth, thou grand deceiver! I challenge thee 
 to come forth! 
 
 LORD WISDOM. Our friends must bestir themselves once more, 
 perhaps we may yet turn the scale. If the voice of religion, 
 wisdom and justice should fail, let us sound the trumpet of 
 liberty and patriotism, that will conquer them in America, I 
 know; let us try to storm them here with the united whole, and 
 if by a base majority they still carry their point, we can neverthe 
 less wash our hands and be clean. 
 
 LORD RELIGION. [From the pulpit, in the house of God, have 
 I spoken aloud, I have lifted up my voice like a trumpet. O 
 Britain, how art thou fallen ! Hear now, O house of Britain, is 
 it a small thing for you to weary man, but will you weary your 
 God also? In the house of Lords have I borne my testimony: 
 Hear now, O ye Princes, and I will yet declare in Britain, 
 and shew forth in America, I will not cease till I bring about 
 (if possible) unity, peace and concord. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 305 
 
 LORD WISDOM. Much to be wished for; but alas! I fear it s 
 now too late; I foresee the tendency and consequence of those 
 diabolical measures that have been pursued with unrelenting fury. 
 Britain will ruin her trade, waste her wealth, her strength, her 
 credit and her importance in the scale of Europe. When a British 
 king proves ungrateful and haughty, and strives to be independent 
 of his people (who are his sole support), the people will in their 
 turn likewise strive to be independent of him and his myrmidons, 
 and will be free ; they will erect the anfractuous standard of inde 
 pendency, and thousands and tens of thousands will flock to it, 
 and solace themselves under its shade. They has often been told 
 of this, but affected to despise it; they know not America s 
 strength, they are ignorant of it; fed by the flatt ry of every 
 sycophant tale, imagine themselves almighty, and able to subdue 
 the whole world. America will be lost to Britain forever, and 
 will prove her downfall. America is wise, and will shake off the 
 galling yoke before it be rivetted on them ; they will be drove to 
 it, and who can blame them ? Who can blame a galley-slave for 
 making his escape? Britain will miscarry in her vile projects, 
 her knight errant, her Don Quixote schemes in America: America 
 will resist; they are not easily to be subdued (nay, tis impossible) ; 
 Britain will find it a harder task than to conquer France and 
 Spain united, and will cost em more blood and treasure than a 
 twice Seven Years War with those European powers; they will 
 stand out till Britons are tired. Britain will invite her with kind 
 promises and open arms; America will reject them; America will 
 triumph, rejoice and flourish, and become the glory of the earth; 
 Britain will languidly hold down her head, and become first a 
 prey to a vile Pretender, and then be subject to the ravagers of 
 Europe. I love the Americans, because they love liberty. Lib 
 erty flourishes in the wilds of America. I honour the plant, I 
 revere the tree, and would cherish its branches. Let us, my 
 friends, join hands with them, follow their example, and en 
 deavour to support expiring liberty in Britain; whilst I have a 
 tongue to speak, I will support her wherever found; while I have 
 crutches to crawl with, I will try to find her out, and with the 
 voice of an archangel will demand for a sacrifice to the nation 
 those miscreants who have wickedly and wantonly been the ruin 
 of their country. O Liberty! O my Country! 
 
 LORD RELIGION. O Religion! O Virtue! whither art thou 
 fleeing? O thou Defender of the Faith? O ye mighty Lords 
 
306 Representative Plays 
 
 and Commons ! O ye deluded Bishops, ye learned props of our 
 unerring church, who preach up vengeance, force and fire, instead 
 of peace ! be wise in time, lest the Americans be driven to work 
 out their own salvation without fear or trembling. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 LORD PATRIOT, BOLD IRISHMAN, COLONEL. 
 BOLD IRISHMAN. 
 
 That Brazen Lawyer, 1 that Lord Chancellor, that wou d be, 
 held forth surprisingly last night, he beat the drum in your ears, 
 brother soldier. 
 
 COLONEL. I think he did ; he beat a Tatoo for us all. 
 
 LORD PATRIOT. No politicians, but lawyer politicians, it seems 
 will go down ; if we believe him, we must all turn lawyers now, 
 and prate away the liberties of the nation. 
 
 COLONEL. Aye, first we must learn to rail at the clamourous 
 faction, disappointed politicians ever restless ever plotting 
 constantly thwarting government, in laudable and blameable 
 purposes. Inconsiderable party inconsistent in their own poli 
 tics hostile to all government, soured by disappointment, and 
 urged by want proceeding to unjustifiable lengths and then 
 sound the magnanimity of a British senate, animated by the 
 sacred fire caught from a high-spirited people 
 
 BOLD IRISHMAN. And the devil knows what beside Magna 
 nimity and sacred fire, indeed ! Very magnanimous sounds, but 
 pompous nothings! Why did he not tell us where was the 
 magnanimity of the British senate at the time of the dispute 
 about Falkland s Island? What sort of fire animated them 
 then? Where was the high spirit of the people? Strange sort 
 of fire, and strange sort of spirit, to give up to our inveterate 
 enemies, the Spaniards, our property unasked for, and cut our 
 best friends and brethren, the Americans throats, for defend 
 ing theirs against lawless tyranny; their sacred fire became then 
 all fume, and the strength of their boasted spirits evaporated 
 into invisible effluvium; the giant then sunk sure enough spon 
 taneously into a dwarf; and now, it seems, the dwarf having been 
 feeding upon smoky fire and evaporated spirits, is endeavouring 
 to swell himself into a giant again, like the frog in the fable, 
 till he bursts himself in silent thunder But let the mighty 
 Philistine, the Goliath Paramount, and his oracle Mocklaw, 
 
 1 See Wedderburne s Speech. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 307 
 
 with their thunder bellowed from the brazen mortar-piece of a 
 turn-coat lawyer, have a care of the little American David ! 
 
 LORD PATRIOT. Aye, indeed! America will prove a second 
 Sampson to em; they may put out his eyes for a while, but 
 he ll pull their house down about their ears for all that. Mr. 
 Brazen seem d surpris d at the thought of relinquishing America, 
 and bawl d out with the vociferation of an old miser that had 
 been robb d Relinquish America! relinquish America! forbid 
 it heavens! But let him and his masters take great care, or 
 America will save em the trouble, and relinquish Britain. 
 
 COLONEL. Or I m much mistaken, Brazen says, establish 
 first your superiority, and then talk of negotiating. 
 
 LORD PATRIOT. That doctrine suits em best; just like a 
 cowardly pickpocket, or a bloody highwayman, knock a man 
 down first, and then tell him stand and deliver. 
 
 COLONEL. A just comparison, and excellent simile, by my 
 soul! But I m surpris d he did not include the Clergy among 
 the number of professions unfit (as he said) to be politicians. 
 
 BOLD IRISHMAN. Did you ever know a lawyer to be concerned 
 with religion, unless he got a fee by it? he ll take care and steer 
 clear of that; if it don t come in his way, he ll never break his 
 neck over a church bible, I warrant you Mammon is his god 
 Judge Jeffereys is his priest Star-chamber doctrine is his 
 creed fire, flames and faggot, blood, murder, halters and 
 thund ring cannon are the ceremonies of his church and lies, 
 misrepresentations, deceit, hypocrisy and dissimulation are the 
 articles of his religion. 
 
 LORD PATRIOT. You make him a monster, indeed. 
 
 BOLD IRISHMAN. Not half so bad as he is, my Lord; he s fol 
 lowing close to the heels of that profound sage, that oracle, 
 Mocklaw, his tutor: I can compare the whole herd of them to 
 nothing else but to the swine we read of running headlong down 
 the hill, Paramount their devil, Mocklaw the evil spirit, and 
 Brazen their driver. 
 
 COLONEL. And thus they ll drive liberty from out the land ; but 
 when a brave people, like the Americans, from their infancy us d 
 to liberty (not as a gift, but who inherit it as a birth-right, but not 
 as a mess of pottage, to be bought by, or sold to, ev ry hungry 
 glutton of a minister) find attempts made to reduce them to 
 slavery, they generally take some desperate successful measure 
 for their deliverance. I should not be at all surpris d to hear of 
 
 
308 Representative Plays 
 
 independency proclaim d throughout their land, of Britain s 
 armies beat, their fleets burnt, sunk, or otherwise destroy d. 
 The same principle which Mr. Brazen speaks of, that inspires 
 British soldiers to fight, namely the ferment of youthful blood, the 
 high spirit of the people, a love of glory, and a sense of national 
 honour, will inspire the Americans to withstand them ; to which 
 I may add, liberty and property. But what is national honour? 
 Why, national pride. What is national glory? Why, national 
 nonsense, when put in competition with liberty and property. 
 
 LORD PATRIOT. Of Britain I fear liberty has taken its fare 
 well, the aspiring wings of tyranny hath long hovered over, and 
 the over-shadowing influence of bribery hath eclips d its rays 
 and dark ned its lustre; the huge Paramount, that temporal 
 deity, that golden calf, finds servile wretches enough so base as 
 to bow down, worship and adore his gilded horns; let em e en 
 if they will : But as for me, tho I should stand alone, I would 
 spurn the brute, were he forty-five * times greater than he is; 
 I ll administer, ere long, such an emetic to him, as shall make 
 the monster disgorge the forty millions yet unaccounted for, 
 and never shall it be said, that Patriot ever feared or truckled 
 to him, or kept a silent tongue when it should speak. 
 
 BOLD IRISHMAN. There I ll shake hands with you, and my 
 tongue shall echo in their ears, make their arched ceiling speak, 
 the treasury bench crack, and the great chair of their great 
 speaker tremble, and never will I cease lashing them, while lash 
 ing is good, or hope remains; and when the voice of poor liberty 
 can no longer be heard in Britain or Hibernia, let s give Cale 
 donia a kick with our heels, and away with the goddess to the 
 American shore, crown her, and defy the grim king of tyranny, 
 at his peril, to set his foot there. Here let him stay, and wallow 
 in sackcloth and ashes, like a beast as he is, and, Nebuchadnezzar- 
 like, eat grass and thistles. [Exeunt. 
 See Paramount, upon his awful throne. 
 Striving to make each freeman s purse his own! 
 While Lords and Commons most as one agree, 
 To grace his head with crown of tyranny. 
 They spurn the laws, -force constitution locks, 
 To seize each subject s coffer, chest and box; 
 Send justice packing, as tho 1 too pure unmix 1 d, 
 And hug the tyrant, as if by law he s fix d. 
 
 1 Alluding to North-Briton, Number forty-five. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 309 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. In Boston. 
 SELECTMAN, CITIZEN. 
 
 SELECTMAN. 
 
 At length, it seems, the bloody flag is hung out, the ministry 
 and parliament, ever studious in mischief, and bent on our 
 destruction, have ordered troops and ships of war to shut our 
 ports, and starve us into submission. 
 
 CITIZEN. And compel us to be slaves; I have heard so. It is 
 a fashionable way to requite us for our loyalty, for the present 
 we made them of Louisburg, for our protection at Duquesne, 
 for the assistance we gave them at Quebec, Martinico, Guadaloupe 
 and the Havannah. Blast their councils, spurn their ingratitude ! 
 Soul of Pepperel! whither art thou fled? 
 
 SELECTMAN. They seem to be guided by some secret demon; 
 this stopping our ports and depriving us of all trade is cruel, 
 calculated to starve and beggar thousands of families, more 
 spiteful than politic, more to their own disadvantage than 
 ours: But we can resolve to do without trade; it will be the 
 means of banishing luxury, which has ting d the simplicity and 
 spotless innocence of our once happy asylum. 
 
 CITIZEN. We thank heaven, we have the necessaries of life 
 in abundance, even to an exuberant plenty; and how oft have 
 our hospitable tables fed numbers of those ungrateful monsters, 
 who would now, if they could, famish us? 
 
 SELECTMAN. No doubt, as we abound in those temporal 
 blessings, it has tempted them to pick our pockets by violence, 
 in hopes of treasures more to their minds. 
 
 CITIZEN. In that these thirsters after gold and human blood 
 will be disappointed. No Perus or Mexicos here they ll find; 
 but the demon you speak of, tho he acts in secret, is notoriously 
 known. Lord Paramount is that demon, that bird of prey, that 
 ministerial cormorant, that waits to devour, and who first 
 thought to disturb the repose of America; a wretch, no friend 
 to mankind, who acts thro envy and avarice, like Satan, who 
 scap d from hell to disturb the regions of paradise; after ran 
 sacking Britain and Hibernia for gold, the growth of hell, to 
 feed his luxury, now waits to rifle the bowels of America. 
 
 SELECTMAN. May he prove more unsuccessful than Satan; 
 blind politics, rank infatuation, madness detestable, the con- 
 
310 Representative Plays 
 
 comitants of arbitrary power! They can never think to succeed; 
 but should they conquer, they ll find that he who overcometh by 
 force and blood, hath overcome but half his foe. Capt. Preston s 
 massacre is too recent in our memories; and if a few troops dar d 
 to commit such hellish unprovok d barbarities, what may we 
 not expect from legions arm d with vengeance, whose leaders 
 harbour principles repugnant to freedom, and possess d with 
 more than diabolical notions? Surely our friends will oppose 
 them with all the power heaven has given them. 
 
 CITIZEN. Nothing more certain; each citizen and each indi 
 vidual inhabitant of America are bound by the ties of nature; 
 the laws of God and man justify such a procedure; passive 
 obedience for passive slaves, and non-resistance for servile 
 wretches who know not, neither deserve, the sweets of liberty. 
 As for me and my house, thank God, such detestable doctrine 
 never did, nor ever shall, enter over my threshold. 
 
 SELECTMAN. Would all America were so zealous as you. 
 The appointment of a general Continental Congress was a 
 judicious measure, and will prove the salvation of this new 
 world, where counsel mature, wisdom and strength united; it 
 will prove a barrier, a bulwark, against the encroachments of 
 arbitrary power. 
 
 CITIZEN. I much approve of the choice of a congress ; America 
 is young, she will be to it like a tender nursing mother, she will 
 give it the paps of virtue to suck, cherish it with the milk of 
 liberty, and fatten it on the cream of patriotism; she will train 
 it up in its youth, and teach it to shun the poison of British 
 voluptuousness, and instruct it to keep better company. Let 
 us, my friend, support her all in our power, and set on foot an 
 immediate association; they will form an intrenchment, too 
 strong for ministerial tyranny to o erleap. 
 
 SELECTMAN. I am determined so to do, it may prevent the 
 farther effusion of blood. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter a MINISTER. 
 
 MINISTER. 
 
 My friends, I yet will hail you good morrow, tho I know not 
 how long we may be indulg d that liberty to each other; doleful 
 tidings I have to tell. 
 
\ 
 
 The Fall of British Tyranny 311 
 
 SELECTMAN. With sorrow we have heard it, good morrow, sir. 
 
 MINISTER. Wou d to God it may prove false, and that it 
 may vanish like the dew of the morning. 
 
 CITIZEN. Beyond a doubt, sir, it s too true. 
 
 MINISTER. Perhaps, my friends, you have not heard all. 
 
 SELECTMAN. We have heard too much, of the troops and 
 ships coming over, we suppose you mean; we have not heard 
 more, if more there be. 
 
 MINISTER. Then worse I have to tell, tidings which will raise 
 the blood of the patriot, and put your virtue to the proof, will 
 kindle such an ardent love of liberty in your breasts, as time 
 will not be able to exterminate 
 
 CITIZEN. Pray, let us hear it, I m all on fire. 
 
 SELECTMAN. I m impatient to know it, welcome or unwelcome. 
 
 MINISTER. Such as it is, take it; your charter is annihilated; 
 you are all, all declared rebels; your estates are to be confiscated ; 
 your patrimony to be given to those who never labour d for it; 
 popery to be established in the room of the true catholic faith; 
 the Old South, and other houses of our God, converted perhaps 
 into nunneries, inquisitions, barracks and common jails, where 
 you will perish with want and famine, or suffer an ignominious 
 death; your wives, children, dearest relations and friends forever 
 separated from you in this world, without the prospect of receiv 
 ing any comfort or consolation from them, or the least hope of 
 affording any to them. 
 
 SELECTMAN. Perish the thought! 
 
 CITIZEN. I ve heard enough! To arms! my dear friends, to 
 arms! and death or freedom be our motto! 
 
 MINISTER. A noble resolution! Posterity will crown the urn 
 of the patriot who consecrates his talents to virtue and freedom ; 
 his name shall not be forgot; his reputation shall bloom with 
 unfading verdure, while the name of the tyrant, like his vile 
 body, shall moulder in the dust. Put your trust in the Lord of 
 hosts, he is your strong tower, he is your helper and defense, he 
 will guide and strengthen the arm of flesh, and scatter your ene 
 mies like chaff. 
 
 SELECTMAN. Let us not hesitate. 
 
 CITIZEN. Not a single moment; tis like to prove a mortal 
 strife, a never-ending contest. 
 
 MINISTER. Delays may be dangerous. Go and awake your 
 brethren that sleep; rouse them up from their lethargy and 
 
312 Representative Plays 
 
 supineness, and join, with confidence, temporal with spiritual 
 weapons. Perhaps they be now landing, and this moment, this 
 very moment, may be the last of your liberty. Prepare your 
 selves be ready stand fast ye know not the day nor the 
 hour. May the Ruler of all send us liberty and life. Adieu ! 
 my friends. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. In a street in Boston. 
 
 Frequent town-meetings and consultations amongst the inhabitants; 
 
 LORD BOSTON arrives with the forces and ships; lands and 
 
 fortifies Boston. 
 
 WHIG and TORY. 
 
 WHIG. I have said and done all that man could say or do. 
 Tis wrong, I insist upon it, and time will show it, to suffer them 
 to take possession of Castle William and fortify Boston Neck. 
 
 TORY. I cannot see, good sir, of what advantage it will be to 
 them; they ve only a mind, I suppose, to keep their soldiers 
 from being inactive, which may prejudice their health. 
 
 WHIG. I wish it may prove so, I would very gladly confess 
 your superior knowledge in military manceuvres; but till then, 
 suffer me to tell you, it s a stroke the most fatal to us, no less, 
 sir, but to cut off the communication between the town and 
 country, making prisoners of us all by degrees, and give em an 
 opportunity of making excursions, and in a short time subdue 
 us without resistance. 
 
 TORY. I think your fears are groundless. 
 
 WHIG. Sir, my reason is not to be trifled with. Do you not 
 see or hear ev ry day of insults and provocations to the peaceable 
 inhabitants? This is only a prelude. Can men of spirit bear 
 forever with such usage? I know not what business they have 
 here at all. 
 
 TORY. I suppose they re come to protect us. 
 
 WHIG. Damn such protectors, such cut- throat villains; pro 
 tect us? from what? from whom? 
 
 TORY. Nay, sir, I know not their business; let us yet bear 
 with them till we know the success of the petition from the 
 Congress; if unfavourable, then it will be our time. 
 
 WHIG. Then, I fear, it will be too late; all that time we lose, 
 and they gain ground ; I have no notion of trusting to the success 
 of petitions, waiting twelve months for no answer at all. Our 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 313 
 
 assemblies have petitioned often, and as often in vain; t would be 
 a miracle in these days to hear of an American petition being 
 granted ; their omnipotences, their demi-godships (as they think 
 themselves) no doubt think it too great a favour done us to 
 throw our petitions under their table, much less vouchsafe to 
 read them. 
 
 TORY. You go too far; the power of King, Lords and Com 
 mons is uncontroulable. 
 
 WHIG. With respect to tyrannising they would make it so, 
 if they could, I know, but there s a good deal to be said and done 
 first; we have more than half the bargain to make. 
 
 TORY. Sure you would not go to dispute by arms with Great- 
 Britain. 
 
 WHIG. Sure I would not suffer you to pick my pocket, sir. 
 
 TORY. If I did, the law is open for you 
 
 WHIG. I have but a poor opinion of law, when the devil sits 
 judge. 
 
 TORY. What would you do then, sir, if I was to pick your 
 pocket? 
 
 WHIG. Break your head, sir 
 
 TORY. Sure you don t mean as you say, sir 
 
 WHIG. I surely do try me, sir 
 
 TORY. Excuse me, sir, I am not of your mind, I would avoid 
 every thing that has the appearance of rashness. Great-Britain s 
 power, sir 
 
 WHIG. Great-Britain s power, sir, is too much magnified, 
 t will soon grow weak, by endeavouring to make slaves of 
 American freemen; we are not Africans yet, neither bond-slaves. 
 You would avoid and discourage every thing that has the 
 appearance of patriotism, you mean. 
 
 TORY. Who? me, sir? 
 
 WHIG. Yes, you, sir; you go slyly pimping, spying and 
 sneaking about, cajoling the ignorant, and insinuating bugbear 
 notions of Great-Britain s mighty power into weak people s ears, 
 that we may tamely give all up, and you be rewarded, perhaps, 
 with the office of judge of the admiralty, or continental hang 
 man, for ought I know. 
 
 TORY. Who? me, sir? 
 
 WHIG. Aye, you, sir; and let me tell you, sir, you ve been 
 long suspected 
 
 TORY. Of what, sir? 
 
314 Representative Plays 
 
 WHIG. For a rank Tory, sir. 
 
 TORY. What mean you, sir? 
 
 WHIG. I repeat it again suspected to be an enemy to your 
 country. 
 
 TORY. By whom, sir? Can you show me an instance? 
 
 WHIG. From your present discourse I suspect you and from 
 ybur connections and artful behaviour all suspect you. 
 
 TORY. Can you give me a proof? 
 
 WHIG. Not a point blank proof, as to my own knowledge; 
 you re so much of a Jesuit, you have put it out of my power; 
 but strong circumstances by information, such as amount to a 
 proof in the present case, sir, I can furnish you with. 
 
 TORY. Sir, you may be mistaken. 
 
 WHIG. Tis not possible, my informant knows you too well. 
 
 TORY. Who is your informant, sir? 
 
 WHIG. A gentleman, sir; and if you ll give yourself the trouble 
 to walk with me, I ll soon produce him. 
 
 TORY. Another time; I cannot stay now; tis dinner time. 
 
 WHIG. That s the time to find him 
 
 TORY. I cannot stay now. 
 
 WHIG. We ll call at your house then. 
 
 TORY. I dine abroad, sir. 
 
 WHIG. Be gone, you scoundrel! I ll watch your waters; 
 tis time to clear the land of such infernal vermin. 
 
 [Exeunt both different ways. 
 
 SCENE IV. In Boston, while the Regulars were flying from 
 Lexington. 
 
 LORD BOSTON surrounded by his guards and a few officers. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. If Colonel Smith succeeds in his embassy, 
 and I think there s no doubt of it, I shall have the pleasure this 
 ev ning, I expect, of having my friends Hancock and Adams s 
 good company; I ll make each of them a present of a pair of 
 handsome iron ruffles, and Major Provost shall provide a suit 
 able entertainment for them in his apartment. 
 
 OFFICER. Sure they ll not be so unpolite as to refuse your 
 Excellency s kind invitation. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Shou d they, Colonel Smith and Major Pit- 
 cairn have my orders to make use of all their rhetoric and the 
 persuasive eloquence of British thunder. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 315 
 
 Enter a MESSENGER in haste. 
 
 MESSENGER. I bring your Excellency unwelcome tidings 
 
 LORD BOSTON. For heaven s sake ! from what quarter? 
 
 MESSENGER. From Lexington plains. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Tis impossible! 
 
 MESSENGER. Too true, sir. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Say what is it? Speak what you know. 
 
 MESSENGER. Colonel Smith is defeated, and fast retreating. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Good God ! What does he say? Mercy on me ! 
 
 MESSENGER. They re flying before the enemy. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Britons turn their backs before the Rebels! 
 The Rebels put Britons to flight? Said you not so? 
 
 MESSENGER. They are routed, sir; they are flying this 
 instant; the Provincials are numerous, and hourly gaining 
 strength; they have nearly surrounded our troops. A rein 
 forcement, sir a timely succour may save the shatter d remnant 
 Speedily! speedily, sir! or they re irretrievably lost! 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Good God! What does he say? Can it be 
 possible? 
 
 MESSENGER. Lose no time, sir. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. What can I do? Oh dear! 
 
 OFFICER. Draw off a detachment form a brigade; prepare 
 part of the train; send for Lord Percy; let the drums beat to 
 arms. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Aye, do, Captain; you know how, better than 
 I. (Exit OFFICER.) Did the Rebels dare to fire on the king s 
 troops? Had they the courage? Guards, keep round me. 
 
 MESSENGER. They re like lions; they have killed many of 
 our bravest officers and men; and if not checked instantly, will 
 totally surround them, and make the whole prisoners. This is 
 no time to parley, sir. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. No, indeed; what will become of me? 
 
 Enter EARL PERCY. 
 
 EARL PERCY. Your orders, sir. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Haste, my good Percy, immediately take 
 command of the brigade of reinforcement, and fly to the assis 
 tance of poor Smith ! Lose no time, lest they be all cut off, and 
 the Rebels improve their advantage, and be upon us; and God 
 knows what quarter they ll give. Haste, my noble Earl! 
 Speedily! Speedily! Where s my guard? 
 
 
316 Representative Plays 
 
 EARL PERCY. I m gone, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt PERCY and OFFICERS drums beating to arms. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. What means this flutt ring round my heart? 
 this unusual chilness? Is it fear? No, it cannot be, it must 
 proceed from my great anxiety, my perturbation of mind for the 
 fate of my countrymen. A drowsiness hangs o er my eyelids; 
 fain would I repose myself a short time; but I must not; I 
 must wait; I ll to the top of yon eminence, there I shall be 
 safer. Here I cannot stay; there I may behold something 
 favourable to calm this tumult in my breast. But, alas! I 
 fear Guards, attend me. [Exeunt LORD BOSTON and GUARDS. 
 
 SCENE V. LORD BOSTON and GUARDS on a hill in Boston, that 
 overlooks Charlestown. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Clouds of dust and smoke intercept my sight; 
 I cannot see; I hear the noise of cannon Percy s cannon 
 Grant him success! 
 
 OFFICER OF GUARD. Methinks, sir, I see British colours waving. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Some ray of hope. Have they got so near? 
 Captain, keep a good lookout; tell me every thing you see. My 
 eyes are wondrous dim. 
 
 OFFICER. The two brigades have join d Now Admiral Tomb 
 stone bellows his lower tier on the Provincials. How does your 
 Excellency? 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Right; more hope still. I m bravely to what 
 I was. Which way do our forces tend? 
 
 OFFICER. I can distinguish nothing for a certainty now; such 
 smoke and dust! 
 
 LORD BOSTON. God grant Percy courage! 
 
 OFFICER. His ancestors were brave, sir. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Aye, that s no rule no rule, Captain; so 
 were mine. A heavy firing now. The Rebels must be very 
 numerous 
 
 OFFICER. They re like caterpillars; as numerous as the 
 locusts of Egypt. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Look out, Captain, God help you, look out. 
 
 OFFICER. I do, sir. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. What do you see now? Hark! what dreadful 
 noise ! 
 
 ONE OF THE GUARD. [Aside.] How damn d afraid he is. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 317 
 
 ANOTHER OF THE GUARD. [Aside.] He s one of your chimney 
 corner Generals an old granny. 
 
 OFFICER. If I mistake not, our troops are fast retreating; their 
 fire slackens; the noise increases. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Oh, Captain, don t say so! 
 
 OFFICER. Tis true, sir, they re running the enemy shout 
 victory. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Upon your honour? say 
 
 OFFICER. Upon my honour, sir, they re flying t wards Charles- 
 town. Percy s beat; I m afraid he s lost his artillery. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Then tis all over the day is lost what more 
 can we do? 
 
 OFFICER. We may, with the few troops left in Boston, yet 
 afford them some succour, and cover their retreat across the 
 water; tis impossible to do more. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Go instantly; I ll wait your return. Try your 
 utmost to prevent the Rebels from crossing. Success attend you, 
 my dear Captain, God prosper you! [Exit OFFICER.] Alas! 
 alas! my glory s gone; my honour s stain d. My dear guards, 
 don t leave me, and you shall have plenty of porter and sour- 
 crout. 
 
 SCENE VI. ROGER and DICK, two shepherds near Lexington, after 
 the defeat and flight of the Regulars. 
 
 ROGER. Whilst early looking, Dick, ere the sun was seen 
 to tinge the brow of the mountain, for my flock of sheep, nor 
 dreaming of approaching evil, suddenly mine eyes beheld from 
 yon hill a cloud of dust arise at a small distance; the intermediate 
 space were thick set with laurels, willows, evergreens, and bushes 
 of various kinds, the growth of wild nature, and which hid the 
 danger from my eyes, thinking perchance my flock had thither 
 stray d; I descended, and straight onward went; but, Dick, 
 judge you my thoughts at such a disappointment: Instead of 
 my innocent flock of sheep, I found myself almost encircled by a 
 herd of ravenous British wolves. 
 
 DICK. Dangerous must have been your situation, Roger, 
 whatever were your thoughts. 
 
 ROGER. I soon discovered my mistake; finding a hostile 
 appearance, I instantly turn d myself about, and fled to alarm 
 the shepherds. 
 
3i 8 Representative Plays 
 
 DICK. Did they pursue you? 
 
 ROGER. They did ; but having the start, and being acquainted 
 with the by-ways, I presently got clear of their voracious jaws. 
 
 DICK. A lucky escape, indeed, Roger; and what route did they 
 take after that? 
 
 ROGER. Onwards, t wards Lexington, devouring geese, cattle 
 and swine, with fury and rage, which, no doubt, was increased by 
 their disappointment; and what may appear strange to you, 
 Dick (tho no more strange than true), is, they seem d to be 
 possessed of a kind of brutish music, growling something like our 
 favourite tune Yankee Doodle (perhaps in ridicule), till it were 
 almost threadbare, seeming vastly pleased (monkey-like) with 
 their mimickry, as tho it provoked us much. 
 
 DICK. Nature, Roger, has furnish d some brute animals with 
 voices, or, more properly speaking, with organs of sound that 
 nearly resemble the human. I have heard of crocodiles weeping 
 like a child, to decoy the unwary traveller, who is no sooner 
 within their reach, but they seize and devour instantly. 
 
 ROGER. Very true, Dick, I have read of the same; and these 
 wolves, being of the canine breed, and having the properties of 
 blood-hounds, no doubt are possess d of a more acute sense of 
 smelling, more reason, instinct, sagacity, or what shall I call it? 
 than all other brutes. It might have been a piece of cunning of 
 theirs, peculiar to them, to make themselves pass for shepherds, 
 and decoy our flocks; for, as you know, Dick, all our shepherds 
 both play and sing Yankee Doodle, our sheep and lambs are as 
 well acquainted with that tune as ourselves, and always make 
 up to us whene er they hear the sound. 
 
 DICK. Yes, Roger; and now you put me in mind of it I ll tell 
 you of something surprising in my turn : I have an old ram and 
 an old ewe, that, whenever they sing Yankee Doodle together, 
 a skilful musician can scarcely distinguish it from the bass and 
 tenor of an organ. 
 
 ROGER. Surprising indeed, Dick, nor do I in the least doubt it; 
 and why not, as well as Balaam s ass, speak? and I might add, 
 many other asses, now-a-days; and yet, how might that music 
 be improved by a judicious disposition of its various parts, by 
 the addition of a proper number of sheep and young lambs; 
 t would then likewise resemble the counter, counter tenor, treble, 
 and finest pipes of an organ, and might be truly called nature s 
 organ ; methinks, Dick, I could forever sit and hear such music, 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 319 
 
 Where all the parts in complication roll, 
 And with its charming music feast the soul! 
 
 DICK. Delightful, indeed; I ll attempt it with what little skill 
 I have in music; we may then defy these wolves to imitate it, 
 and thereby save our flocks: I am well convinced, Roger, these 
 wolves intended it rather as a decoy than by way of ridicule, 
 because they live by cunning and deception; besides, they could 
 never mean to ridicule a piece of music, a tune, of which such 
 brutes cannot be supposed to be judges, and, which is allowed 
 by the best masters of music to be a composition of the most sub 
 lime kind, and would have done honour to a Handel or a Correl- 
 lius. Well, go on, Roger, I long to hear the whole. 
 
 ROGER. When they came to Lexington, where a flock of our 
 innocent sheep and young lambs, as usual, were feeding and 
 sporting on the plain, these dogs of violence and rapine with 
 haughty stride advanc d, and berated them in a new and unheard 
 of language to us. 
 
 DICK. I suppose learn d at their own fam d universities 
 
 ROGER. No doubt; they had teachers among them two old 
 wolves their leaders, not unlike in features to Smith and Pitcairn, 
 as striving to outvie each other in the very dregs of brutal elo 
 quence, and more than Billingsgate jargon, howl d in their ears 
 such a peal of new-fangled execrations, and hell-invented oratory, 
 till that day unheard in New-England, as struck the whole flock 
 with horror, and made them for a while stand aghast, as tho 
 all the wolves in the forest had broke loose upon them. 
 
 DICK. Oh, shocking! Roger, go on. 
 
 ROGER. Not content with this, their murdering leaders, with 
 premeditated malice, keen appetite, and without provocation, 
 gave the howl for the onset, when instantly the whole herd, as if 
 the devil had entered into them, ran violently down the hill, and 
 fixed their talons and jaws upon them, and as quick as lightning 
 eight innocent young lambs fell a sacrifice to their fury, and vic 
 tims to their rapacity; the very houses of our God were no longer 
 a sanctuary ; many they tore to pieces, and some at the very foot 
 of the altar; others were dragged out as in a wanton, gamesome 
 mood. 
 
 DICK. Barbarity inexpressible! more than savage cruelty! I 
 hope you ll make their master pay for em; there is a law of this 
 province, Roger, which obliges the owner of such dogs to pay for 
 the mischief they do. 
 
32O Representative Plays 
 
 ROGER. I know it, Dick; he shall pay, never fear, and that 
 handsomely too; he has paid part of it already. 
 
 DICK. Who is their master, Roger? 
 
 ROGER. One Lord Paramount; they call him a free-booter; 
 a fellow who pretends to be proprietor of all America, and says 
 he has a deed for it, and chief ranger of all the flocks, and pre 
 tends to have a patent for it; has been a long time in the practice 
 of killing and stealing sheep in England and Ireland, and had 
 like to have been hang d for it there, but was reprieved by the 
 means of his friend George I forgot his other name not 
 Grenville not George the Second but another George 
 
 DICK. It s no matter, he ll be hang d yet; he has sent his dogs 
 to a wrong place, and lugg d the wrong sow by the ear; he should 
 have sent them to Newfoundland, or Kamchatka, there s no 
 sheep there But never mind, go on, Roger. 
 
 ROGER. Nor was their voracious appetites satiated there; 
 they rush d into the town of Concord, and proceeded to devour 
 every thing that lay in their way; and those brute devils, like 
 Sampson s foxes (and as tho they were men), thrice attempted 
 with firebrands to destroy our corn, our town-house and habita 
 tions. 
 
 DICK. Heavens! Could not all this provoke you? 
 
 ROGER. It did; rage prompted us at length, and found us 
 arms gainst such hellish mischief to oppose. 
 
 DICK. Oh, would I had been there! 
 
 ROGER. Our numbers increasing, and arm d with revenge, we 
 in our turn play d the man; they, unus d to wounds, with hideous 
 yelling soon betook themselves to a precipitate and confused 
 flight, nor did we give o er the chase, till Phoebus grew drowsy, 
 bade us desist, and wished us a good night. 
 
 DICK. Of some part of their hasty retreat I was a joyful 
 spectator, I saw their tongues lolling out of their mouths, and 
 heard them pant like hunted wolves indeed. 
 
 ROGER. Did you not hear how their mirth was turn d into 
 mourning? their fury into astonishment? how soon they quitted 
 their howling Yankee Doodle, and chang d their notes to bellow 
 ing? how nimbly (yet against their will) they betook themselves 
 to dancing? And he was then the bravest dog that beat time 
 the swiftest, and footed Yankee Doodle the nimblest. 
 
 DICK. Well pleased, Roger, was I with the chase, and glorious 
 sport it was: I oft perceiv d them tumbling o er each other heels 
 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 321 
 
 over head; nor did one dare stay to help his brother but, 
 with bloody breech, made the best of his way nor ever stopped 
 till they were got safe within their lurking-holes 
 
 ROGER. From whence they have not the courage to peep out, 
 unless four to one, except (like a skunk) forc d by famine. 
 
 DICK. May this be the fate of all those prowling sheep-stealers, 
 it behooves the shepherds to double the watch, to take uncommon 
 precaution and care of their tender flocks, more especially as 
 this is like to be an uncommon severe winter, by the appearance 
 of wolves, so early in the season but, hark! Roger, methinks 
 I hear the sound of melody warbling thro the grove Let s sit a 
 while, and partake of it unseen. 
 
 ROGER. With all my heart. Most delightful harmony! This 
 is the First of May; our shepherds and nymphs are celebrating 
 our glorious St. Tammany s day; we ll hear the song out, and 
 then join in the frolic, and chorus it o er and o er again This 
 day shall be devoted to joy and festivity. 
 
 SONG. 
 [TUNE. The hounds are all out, &c. ] 
 
 i. 
 
 Of St. George, or St. Bute, let the poet Laureat sing, 
 Of Pharaoh or Pluto of old, 
 
 While he rhymes forth their praise, in false, flattering lays, 
 I ll sing of St. Tamm ny the bold, my brave boys. 
 
 2. 
 
 Let Hibernia s sons boast, make Patrick their toast; 
 And Scots Andrew s fame spread abroad. 
 Potatoes and oats, and Welch leeks for Welch goats, 
 Was never St. Tammany s food, my brave boys. 
 
 3- 
 
 In freedom s bright cause, Tamm ny pled with applause, 
 And reason d most justly from nature; 
 For this, this was his song, all, all the day long: 
 Liberty s the right of each creature, brave boys. 
 
 4- 
 
 Whilst under an oak his great parliament sat, 
 His throne was the crotch of the tree; 
 With Solomon s look, without statutes or book, 
 He wisely sent forth his decree, my brave boys. 
 
322 Representative Plays 
 
 5- 
 
 His subjects stood round, not the least noise or sound, 
 Whilst freedom blaz d full in each face: 
 So plain were the laws, and each pleaded his cause; 
 That might Bute, North and Mansfield disgrace, my brave 
 boys. 
 
 6. 
 
 No duties, nor stamps, their blest liberty cramps, 
 A king, tho no tyrant, was he; 
 
 He did oft times declare, nay, sometimes wou d swear, 
 The least of his subjects were free, my brave boys. 
 
 7- 
 
 He, as king of the woods, of the rivers and floods, 
 Had a right all beasts to controul; 
 Yet, content with a few, to give nature her due: 
 So gen rous was Tammany s soul! my brave boys. 
 
 In the morn he arose, and a-hunting he goes, 
 Bold Nimrod his second was he. 
 For his breakfast he d take a large venison steak, 
 And despis d your slip-slops and tea, my brave boys. 
 
 9- 
 
 While all in a row, with squaw, dog and bow, 
 Vermilion adorning his face, 
 With feathery head he rang d the woods wide: 
 St. George sure had never such grace, my brave boys? 
 
 10. 
 
 His jetty black hair, such as Buckskin saints wear, 
 Perfumed with bear s grease well smear d, 
 Which illum d the saint s face, and ran down apace, 
 Like the oil from Aaron s old beard, my brave boys. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The strong nervous deer, with amazing career, 
 In swiftness he d fairly run down; 
 And, like Sampson, wou d tear wolf, lion or bear. 
 Ne er was such a saint as our own, my brave boys. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 323 
 
 12. 
 
 When he d run down a stag, he behind him wou d lag; 
 For, so noble a soul had he! 
 He d stop, tho he lost it, tradition reports it, 
 To give him fresh chance to get free, my brave boys. 
 
 With a mighty strong arm, and a masculine bow, 
 His arrow he drew to the head, 
 And as sure as he shot, it was ever his lot, 
 His prey it fell instantly dead, my brave boys. 
 
 14. 
 
 His table he spread where the venison bled, 
 Be thankful, he used to say; 
 He d laugh and he d sing, tho a saint and a king, 
 And sumptuously dine on his prey, my brave boys. 
 
 15- 
 
 Then over the hills, o er the mountains and rills 
 He d caper, such was his delight; 
 And ne er in his days, Indian history says, 
 Did lack a good supper at night, my brave boys. 
 
 16. 
 
 On an old stump he sat, without cap or hat. 
 When supper was ready to eat, 
 Snap, his dog, he stood by, and cast a sheep s eye 
 For ven son, the king of all meat, my brave boys. 
 
 17- 
 
 Like Isaac of old, and both cast in one mould, 
 Tho a wigwam was Tamm ny s cottage, 
 He lov d sav ry meat, such that patriarchs eat, 
 Of ven son and squirrel made pottage, brave boys. 
 
 18. 
 
 When fourscore years old, as I ve oft times been told, 
 To doubt it, sure, would not be right, 
 With a pipe in his jaw, he d buss his old squaw, 
 And get a young saint ev ry night, my brave boys. 
 
324 Representative Plays 
 
 As old age came on, he grew blind, deaf and dumb, 
 Tho his sport, twere hard to keep from it, 
 Quite tired of life, bid adieu to his wife, 
 And blazed like the tail of a comet, brave boys. 
 
 20. 
 
 What country on earth, then, did ever give birth 
 To such a magnanimous saint? 
 His acts far excel all that history tell, 
 And language too feeble to paint, my brave boys. 
 
 21. 
 
 Now, to finish my song, a full flowing bowl 
 I ll quaff, and sing all the long day, 
 And with punch and wine paint my cheeks for my saint, 
 And hail ev ry First of sweet May, my brave boys. 
 
 DICK. What a seraphic voice ! how it enlivens my soul ! Come 
 away, away, Roger, the moments are precious. 
 
 [Exeunt DICK and ROGER. 
 
 SCENE VII. In a chamber, near Boston, the morning after the 
 battle of Bunkers-Hill. 
 
 CLARISSA. How lovely is this new-born day! The sun rises 
 with uncommon radiance after the most gloomy night my wearied 
 eyes ever knew. The voice of slumber was not heard the angel 
 of sleep was fled and the awful whispers of solemnity and 
 silence prevented my eye-lids from closing. No wonder the 
 terrors and ideas of yesterday such a scene of war of tumult 
 hurry and hubbub of horror and destruction the direful noise 
 of conflict the dismal hissing of iron shot in volleys flying 
 such bellowing of mortars such thund ring of cannon such 
 roaring of musketry and such clashing of swords and bayonets 
 such cries of the wounded and such streams of blood such a 
 noise and crush of houses, steeples, and whole streets of desolate 
 Charlestown falling pillars of fire, and the convulsed vortex 
 of fiery flakes, rolling in flaming wreaths in the air, in dreadful 
 combustion, seemed as tho the elements and whole earth were 
 envelop d in one general, eternal conflagration and total ruin, 
 and intermingled with black smoke, ascending, on the wings of 
 mourning, up to Heaven, seemed piteously to implore the Al- 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 325 
 
 mighty interposition to put a stop to such devastation, lest the 
 whole earth should be unpeopled in the unnatural conflict Too, 
 too much for female heroism to dwell upon But what are all 
 those to the terrors that filled my affrighted imagination the 
 last night? Dreams fancies evil bodings shadows, phan 
 toms and ghastly visions continually hovering around my pillow, 
 goading and harrowing my soul with the most terrific appear 
 ances, not imaginary, but real Am I awake? Where are the 
 British murderers? where s my husband? my son? my 
 brother? Something more than human tells me all is not well: 
 If they are among the slain, tis impossible. I Oh! [She cries.] 
 
 Enter a NEIGHBOUR [a spectator of the battle]. 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. Madam, grieve not so much. 
 
 CLARISSA. Am I wont to grieve without a cause? Wou d 
 to God I did; mock me not What voice is that? methinks I 
 know it some angel sent to comfort me? welcome then. [She 
 turns about.] Oh, my Neighbour, is it you? My friend, I have 
 need of comfort. Hast thou any for me? say will you not 
 speak? Where s my husband? my son? my brother? Hast 
 thou seen them since the battle? Oh! bring me not unwelcome 
 tidings! [Cries.] 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. [Aside. What shall I say ?] Madam, I beheld 
 them yesterday from an eminence. 
 
 CLARISSA. Upon that very eminence was I. What then? 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. I saw the brave man Warren, your son and 
 brother. 
 
 CLARISSA. What? O ye gods! Speak on friend stop what 
 saw ye? 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. In the midst of the tempest of war 
 
 CLARISSA. Where are they now? That I saw too What is 
 all this? 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. Madam, hear me 
 
 CLARISSA. Then say on yet Oh, his looks! I fear! 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. When General Putnam bid the vanguard open 
 their front to the 
 
 CLARISSA. Oh, trifle not with |me dear Neighbour! where 
 shall I find them? say 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. [Aside. Heavens! must I tell her!] Madam, be 
 patient right and left, that all may see who hate us, we are 
 prepar d for them 
 
326 Representative Plays 
 
 CLARISSA. What then? Can you find em? 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. I saw Warren and the other two heroes firm as 
 Roxbury stand the shock of the enemy s fiercest attacks, and 
 twice put to flight their boasted phalanx. 
 
 CLARISSA. All that I saw, and more; say wou d they not 
 come to me, were they well? 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. Madam, hear me 
 
 CLARISSA. Oh ! he will not speak. 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. The enemy return d to the charge, and stumbling 
 o er the dead and wounded bodies of their friends, Warren 
 received them with indissoluble firmness, and notwithstanding 
 their battalious aspect, in the midst of the battle, tho surrounded 
 with foes on ev ry side 
 
 CLARISSA. Oh, my Neighbour! 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. Madam his nervous arm, like a giant refresh d 
 with wine, hurl d destruction where er he came, breathing heroic 
 ardour to advent rous deeds, and long time in even scale the 
 battle hung, till at last death turn d pale and affrighted at the 
 carnage they ran 
 
 CLARISSA. W 7 ho ran? 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. The enemy, Madam, gave way 
 
 CLARISSA. Warren never ran yet oh! I wou d he had I 
 fear [Cries.] 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. I say not so, Madam. 
 
 CLARISSA. What say ye then? he was no coward, Neighbour 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. Brave to the last. [Aside. I forgot myself .] 
 
 CLARISSA. What said you? O Heavens! brave to the last! 
 those words why do you keep me thus? cruel 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. [Aside. She will know it. ] I say, Madam, by some 
 mistaken orders on our side, the enemy rallied and return d to 
 the charge with fresh numbers, and your husband, son, and 
 brother M adam 
 
 CLARISSA. Stop! O ye powers! What? say no more yet 
 let me hear keep me not thus tell me, I charge thee 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. [Aside. I can hold no longer, she must know it.] 
 Forgive me, Madam I saw them fall and Michael, the arch 
 angel, who vanquish d Satan, is not more immortal than they. 
 [Aside. Who can relate such woes without a tear?] 
 
 CLARISSA. Oh! I ve heard enough too too much [Cries.] 
 yet if thou hast worse to tell say on nought worse can be 
 O ye gods! cruel cruel thrice cruel cou d ye not leave 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 327 
 
 me one [She faints, and is caught by her friend, and placed 
 in a chair; he rings the bell, the family come in, and endeavour to 
 bring her to.] 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. With surprising fortitude she heard the melan 
 choly relation, until I came to the last close she then gave me 
 a mournful look, lifted up her eyes, and immediately sunk mo 
 tionless into my arms. 
 
 WOMAN. Poor soul ! no wonder how I sympathize with her 
 in her distress my tender bosom can scarcely bear the sight! 
 A dreadful loss! a most shocking scene it was, that brothers 
 should with brothers war, and in intestine fierce opposition meet, 
 to seek the blood of each other, like dogs for a bare bone, who so 
 oft in generous friendship and commerce join d, in festivals of 
 love and joy unanimous as the sons of one kind and indulgent 
 father, and separately would freely in a good cause spend their 
 blood and sacrifice their lives for him. 
 
 NEIGHBOUR. A terrible black day it was, and ever will be 
 remembered by New-England, when that vile Briton (unworthy 
 the name of a Briton), Lord Boston (curse the name!), whose 
 horrid murders stain American soil with blood ; perish his name ! 
 a fratricide! twas he who fir d Charlestown, and spread desola 
 tion, fire, flames and smoke in ev ry corner he was the wretch, 
 that waster of the world, that licens d robber, that blood-stain d 
 insulter of a free people, who bears the name of Lord Boston, 
 but from henceforth shall be called Cain, that pillag d the ruins, 
 and dragg d and murder d the infant, the aged and infirm 
 (But look, she recovers.) 
 
 CLARISSA. O ye angels! ye cherubims and seraphims! waft 
 their souls to bliss, bathe their wounds with angelic balsam, and 
 crown them with immortality. A faithful, loving and beloved 
 husband, a promising and filial son, a tender and affectionate 
 brother: Alas! what a loss! Whom have I now to comfort me? 
 What have I left, but the voice of lamentation: [She weeps.] 
 Ill-fated bullets these tears shall sustain me yes, ye dear 
 friends! how gladly wou d I follow you but alas! I must still 
 endure tribulation and inquietudes, from which you are now 
 exempt; I cannot cease to weep, ye brave men, I will mourn 
 your fall weep on flow, mine eyes, and wash away their 
 blood, till the fountain of sorrow is dried up but, oh! it never 
 never will my sympathetic soul shall dwell on your bosoms, 
 and floods of tears shall water your graves; and since all other 
 
328 Representative Plays 
 
 comfort is deny d me, deprive me not of the only consolation 
 left me of meditating on your virtues and dear memories, who 
 fell in defense of liberty and your country ye brave men ye 
 more than friends ye martyrs to liberty! This, this is all I 
 ask, till sorrow overwhelms me. I breathe my last; and ye 
 yourselves, your own bright spirits, come and waft me to your 
 peaceful abode, where the voice of lamentation is not heard, 
 neither shall we know any more what it is to separate. 
 
 Eager the patriot meets his desperate foe 
 
 With full intent to give the fatal blow; 
 
 The cause he fights for animates him high, 
 
 His wife, his children and his liberty: 
 
 For these he conquers, or more bravely dies, 
 
 And yields himself a willing sacrifice. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Near Norfolk, in Virginia, on board a man-of-war, 
 
 LORD KIDNAPPER, in the state-room; a boat appears rowing 
 
 towards the ship. 
 
 SAILOR and BOATSWAIN. 
 
 SAILOR. Boatswain ! 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Holla. 
 
 SAILOR. Damn my eyes, Mr. Boatswain, but here s a black 
 flag of truce coming on board. 
 <*J3OATSWAIN. Sure enough where are they from? 
 
 SAILOR. From hell, I suppose for they re as black as so 
 many devils. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Very well no matter they re recruits for the 
 Kidnapper. 
 V. SAILOR. We shall be all of a colour by and by damn me 
 
 BOATSWAIN. I ll go and inform his Lordship and his pair of 
 doxies of it; I suppose by this time they have trim d their sails, 
 and he s done heaving the log. [Exit BOATSWAIN. 
 
 SCENE II. Near the state-room. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Where s his Lordship? 
 
 SERVANT. He s in the state-room. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. It s time for him to turn out; tell him I want to 
 speak to him. 
 
 SERVANT. I dare not do it, Boatswain; it s more than my 
 life is worth. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 329 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Damn your squeamish stomach, go directly, 01 
 I ll go myself. 
 
 SERVANT. For God s sake! Boatswain 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Damn your eyes, you pimping son of a bitch, 
 go this instant, or I ll stick my knife in your gammons. 
 
 SERVANT. O Lord! Boatswain. [SERVANT goes.] 
 
 BOATSWAIN [solus]. What the devil keep a pimp guard 
 here, better station the son of a bitch at the mast head, to keep 
 a look out there, lest Admiral Hopkins be upon us. 
 Enter KIDNAPPER. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. What s your will, Boatswain? 
 
 BOATSWAIN. I beg your Lordship s pardon [Aside, But you 
 can soon fetch up Leeway, and spread the water sail again.], please 
 your honour, here s a boat full of fine recruits along side for you. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Recruits, Boatswain? you mean soldiers from 
 Augustine, I imagine; what reg mentals have they on? 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Mourning, please your honour, and as black as 
 our tarpawling. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Ha, ha, well, well, take em on board, Boatswain, 
 I ll be on deck presently. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. With submission to your honour, d ye see, 
 [Scratching his head.] I think we have gallows-looking dogs 
 enough on board already the scrapings of Newgate, and the 
 refuse of Tyburn, and when the wind blows aft, damn em, they 
 stink like polecats but d ye see, as your honour pleases, with 
 submission, if it s Lord Paramount s orders, why it must be so, 
 I suppose but I ve done my duty, d ye see 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Ha, ha, the work must be done, Boatswain, no 
 matter by whom. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Why, aye, that s true, please your honour, any 
 port in a storm if a man is to be hang d, or have his throat cut, 
 d ye see who are so fit to do it as his own slaves? especially as 
 they re to have their freedoms for it; nobody can blame em, 
 nor your honour neither, for you get them for half price, or 
 nothing at all, d ye see me, and that will help to lessen poor 
 Owld England s taxes, and when you have done with em here, 
 and they get their brains knock d out, d ye see, your honour can 
 sell them in the West-Indies, and that will be something in your 
 honour s pocket, d ye see well, ev ry man to his trade but, 
 damn my impudence for all, I see your honour knows all about 
 it d ye see. [Exit BOATSWAIN. 
 
33O Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE III. LORD KIDNAPPER returns to his state-room; the 
 BOATSWAIN comes on deck and pipes. 
 
 All hands ahoy hand a rope, some of you Tories, forward 
 there, for his worship s reg ment of black guards to come aboard. 
 
 Enter NEGROES. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Your humble servant, Gentlemen, I suppose 
 you want to see Lord Kidnapper? Clear the gangway there of 
 them Tyburn tulips. Please to walk aft, brother soldiers, that s 
 the fittest birth for you, the Kidnapper s in the state-room, he ll 
 hoist his sheet-anchor presently, he ll be up in a jifftn as soon 
 as he has made fast the end of his small rope athwart Jenny 
 Bluegarter and Kate Common s stern posts. 
 
 FIRST SAILOR. Damn my eyes, but I suppose, messmate, we 
 must bundle out of our hammocks this cold weather, to make 
 room for these black regulars to stow in, tumble upon deck, and 
 choose a soft berth among the snow? 
 
 SECOND SAILOR. Blast em, if they come within a cable s length 
 of my hammock, I ll kick em to hell through one of the gun ports. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Come, come, brothers, don t be angry, I suppose 
 we shall soon be in a warmer latitude the Kidnapper seems as 
 fond of these black regulars (as you call em, Jack) as he is of the 
 brace of whores below; but as they come in so damn d slow, I ll 
 put him in the humour of sending part of the fleet this winter to 
 the coast of Guinea, and beat up for volunteers, there he ll get 
 recruits enough for a hogshead or two of New-England rum, and 
 a few owld pipe-shanks, and save poor Owld-England the trouble 
 and expense of clothing them in the bargain. 
 
 FIRST SAILOR. Aye, Boatswain, any voyage, so it s a warm 
 one if it s to hell itself for I m sure the devil must be better 
 off than we, if we are to stay here this winter. 
 
 SECOND SAILOR. Any voyage, so it s to the southward, rather 
 than stay here at lazy anchor no fire, nothing to eat or drink, 
 but suck our frosty fists like bears, unless we turn sheep-stealers 
 again, and get our brains knock d out. Eigh, master cook, you re 
 a gentleman now nothing to do grown so proud, you won t 
 speak to poor folks, I suppose? 
 
 COOK. The devil may cook for em for me if I had any thing 
 to cook a parcel of frozen half-starv d dogs. I should never 
 be able to keep em out of the cook room, or their noses out of 
 the slush-tub. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 331 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Damn your old smoky jaws, you re better off 
 than any man aboard, your trouble will be nothing, for I sup 
 pose they ll be disbursted in different messes among the Tories, 
 and it s only putting on the big pot, cockey. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 COOK. What signifies, Mr. Boatswain, the big pot or the 
 little pot, if there s nothing to cook? no fire, coal or wood to cook 
 with? Blast my eyes, Mr. Boatswain, if I disgrease myself so 
 much, I have had the honour, damn me (tho I say it that 
 shou dn t say it) to be chief cook of a seventy-four gun ship, on 
 board of which was Lord Abel -Marl and Admiral Poke- Cock. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Damn the liars old singe-the-devil you chief 
 cook of a seventy-four gun ship, eigh? you the devil, you re as 
 proud as hell, for all you look as old as Matheg lum, hand a pair 
 of silk stockings for our cook here, d ye see lash a handspike 
 athwart his arse, get a ladle full of slush and a handful of brim 
 stone for his hair, and step one of you Tories there for the devil s 
 barber to come and shave and dress him. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 COOK. No, Mr. Boatswain, it s not pride but look e (as I 
 said before), I ll not disgrease my station, I ll throw up my com 
 mission, before I ll stand cook for a parcel of scape gallows, con 
 vict Tory dogs and run-away Negroes. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. What s that you say? Take care, old frosty 
 face What? do you accuse his worship of turning kidnapper, 
 and harbouring run-away Negroes? Softly, or you ll be taken 
 up for a Whig, and get a handsome coat of slush and hog s feathers 
 for a christmas-box, cockey : Throw up your commission, eigh? 
 throw up the pot-halliards, you mean, old piss- to- wind ward? 
 Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 COOK. I tell you, Mr. Boatswain I 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Come, come, give us a chaw of tobacco, Cook 
 blast your eyes, don t take any pride in what I say I m only 
 joking, d ye see 
 
 COOK. Well, but Mr. Boatswain 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Come, avast, belay the lanyards of your jaws, 
 and let s have no more of it, d ye see. [BOATSWAIN pipes. ] Make 
 fast that boat along side there. [Exeunt ev ry man to his station. 
 
 SCENE IV. LORD KIDNAPPER comes up on the quarter-deck. 
 KIDNAPPER. Well, my brave blacks, are you come to list? 
 CUDJO. Eas, massa Lord, you preazee. 
 KIDNAPPER. How many are there of you? 
 
332 Representative Plays 
 
 CUDJO. Twenty-two, massa. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Very well, did you all run away from your 
 masters? 
 
 CUDJO. Eas, massa Lord, eb ry one, me too. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. That s clever; they have no right to make you 
 slaves, I wish all the Negroes wou d do the same, I ll make em 
 free what part did you come from? 
 
 CUDJO. Disse brack man, disse one, disse one, disse one, disse 
 one, come from Hamton, disse one, disse one, disse one, come 
 from Nawfok, me come from Nawfok too. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Very well, what was your master s name? 
 
 CUDJO. Me massa name Cunney Tomsee. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Colonel Thompson eigh? 
 
 CUDJO. Eas, massa, Cunney Tomsee. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Well then I ll make you a major and what s 
 your name? 
 
 CUDJO. Me massa cawra me Cudjo. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Cudjo? very good was you ever christened, 
 Cudjo? 
 
 CUDJO. No massa, me no crissen. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Well, then I ll christen "you you shall be called 
 Major Cudjo Thompson, and if you behave well, I ll soon make 
 yoifa greater man than your master, and if I find the rest of you 
 y behave well, I ll make you all officers, and after you have serv d 
 Lord Paramount a while, you shall have money in your pockets, 
 good clothes on your backs, and be as free as them white men 
 there. [Pointing forward to a parcel of Tories. ] 
 
 CUDJO. Tankee, massa, gaw bresse, massa Kidnap. 
 
 SAILOR. [Aside.] What a damn d big mouth that Cudjo 
 has as large as our main hatch-way 
 
 COOK. [Aside.] Aye, he s come to a wrong place to make a 
 good use of it it might stand some little chance at a Lord 
 Mayor s feast. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Now go forward, give em something to eat and 
 drink there. [Aside.] Poor devils, they look half starved and 
 naked like ourselves. 
 
 COOK. [Aside.] I don t know where the devil they ll get it; 
 the sight of that fellow s mouth is enough to breed a famine on 
 board, if there was not one already. 
 
 SAILOR. Aye, he d tumble plenty down his damn d guts and 
 swallow it, like Jones swallow d the whale. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 333 
 
 KIDNAPPER. To-morrow you shall have guns like them white 
 men Can you shoot some of them rebels ashore, Major Cudjo? 
 
 CUDJO. Eas, massa, me try. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Wou d you shoot your old master, the Colonel, 
 if you could see him? 
 
 CUDJO. Eas, massa, you terra me, me shoot him down dead. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. That s a brave fellow damn em down with 
 J them all shoot all the damn d rebels. 
 
 " SERJEANT. [Aside.] Brave fellows indeed! 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Serjeant! 
 
 SERJEANT. I wait your Lordship s commands. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Serjeant, to-morrow begin to teach those black 
 recruits the exercise, and when they have learn d sufficiently 
 well to load and fire, then incorporate them among the regulars 
 and the other Whites on board ; we shall in a few days have some 
 work for em, I expect be as expeditious as possible. [Aside to 
 him.] Set a guard over them every night, and take their arms 
 from them, for who knows but they may cut our throats. 
 
 SERJEANT. Very true, My Lord, I shall take particular care. 
 [Exit KIDNAPPER ; SERJEANT and NEGROES walk forward. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 SERJEANT. Damn em, I d rather see half their weight in beef. 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Aye, curse their stomachs, or mutton either; then 
 our Cook wou dn t be so damn d lazy as he is, strutting about 
 the deck like a nobleman, receiving Paramount s pay for nothing. 
 
 SERJEANT. Walk faster, damn your black heads. I suppose, 
 Boatswain, when this hell-cat reg ment s complete, they ll be 
 reviewed in Hyde park? 
 
 BOATSWAIN. Aye, blast my eyes, and our Chaplain with his 
 dirty black gown, or our Cook, shall be their general, and review 
 em, for he talks of throwing up his pot-halliards commission, in 
 hopes of it. 
 
 SERJEANT. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 COOK. I d see the devil have em first. 
 
 [Exeunt SERJEANT, fife. 
 
 SCENE VI. In the cabin. 
 
 LORD KIDNAPPER, CAPTAIN SQUIRES, and CHAPLAIN. 
 KIDNAPPER. These blacks are no small acquisition, them and 
 the Tories we have on board will strengthen us vastly; the 
 
334 Representative Plays 
 
 thoughts of emancipation will make em brave, and the encour 
 agement given them by my proclamation, will greatly intimidate 
 the rebels internal enemies are worse than open foes. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. Very true, My Lord ; David prayed that he might 
 be preserved from secret enemies. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Aye, so I ve heard, but I look upon this to be a 
 grand manreuvre in politics; this is making dog eat dog thief 
 catch thief the servant against his master rebel against rebel 
 what think you of that, parson? 
 
 CHAPLAIN. A house divided thus against itself cannot stand, 
 according to scripture My Lord, your observation is truly 
 scriptural. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Scripture? poh, poh I ve nothing to do with 
 scripture I mean politically, parson. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. I know it very well; sure, My Lord, I understand 
 you perfectly. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Faith that s all I care for; if we can stand our 
 ground this winter, and burn all their towns that are accessible 
 to our ships, and Colonel Connolly succeeds in his plan, there s 
 not the least doubt but we shall have supplies from England very 
 early in the spring, which I have wrote for; then, in conjunction 
 with Connolly, we shall be able to make a descent where we 
 please, and drive the rebels like hogs into a pen. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. And then gather them (as the scriptures say) as 
 a hen gathereth her chickens. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. True, Mr. Scripture. 
 
 CAPTAIN SQUIRES. Very good, but you must take care of the 
 hawks. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. What do you mean by the hawks, Captain? 
 
 CAPTAIN SQUIRES. I mean the shirt-men, the rifle-men, My Lord. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Aye, damn em, hawks indeed; they are cursed 
 dogs; a man is never safe where they are, but I ll take care to be 
 out of their reach, let others take their chance, for I see they 
 have no respect to persons I suppose they wou d shoot at me, 
 if I were within their reach. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. Undoubtedly, they would be more fond of you 
 than of a wild turkey; a parcel of ignorant, unmannerly rascals, 
 they pay no more respect to a Lord than they wou d to a devil. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. The scoundrels are grown so damn d impudent 
 too, that one can scarcely get a roasting pig now-a-days, but I ll 
 be even with some of em by and by. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 335 
 
 CHAPLAIN. I hope we shall get something good for our Christ 
 mas dinner so much abstinence and involuntary mortification, 
 cannot be good for the soul a war in the body corporal is of 
 more dangerous consequence than a civil war to the state, or 
 heresy and schism to the church. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Very true, parson very true now I like your 
 doctrine a full belly is better than an empty sermon; preach 
 that doctrine; stick to that text, and you ll not fail of making 
 converts. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. The wisest of men said, there is nothing better, 
 than that a man should enjoy that which he hath, namely, eat, 
 drink, and be merry, if he can. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. You re very right Solomon was no fool, they 
 say [He sings.] 
 
 Give me a charming lass, Twangdillo cries, 
 I know no pleasure, but love s sweet joys. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. [Sings.] 
 
 Give me the bottle, says the red face sot, 
 
 For a whore Pd not give six-pence, not a groat. 
 
 Yet two is better than one, my Lord, for the scriptures further 
 say, if one be alone, how can there be heat? You seem to be 
 converted to that belief, for you have a brace of them, as the 
 Boatswain says. 
 
 KIDNAPPER. Ha, ha. It s a pity but you were a bishop, you 
 have the scriptures so pat now I ll go and take a short nap, 
 meanwhile; Captain, if any thing new happens, pray order my 
 servant to wake me. 
 
 CAPTAIN SQUIRES. I will, my Lord. [Exit KIDNAPPER. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. And you and I ll crack a bottle, Captain; (bring 
 a bottle, boy!) tis bad enough to perish by famine, but ten 
 thousand times worse to be chok d for want of moisture. His 
 Lordship and two more make three; and you and I and the 
 bottle make three more, and a three-fold cord is not easily broken; 
 so we re even with him. 
 
 CAPTAIN SQUIRES. With all my heart. Boy, bear a hand! 
 
 TOM. Coming, sir. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. Tom, Tom! make haste, you scoundrel! fetch 
 two bottles. I think we can manage it. 
 
336 Representative Plays 
 
 Enter TOM with the bottles. 
 
 CHAPLAIN. That s right, Tom. Now bring the glasses, and 
 shut the door after you. [Exit TOM. 
 
 SCENE VII. In Boston. A council of war after 
 
 the battle of Bunker s-Hill. 
 
 LORD BOSTON, ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE, ELBOW ROOM, 
 MR. CAPER, GENERAL CLINTON, EARL PERCY. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. I fully expected, with the help of the last 
 reinforcement you brought me over, and the advice and assistance 
 of three accomplish d and experienc d Generals, I should have 
 been able to have subdued the rebels, and gain d immortal laurels 
 to myself have return d to Old England like a Roman Consul, 
 with a score or two of the rebel Generals, Colonels and Majors, 
 to have grac d my triumph. 
 
 ELBOW ROOM. You have been vastly disappointed, sir you 
 must not look for laurels (unless wild ones) nor expect triumphs 
 (unless sham ones) from your own victories or conquests in 
 America. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. And yet, not more disappointed than you, sir 
 witness your thrasonical speeches on your first landing, provided 
 you had but elbow room and Mr. Caper too, to bring over 
 Monsieur Rigadoon, the dancing-master, and Signor Rosin, 
 the fiddler forsooth; he thought, no doubt, to have country 
 danc d the rebels out of their liberty with some of his new cuts 
 with his soft music to have fascinated their wives and daughters, 
 and with some of em, no doubt, to have taken the tour of 
 America, with his reg ment of fine, sleek, prancing horses, that 
 have been feeding this six months on codfish tails; he thought 
 to have grown fat with feasting, dancing, and drinking tea with 
 the Ladies, instead of being the skeleton he now appears to be 
 not to mention any thing of his letter, wherein he laments Tom s 
 absence; for 1 "had Tom been with him (he says) he wou d have 
 been out of danger, and quite secure from the enemy s shot." 
 
 PERCY. I think, Gentlemen, we re even with you now; you 
 have had your mirth and frolic with us, for dancing "Yankee 
 Doodle," as you called it, from Lexington. I find you have 
 had a severer dance, a brave sweat at Bunker s Hill, and have 
 been obliged to pay the fiddler in the bargain. 
 
 1 See Burgoyne s letter. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 337 
 
 CLINTON. However, Gentlemen, I approve (at proper seasons) 
 of a little joking, yet I can by no means think (as we have had 
 such bad success with our crackers) that this is a proper time to 
 throw your squibs. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. I grant you, sir, this is a very improper time 
 for joking; for my part, I was only speaking as to my own 
 thoughts, when Mr. Elbow Room made remarks, which he might 
 as well have spared. 
 
 ELBOW ROOM. I took you, sir, as meaning a reflection upon 
 us for our late great loss, and particularly to myself, for expressing 
 some surprise on our first landing, that you should suffer a parcel 
 of ignorant peasants to drive you before em like sheep from 
 Lexington ; and I must own I was a little chagrin d at your seem 
 ing so unconcern d at such an affair as this (which had nearly 
 prov d our ruin), by your innuendoes and ironical talk of accom- 
 plish d Generals, Roman Consuls and triumphs. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. My mentioning accomplished Generals, surely, 
 sir, was rather a compliment to you. 
 
 ELBOW ROOM. When irony pass current for compliments, 
 and we take it so, I shall have no objection to it. 
 
 MR. CAPER. The affair of Lexington, My Lord Boston, at 
 which you were so much affrighted (if I am rightly inform d), 
 was because you then stood on your own bottom, this of Bunker s 
 Hill you seem secretly to rejoice at, only because you have three 
 accomplish d and experienc d Generals to share the disgrace with 
 you, besides the brave Admiral Tombstone you talk of dancing 
 and fiddling, and yet you do neither, as I see. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. And pray, sir, what did you do with the com 
 mission, the post, the Duke of Grafton gave you, in lieu of your 
 losses at Preston election, and the expenses of your trial at the 
 king s bench for a riot, which had emptied your pockets? Why 
 you sold it you sold it, sir to raise cash to gamble with. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Damn it, don t let us kick up a dust 
 among ourselves, to be laugh d at fore and aft this is a hell of 
 a council of war though I believe it will turn out one before 
 we ve done a scolding and quarrelling like a parcel of damn d 
 butter whores I never heard two whores yet scold and quarrel, 
 but they got to fighting at last. 
 
 CLINTON. Pray, Gentlemen, drop this discourse, consider the 
 honour of England is at stake, and our own safety depends upon 
 this day s consultation. 
 
338 Representative Plays 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Tis not for argument s sake but the dignity 
 of my station requires others should give up first. 
 
 ELBOW ROOM. Sir, I have done, lest you should also accuse 
 me of obstructing the proceedings of the council of war. 
 
 MR. CAPER. For the same reason I drop it now. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Well, Gentlemen, what are we met here for? 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Who the devil shou d know, if you 
 don t? damn it, didn t you send for us? 
 
 LORD BOSTON. Our late great loss of men has tore up the 
 foundation of our plan, and render d all further attempts imprac 
 ticable t will be a long time ere we can expect any more rein 
 forcements and if they should arrive, I m doubtful of their 
 success. 
 
 CLINTON. The provincials are vastly strong, and seem no 
 novices in the art of war; tis true we gain d the hill at last, 
 but of what advantage is it to us? none the loss of 1400 as 
 brave men as Britain can boast of, is a melancholy consideration, 
 and must make our most sanguinary friends in England abate 
 of their vigour. 
 
 ELBOW ROOM. I never saw or read of any battle equal to it 
 never was more martial courage display d, and the provincials, 
 to do the dogs justice, fought like heroes, fought indeed more like 
 devils than men; such carnage and destruction not exceeded by 
 Blenheim, Minden, Fontenoy, Ramillies, Dettingen, the battle 
 of the Boyne, and the late affair of the Spaniards and Algerines 
 a mere cock-fight to it no laurels there. 
 
 MR. CAPER. No, nor triumphs neither I regret in particular 
 the number of brave officers that fell that day, many of whom 
 were of the first families in England. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Aye, a damn d affair indeed many 
 powder d beaus petit maitres fops fribbles skip jacks 
 macaronies jack puddings noblemen s bastards and whores 
 sons fell that day and my poor marines stood no more chance 
 with em than a cat in hell without claws. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. It can t be help d, Admiral ; what is to be done 
 next? 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Done? why, what the devil have you 
 done? nothing yet, but eat Paramount s beef, and steal a few 
 Yankee sheep and that, it seems, is now become a damn d 
 lousy, beggarly trade too, for you hav n t left yourselves a mouth 
 ful to eat. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 339 
 
 [Aside.] "Bold at the council board, 
 
 But cautious in the field, he shunn d the sword. " 
 
 LORD BOSTON. But what can we do, Admiral? 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Do? why, suck your paws that s all 
 you re like to get. {Aside.} But avast, I must bowse taught 
 there, or we shall get to loggerheads soon, we re such damn d 
 fighting fellows. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. We must act on the defensive this winter, till 
 reinforcements arrive. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Defensive? aye, aye if we can defend 
 our bellies from hunger, and prevent a mutiny and civil war 
 among the small guts there this winter, we shall make a glorious 
 campaign of it, indeed it will read well in the American Chroni 
 cles. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. I expect to be recalled this winter, when I shall 
 lay the case before Lord Paramount, and let him know your 
 deplorable situation. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Aye, do and lay it behind him too; 
 you ve got the weather-gage of us this tack, messmate; but I 
 wish you a good voyage for all and don t forget to tell him, the 
 poor worms are starving too, having nothing to eat, but half 
 starv d dead soldiers and the ships bottoms. |yljfe.] A cun 
 ning old fox, he s gnaw d his way handsomely out of the Boston 
 cage but he ll never be a wolf, for all that. 
 
 MR. CAPER. I shall desire to be recalled too I ve not been 
 us d to such fare and not the least diversion or entertainment 
 of any sort going forward here I neither can nor will put up 
 with it. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. I think we re all a parcel of damn d 
 boobies for coming three thousand miles upon a wild-goose chase 
 to perish with cold starve with hunger get our brains 
 knock d out, or be hang d for sheep-stealing and robbing hen 
 roosts. 
 
 LORD BOSTON. I think, Admiral, you re always grumbling 
 never satisfied. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. Satisfied? I see no appearance of it 
 we have been here these twelve hours, scolding upon empty 
 stomachs you may call it a council of war (and so it is indeed, 
 a war with the guts) or what you will but I call it a council of 
 famine. 
 
34-O Representative Plays 
 
 LORD BOSTON. As it s so late, Gentlemen, we ll adjourn the 
 council of war till to-morrow at nine o clock I hope you ll all 
 attend, and come to a conclusion. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOMBSTONE. And I hope you ll then conclude to 
 favour us with one of them fine turkeys you re keeping for your 
 sea store [Aside.] or that fine, fat, black pig you or some of your 
 guard stole out of the poor Negroe s pen. As it s near Christmas, 
 and you re going to make your exit you know the old custom 
 among the sailors pave your way first let us have one good 
 dinner before we part, and leave us half a dozen pipes of Mr. 
 Hancock s wine to drink your health, and a good voyage, and 
 don t let us part with dry lips. 
 
 Such foolish councils, with no wisdom fraught, 
 Must end in wordy words, and come to nought; 
 Just like St. James s, where they bluster, scold, 
 They nothing know yet they despise being told. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. At Montreal. 
 GENERAL PRESCOT and OFFICER. 
 
 GENERAL PRESCOT. 
 
 So it seems indeed, one misfortune seldom comes alone. 
 The rebels, after the taking of Ticonderoga and Chamblee, 
 as I just now learn by a Savage, marched immediately to besiege 
 St. John s, and are now before that place, closely investing it, and 
 no doubt intend paying us a visit soon. 
 
 OFFICER. Say you so? then tis time to look about us. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. They ll find us prepar d, I ll warrant em, 
 to give em such a reception as they little dream of a parcel of 
 Yankee dogs. 
 
 OFFICER. Their success, no doubt, has elated them, and 
 given em hopes of conquering all Canada soon, if that s their 
 intent. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. No doubt it is but I ll check their career 
 a little. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 341 
 
 Enter SCOUTING OFFICER, with COLONEL ALLEN, 
 and other prisoners. 
 
 SCOUTING OFFICER. Sir, I make bold to present you with a 
 few prisoners they are a scouting detachment from the army 
 besieging St. John s. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Prisoners? Rebels, I suppose, and scarcely 
 worth hanging. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Sir, you suppose wrong you mean scarcely 
 worth your while to attempt. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Pray, who are you, sir? 
 
 COL. ALLEN. A man, sir, and who had the honour, till now, 
 to command those brave men, whom you call rebels. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. What is your name? If I may be so bold? 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Allen. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Allen? 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Yes, Allen. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Are you that Allen, that Colonel Allen (as 
 they call him) that dar d to take Ticonderoga? 
 
 COL. ALLEN. The same the very man. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Then rebels you are, and as such I shall treat 
 you, for daring to oppose Lord Paramount s troops, and the laws 
 of the land. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Prisoners we are, tis true but we despise the 
 name of a rebel With more propriety that name is applicable 
 to your master tis he who attempts to destroy the laws of the 
 land, not us we mean to support them, and defend our property 
 against Paramount s and parliamentary tyranny. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. To answer you were a poorness of spirit I 
 despise; when rebels dare accuse, power that replies, forgets 
 to punish; I am not to argue that point with you: And let me 
 tell you, sir, whoever you are, it now ill becomes you thus to talk 
 You re my prisoner your life is in my hands, and you shall 
 suffer immediately Guards! take them away. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Cruel insult! pardon these brave men! what 
 they have done has been by my orders I am the only guilty 
 person (if guilt there be), let me alone suffer for them all. [Open 
 ing his breast.] Here! take your revenge Why do you hesi 
 tate? Will you not strike a breast that ne er will flinch from 
 your pointed bayonet? 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Provoke me not Remember you re my 
 prisoners. 
 
34 2 Representative Plays 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Our souls are free! Strike, cowards, strike! 
 I scorn to beg my life. 
 
 GEN. PRESCOT. Guards! away with them I ll reserve you 
 for a more ignominious death your fate is fix d away with 
 them. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. [Going off.] Be glutted, ye thirsters after human 
 blood Come, see me suffer mark my eye, and scorn me, if my 
 expiring soul confesses fear Come, see and be taught virtue, 
 and to die as a patriot for the wrongs of my country. 
 
 [Exeunt PRISONERS and GUARDS. 
 
 SCENE II. A Dungeon. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. What! ye infernal monsters! murder us in the 
 dark? What place is this? Who reigns king of these gloomy 
 mansions? You might favour us at least with one spark of light 
 Ye cannot see to do your business here. 
 
 OFFICER. Tis our orders. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Ye dear, ye brave, wretched friends! now 
 would I die for ye all ye share a death I wou d gladly excuse 
 you from Tis not death I fear this is only bodily death but 
 to die noteless in the silent dark, is to die scorn d, and shame our 
 suff ring country we fall undignify d by villains hands a 
 sacrifice to Britain s outcast blood-hounds This, this shakes the 
 soul! Come then, ye murderers, since it must be so do your 
 business speedily Farewell, my friends! to die with you is now 
 my noblest claim since to die for you was a choice deny d What 
 are ye about? Stand off, ye wretches! 
 
 OFFICER. I am order d to lay you in irons. [They seize him.] 
 You must submit. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. What, do you mean to torture us to death with 
 chains, racks and gibbets? rather despatch us immediately Ye 
 executioners, ye inquisitors, does this cruelty proceed from the 
 lenity I shewed to the prisoners I took? Did it offend you that I 
 treated them with friendship, generosity, honour and humanity? 
 If it did, our sufferings will redound more to our honour, and 
 our fall be the more glorious But remember, this fall will prove 
 your own one day Wretches ! I fear you not, do your worst ; and 
 while I here lay suff ring and chain d on my back to the damp 
 floor, I ll yet pray for your conversion. 
 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 343 
 
 OFFICER. Excuse us, we have only obey d our order. 
 
 COL. ALLEN. Then I forgive you; but pray execute them. 
 
 Oh! my lost friends! tis liberty, not breath, 
 Gives the brave life. Shun slavery more than death. 
 He who spurns fear, and dares disdain to be, 
 Mocks chains and wrongs and is forever free; 
 While the base coward, never safe, tho* low, 
 Creeps but to sufferings, and lives on for woe! 
 
 [Exeunt GUARDS. 
 
 SCENE III. In the Camp at Cambridge. 
 GENERAL WASHINGTON, GENERAL LEE, and GENERAL PUTNAM. 
 
 GENERAL WASHINGTON. 
 
 Our accounts from the Northward, so far, are very favourable; 
 Ticonderoga, Chamblee, St. John s and Montreal our troops are 
 already in possession of and Colonel Arnold, having penetrated 
 Canada, after suff ring much thro cold, fatigue and want of pro 
 visions, is now before Quebec, and General Montgomery, I un 
 derstand, is in full march to join him ; see these letters. [They read. 
 
 GEN. LEE. The brave, the intrepid Arnold, with his handful 
 of fearless troops, have dar d beyond the strength of mortals 
 Their courage smil d at doubts, and resolutely march d on, 
 clamb ring (to all but themselves) insurmountable precipices, 
 whose tops, covered with ice and snow, lay hid in the clouds, 
 and dragging baggage, provisions, ammunition and artillery 
 along with them, by main strength, in the dead of winter, over 
 such stupendous and amazing heights, seems almost unparal- 
 lelled in history! Tis true, Hannibal s march over the Alps 
 comes the nearest to it it was a surprising undertaking, but 
 when compar d to this, appears but as a party of pleasure, an 
 agreeable walk, a sabbath day s journey. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Posterity will stand amazed, and be aston- 
 ish d at the heroes of this new world, that the spirit of patriotism 
 should blaze to such a height, and eclipse all others, should out 
 brave fatigue, danger, pain, peril, famine and even death itself, 
 to serve their country; that they should march, at this inclement 
 season, thro long and dreary deserts, thro* the remotest wilds, 
 covered with swamps and standing lakes, beset with trees, bushes 
 and briars, impervious to the cheering rays of the sun, where are 
 
344 Representative Plays 
 
 no traces or vestiges of human footsteps, wild, untrodden paths, 
 that strike terror into the fiercest of the brute creation. 
 
 No bird of song to cheer the gloomy desert! 
 No animals of gentle love s enliven! 
 
 GEN. LEE. Let Britons do the like no they dare not 
 attempt it let em call forth the Hanoverian, the Hessian, the 
 hardy Ruffian, or, if they will, the wild Cossacks and Kalmucks 
 of Tartary, and they would tremble at the thought! And who 
 but Americans dare undertake it? The wond ring moon and 
 stars stood aloof, and turn d pale at the sight! 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. I rejoice to hear the Canadians received 
 them kindly, after their fatigue furnish d them with the neces 
 saries of life, and otherways treated them very humanely And 
 the savages, whose hair stood on end, and look d and listen d 
 with horror and astonishment at the relation of the fatigues and 
 perils they underwent, commiserated them, and afforded all 
 the succour in their power. 
 
 GEN. LEE. The friendship of the Canadians and Savages, or 
 even their neutrality alone, are favourable circumstances that 
 cannot fail to hearten our men; and the junction of General 
 Montgomery will inspire em with fresh ardour. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Heavens prosper em! 
 
 Enter OFFICER and EXPRESS. 
 
 OFFICER. Sir, here s an Express. 
 
 EXPRESS. I have letters to your Excellency. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. From whence? 
 
 EXPRESS. From Canada, sir. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. From the army? 
 
 EXPRESS. From the headquarters, sir. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. I hope matters go well there. Had 
 General Montgomery join d Colonel Arnold when you left it? 
 
 EXPRESS. He had, sir these letters are from both those 
 gentlemen. [Gives him the letters. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Very well. You may now withdraw and 
 refresh yourself, unless you ve further to say I ll dispatch you 
 shortly. 
 
 EXPRESS. Nothing further, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt OFFICER and EXPRESS. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 345 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. [Opens and reads the letter to GENERALS 
 LEE and PUTNAM. ] I am well pleased with their contents all but 
 the behaviour of the haughty Carleton to fire upon a flag of 
 truce, hitherto unprecedented, even amongst Savages or Alge- 
 rines his cruelty to the prisoners is cowardly, and personal ill 
 treatment of General Montgomery is unbecoming a General a 
 soldier and beneath a Gentleman and leaves an indelible mark 
 of brutality I hope General Montgomery, however, will not 
 follow his example. 
 
 GEN. LEE. I hope so too, sir if it can be avoided; it s a 
 disgrace to the soldier, and a scandal to the Gentleman so long 
 as I ve been a soldier, my experience has not furnish d me with a 
 like instance. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. I see no reason why he shou dn t be paid 
 in his own coin. If a man bruises my heel, I ll break his 
 head I cannot see the reason or propriety of bearing with 
 their insults does he not know it s in our power to retaliate 
 fourfold? 
 
 GEN. LEE. Let s be good natur d, General let us see a little 
 more of it first 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. I think we have seen enough of it already for 
 this twelve-months past. Methinks the behaviour of Lord 
 Boston, the ill treatment of poor Allen, to be thrown into a 
 loathsome dungeon like a murderer, be loaded with irons, and 
 transported like a convict, would sufficiently rouse us to a just 
 retaliation that imperious red coat, Carleton, should be taught 
 good manners I hope to see him ere long in our College at 
 Cambridge 
 
 GEN. LEE. I doubt; he ll be too cunning, and play truant 
 he has no notion of learning American manners; ev ry dog 
 must have his day (as the saying is) ; it may be our time by and 
 by the event of war is uncertain 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Very true, sir; but don t let us be laugh d at 
 forever. 
 
 Enter an OFFICER in haste. 
 
 OFFICER. Sir, a messenger this moment from Quebec waits 
 to be admitted. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Let him enter. [Exit OFFICER. 
 
 Enter MESSENGER. 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. What news bring you? 
 
346 Representative Plays 
 
 MESSENGER. I am sorry, sir, to be the bearer of an unpleasing 
 tale 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Bad news have you? have you letters? 
 
 MESSENGER. None, sir I came off at a moment s warning 
 my message is verbal. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Then relate what you know. 
 
 MESSENGER. After the arrival and junction of General Mont 
 gomery s troops with Colonel Arnold s, Carleton was summoned 
 to surrender; he disdaining any answer, fir d on the flag of 
 truce 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. That we have heard go on. 
 
 MESSENGER. The General finding no breach could be effected 
 in any reasonable time, their walls being vastly strong, and his 
 cannon rather light, determined to attempt it by storm The 
 enemy were apprized of it however, he passed the first barrier, 
 and was attempting the second, where he was unfortunately 
 killed, with several other brave officers 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Is General Montgomery killed? 
 
 MESSENGER. He is certainly, sir. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. I am sorry for it a brave man I could 
 wish him a better fate! 
 
 GEN. LEE. I lament the loss of him a resolute soldier 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Pity such bravery should prove unsuccessful * 
 such merit unrewarded; but the irreversible decree of Provi 
 dence! who can gainsay? we may lament the loss of a 
 
 friend, but tis irreligious to murmur at pre-ordination. What 
 happ ned afterwards? 
 
 MESSENGER. The officer next in command, finding their 
 attacks at that time unsuccessful, retired in good order. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. What became of Colonel Arnold? 
 
 MESSENGER. Colonel Arnold, at the head of about three hun 
 dred and fifty brave troops, and Captain Lamb s company of 
 artillery, having in the mean time passed through St. Rocques, 
 attacked a battery, and carried it, tho well defended, with the 
 loss of some men 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. I hope they proved more successful. 
 
 GEN. LEE. Aye, let us hear. 
 
 MESSENGER. The Colonel about this time received a wound in 
 his leg, and was obliged to crawl as well as he cou d to the hospi 
 tal, thro the fire of the enemy, and within fifty yards of the walls, 
 but, thro Providence, escap d any further damage. 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 347 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Aye, providential indeed! 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Is he dangerously wounded? 
 
 MESSENGER. I am told not, sir. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. I am glad of it. What follow d? 
 
 MESSENGER. His brave troops pushed on to the second bar 
 rier, and took possession of it. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Very good proceed. 
 
 MESSENGER. A party of the enemy then sallying out from the 
 palace-gate, attacked them in the rear, whom they fought with 
 incredible bravery for three hours, and deeds of eternal fame 
 were done; but being surrounded on all sides, and overpowered 
 by numbers, were at last obliged to submit themselves as pris 
 oners of war. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Heav ns! could any thing prove more unlucky? 
 such brave fellows deserve better treatment than they ll get (I m 
 afraid) from the inhuman Carleton. 
 
 GEN. LEE. Such is the fortune of war, and the vicissitudes 
 attending a military life; to-day conquerors, to-morrow prisoners. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. He dares not treat them ill only as 
 prisoners. Did you learn how those brave fellows were treated? 
 
 MESSENGER. It was currently reported in the camp they 
 were treated very humanely. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. A change for the better. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Produc d by fear, no doubt from General 
 Montgomery s letter but no matter from what cause. 
 
 GEN. LEE. How far did the remainder of the army retire? 
 
 MESSENGER. About two miles from the city, where they are 
 posted very advantageously, continuing the blockade, and wait 
 ing for reinforcements. 
 
 GEN. LEE. Did the enemy shew any peculiar marks of dis 
 tinction to the corpse of General Montgomery? 
 
 MESSENGER. He was interred in Quebec, with ev ry possible 
 mark of distinction. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. What day did the affair happen on? 
 
 MESSENGER. On the last day of the year. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. A remarkable day! When was the Gen 
 eral interred? 
 
 MESSENGER. The second of January. 
 
 GEN. LEE. What number of men in the whole attack was 
 killed? did you learn? 
 
 MESSENGER. About sixtv killed and wounded. 
 
348 Representative Plays 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Have you any thing further to communi 
 cate? 
 
 MESSENGER. Nothing, sir, but to inform you they are all in 
 good spirits, and desire reinforcements, and heavy artillery may 
 be sent them as soon as possible. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. That be our business with all despatch. 
 You may for the present withdraw. Serjeant! 
 
 Enter SERJEANT. 
 
 SERJEANT. I wait your order, sir. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. See that the Messenger and his horse 
 want for nothing. 
 SERJEANT. I shall, sir. [Exeunt SERJEANT and MESSENGER. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. I ll despatch an Express to the Congress. 
 This repulse, if I mistake not (or victory, as Carleton may call 
 it), will stand em but in little stead twill be only a temporary 
 reprieve we ll reinforce our friends, let the consequence be 
 what it may Quebec must fall, and the lofty strong walls and 
 brazen gates (the shield of cowards) must tumble by an artificial 
 earthquake; should they continue in their obstinacy, we ll 
 arm our friends with missive thunders in their hands, and stream 
 death on them swifter than the winds. 
 
 GEN. LEE. I lament the loss of the valiant Montgomery and 
 his brave officers and soldiers (at this time more especially) tis 
 the fortune of war, tis unavoidable; yet, I doubt not, out of their 
 ashes will arise new heroes. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Who can die a more glorious, a more honour 
 able death than in their country s cause? let it redouble our 
 ardour, and kindle a noble emulation in our breasts let each 
 American be determined to conquer or die in a righteous cause. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. I have drawn my sword, and never will 
 I sheathe it, till America is free, or I m no more. 
 
 GEN. LEE. Peace is despaired of, and who can think of sub 
 mission? The last petition from the Congress, like the former, 
 has been disregarded; they prayed but for liberty, peace and 
 safety, and their omnipotent authoritative supreme-ships will 
 grant them neither: War, then, war open and understood, must 
 be resolved on ; this, this will humble their pride, will bring their 
 
The Fall of British Tyranny 349 
 
 tyrant noses to the ground, teach em humility, and force them to 
 hearken to reason when tis too late. My noble General, I join 
 you. [Drawing his sword.] I ll away with the scabbard, and 
 sheathe my sword in the bosom of tyranny. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. Have you not read the speech, where frowning 
 revenge and sounds of awful dread for disgrace at Lexington and 
 loss at Bunker s Hill echo forth? Not smiling peace, or pity, 
 tame his sullen soul; but, Pharaoh-like, on the wings of tyranny 
 he rides and forfeits happiness to feast revenge, till the waters 
 of the red sea of blood deluge the tyrant, with his mixed host of 
 vile cut-throats, murderers, and bloody butchers. 
 
 GEN. WASHINGTON. Yet, finding they cannot conquer us, 
 gladly would they make it up by a voluntary free-will offering 
 of a million of money in bribes, rather than be obliged to relish 
 the thoughts of sacrificing their cursed pride and false honour, 
 they sending over to amuse us (to put us off our guard) a score 
 or two of commissioners with sham negotiations in great state, 
 to endeavour to effect, by bribery, deception and chicanery, 
 what they cannot accomplish by force. Perish such wretches! 
 detested be their schemes! Perish such monsters! a reproach 
 to human understanding their vaunted boasts and threats 
 will vanish like smoke, and be no more than like snow falling 
 on the moist ground, melt in silence, and waste away Blasted, 
 forever blasted be the hand of the villainous traitor that receives 
 their gold upon such terms may he become leprous, like Naa- 
 man, the Syrian, yea, rather like Gehazi, the servant of Elisha, 
 that it may stick to him for ever. 
 
 GEN. PUTNAM. I join you both, and swear by all the heroes 
 of New-England, that this arm, tho fourscore and four [Drawing 
 his sword. ], still nervous and strong, shall wield this sword to the 
 last in the support of liberty and my country, revenge the insult 
 offer d to the immortal Montgomery, and brutal treatment of 
 the brave Allen. 
 
 Liberty! thou sunshine of the heart! 
 Thou smile of nature, and thou soul of art! 
 Without thy aid no human hope cou d grow, 
 And all we cou d enjoy were turrfd to woe. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. FREEMAN. 
 
 Since tyrants reign, and lust and lux ry rule; 
 Since kings turn Neroes statesmen play the fool; 
 Since parli ment in cursed league combine, 
 To sport with rights that s sacred and divine; 
 Destroying towns with direful conflagration, 
 And murder subjects without provocation! 
 These are but part of evils we could name, 
 Not to their glory, but eternal shame. 
 Petitions waste paper great Pharaoh cries, 
 Nor care a rush for your remonstrances. 
 Each Jacobite, and ev ry pimping Tory, 
 Waits for your wealth, to raise his future glory: 
 Or pensions sure, must ev ry rascal have, 
 Who strove his might, to make FREEMAN a slave. 
 Since this the case, to whom for succour cry? 
 To God, our swords, and sons of liberty! 
 Cast off the idol god! kings are but vain! 
 Let justice rule, and independence reign. 
 Are ye not men? Pray who made men, but God? 
 Yet men make kings to tremble at their nod ! 
 What nonsense this let s wrong with right oppose, 
 Since nought will do, but sound, impartial blows. 
 Let s act in earnest, not with vain pretence, ) 
 Adopt the language of sound COMMON SENSE, \ 
 And with one voice proclaim INDEPENDENCE. J 
 Convince your foes you will defend your right, 
 That blows and knocks is all they will get by t. 
 Let tyrants see that you are well prepar d, 
 By proclamations, sword, nor speeches scar d ; 
 That liberty freeborn breathe in each soul ! 
 One god-like union animate the whole! 
 
 End of the First Campaign. 
 
THE 
 
 POLITICIAN OUT-WITTED 
 By SAMUEL Low 
 
SAMUEL LOW 
 (b. December 12, 1765) 
 
 Very little is known about the author of "The Politician Out 
 witted, 1 a play which I have selected as representative of the 
 efforts of the American drama, as early as 1789, to reflect the polit 
 ical spirit of the time. Assiduous search on the part of the pres 
 ent editor has failed to bring to light any information from any 
 of the historical societies regarding Mr. Low, except that he was 
 born on December 12, 1765, and that he must have been, in his 
 political sympathies, an anti-federalist. The reader who is inter 
 ested in literary comparisons might take this play of Low s and 
 read it in connection with Dunlap s "The Father," in which a 
 prologue gives a very excellent example of the American spirit. 
 Dunlap s "Darby s Return" might likewise be read in connection 
 with "The Politican Out-witted," inasmuch as it refers to the 
 Federal Constitution, and to Washington s inauguration. 
 
 The present play, which was opposed to the Federal union, was, 
 according to some authorities, offered to the actors, Hallam and 
 Henry, and was promptly rejected by them. There is no record 
 of the piece having thereafter succeeded in reaching the theatre. 
 It is mentioned both in Dunlap and in Seilhamer in a casual 
 manner. 
 
 In the New York Directory, of 1794, we find Samuel Low men 
 tioned as a clerk in the Treasury Department, and, in a later Di 
 rectory of 1797-1798, he is referred to as the first bookkeeper in 
 the Bank of New York. 2 
 
 1 The/Politician Out-witted,/a/Comedy,/In Five Acts./Written in the Year 1788.; 
 By an American./"Then let not Censure, with malignant joy,/"The harvest of his 
 humble hope destroy! "/Falconer s Shipwreck. [Colophon. ]/ New- York i/Printed 
 for the Author, by W. Ross, in Broad-Street,/and Sold by the Different Booksellers./ 
 M. DCC. LXXXIX./ 
 
 2 Through the assiduous researches of a member of the staff of the Americana 
 Division of the New York Public Library, who has generously given me permission 
 to use the results of this investigation, there is brought to light, in the New York 
 Directory for 1803, the name of Widow Ann Low, keeper of a boarding-house. There 
 is a plausible theory framed by this investigator that, maybe, Samuel Low died 
 during the New York yellow fever epidemic of 1803, although his name does not 
 occur in the New York Evening Post death lists for that year. It may be that our 
 Samuel, as revealed in the annals of the Dutch Reform Church, y. i, p. 273; v. 32, 
 p. 23 (New York Geneological and Biographical Society), married Anne Creiger, 
 as recorded on April 20, 1797, and that she may be the "Widow Ann" referred to 
 above. The Nicholas Low mentioned in the Directories ot the time as President of 
 
354 Representative Plays 
 
 In the preface to his published poems, after the diffident man 
 ner of the time, Low says: "Many of the pieces were written at a 
 very early age, and most of them under singular disadvantages; 
 among which, application to public business, for many years past, 
 was not the least; not only because it allowed little leisure for 
 literary pursuits, but because it is of a nature peculiarly inimical 
 to the cultivation of poetic talent. For his own amusement and 
 improvement he has written at the request of his friends he 
 publishes." 
 
 We know that he was a writer of odes, exhibiting some grace 
 in his handling of this poetic form. He is also credited with hav 
 ing written a long poem entitled "Winter Displayed," in 1794. 
 In 1800, two volumes of poems appeared in New York, and 
 among the subscribers listed were John Jacob Astor, William 
 Dunlap, Philip Hone, Dr. Peter Irving, and members of the 
 Beekman and Schermerhorn families. 1 Examining the contents of 
 these volumes, one discovers that Samuel Low, in a social and fra 
 ternal way, must have been a very active member of New York 
 society. On January 8, 1800, his "Ode on the Death of W 7 ashing- 
 ton" was recited by Hodgkinson at the New York Theatre. 
 
 At St. Paul s Church, and at Trinity Church, his anthems and 
 odes were ever to the fore. He must have been a member of the 
 Tammany Society, or Columbian Order, because a "Hymn to 
 Liberty" was penned by him, and sung in church on the anni 
 versary of that organization, May 12, 1790. 
 
 His Masonic interests are indicated throughout the volume by 
 poems written especially for such orders as the Holland Lodge, 
 and the Washington Chapter of Royal Arch Masons. He was 
 also asked to write an epitaph on John Frederick Roorbach. 
 
 His interest in politics may likewise be seen in several poems 
 written about the Constitution of the United States; while his 
 literary taste may be measured by his tribute to Kotzebue, the 
 "second Shakespeare," in which occur the lines: 
 
 "The purest, sweetest among modern bards 
 Who tread the difficult dramatic path." 
 
 the Bank of New York, and who was well-to-do, must have been the brother, or 
 some near relation. There are many Samuel Lows of this period; one (1730-1807) 
 mentioned in the D. A. R. Lineage, v. 15; another who married Margaret Kip. 
 The nearest we get to our Low s parentage is a reference, in the Reports of the New 
 York Geneological and Biographical Society, v. 29, p. 36, to John and Susanna 
 Low, whose son, Samuel, was born December 22, 1765. Identification has yet to 
 be established. 
 
 1 Poems. By Samuel Low. In two volumes. New York: Printed by T. & J. 
 Swords. 1800. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 355 
 
 Except for this, as one of the biographical sources says, noth 
 ing is known of Low s history, "and he is only saved from absolute 
 oblivion by his two small volumes of poems." 
 
 Yet "The Politician Out-witted" has historical value, and, in its 
 dialogue, exhibits how well Low had studied the artificial comedy 
 of Sheridan. The construction of the plot is mechanical, but the 
 convictions of the two opposing fathers, on the subject of the Con 
 stitution, give the play an interest in character and in viewpoint 
 which is marked. It is not a piece adapted to the theatre, there 
 being slight action of a cumulative kind; but, as an example of 
 early closet drama, it cannot be ignored. 
 
THE 
 
 POLITICIAN OUT-WITTED, 
 
 COMEDY, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 Written in the YEAR 1788. 
 
 BY AN AMERICAN. 
 
 Then let not Onfure, with malignant joy, 
 The harveft of his humble hope deftroy!" 
 
 Falconet s Shipwreck. 
 
 N E W - Y O R K: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THI AUTHOR, BY W. Ross, JN BROAD-STIEIT, 
 
 AND SOLD BY THE DIP-FKKCMT BOOKSEL1ERS. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE TO THE 1789 EDITION 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 MEN. 
 TRUEMAN. 
 OLD LOVEYET. 
 
 CHARLES LOVEYET, engaged to HARRIET. 
 FRANKTON, his Friend. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. 
 
 HUMPHRY. 
 
 TOUPEE. 
 
 THOMAS. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 HARRIET, Daughter to TRUEMAN. 
 MARIA, her Friend. 
 TABITHA CANTWELL. 
 HERALD. 
 DOLLY. 
 
 SCENE The city of New- York. Time of four acts is one day, and 
 the fifth act commences the second day. 
 
THE 
 
 POLITICIAN OUT-WITTED 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. OLD LOVEYET S House. 
 
 Enter OLD LOVEYET. 
 
 Ugh, ugh, ugh, what a sad rage for novelty there is in this 
 foolish world! How eagerly all your inspectors in the Daily 
 Advertiser, the New- York Packet, and all the long catalogue of 
 advertisers and intelligencers, catch d at the news of the day 
 just now at the Coffee-House; though a wise man and a king has 
 told them, there s nothing new under the sun. Ugh, ugh, ugh. 
 
 Enter THOMAS. 
 
 Well, Thomas, what s the news? [Eagerly. 
 
 THOMAS. Nothing strange, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET, That s more than I can say, Thomas, for I m sure 
 tis strange to hear so many people praise this same new Consti 
 tution, as it is call d. Has the New- York Journal been brought 
 to-day? 
 
 THOMAS. Yes, sir. [Fetches the newspaper. 
 
 LOVEYET. Look if it contains anything worth reading, 
 Thomas; anything in behalf of the good old cause. 
 
 THOMAS. Yes, sir, here s something will suit your honour s 
 notion to a hair. [Offers it to LOVEYET. 
 
 LOVEYET. No, Thomas, do you read it, I m afraid I shall cast 
 my eyes upon something that s on the other side of the question; 
 some wicked consolidation scheme or another. 
 
 THOMAS. Why, you know, sir, there s never anything in this 
 paper but what s on your side of the question. 
 
 LOVEYET. True, true; by my body, you re right enough, 
 Tom. I forgot that; but never mind; since you ve got the 
 paper, do you read it. 
 
 THOMAS. He only wants me to read, because he can t see to do 
 it himself, he s almost as blind as a bat, and yet he won t use 
 spectacles for fear of being thought old. [Aside. 
 
360 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. Come, Thomas, let s have it, I m all ears to hear 
 you. 
 
 THOMAS. Tis a pity you have not a little more eyesight and 
 brains along with your ears. [Aside.] [Reads.] "Extract of a 
 letter from a gentleman in Boston, dated February the third, 
 1788. Our convention will pass the federal government by a con 
 siderable majority: The more it is examined, the more converts 
 are made for its adoption. This you may rely on." 
 
 LOVEYET. Tis a cursed lie. Why, why, you confounded 
 scoundrel, do you mean to ridicule your master? 
 
 THOMAS. I ask pardon, sir; I thought it was the New-York 
 Journal; but I see it is Mr. Child s Daily Advertiser. 
 
 LOVEYET. A plague on his aristocratic intelligence! Begone, 
 you vile foe to American Liberty, or I ll 
 
 [Exit THOMAS. 
 
 Enter TRUEMAN. 
 
 What, my friend Trueman! well, what s the news, eigh? 
 
 TRUEMAN. I have not learn d a single monosyllable, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. Nothing concerning this same Constitution there is 
 so much talk about, friend Horace? A miserable Constitution, 
 by the bye. If mine was no better, ugh, ugh, ugh, I say, if 
 ugh, ugh, if my constitution was no better than this same political 
 one, I solemnly swear, as true as I am this day, man and boy, two 
 score and three years, five months, eleven days, six hours, and, 
 and, [Pulling out his watch.} fifty-nine minutes old; why, I 
 I I would, I don t know what I wou d not do. Ugh, ugh. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Mr. Loveyet, you run on in such a surprising man 
 ner with your narrations, imprecations, admirations, and interro 
 gations, that, upon my education, sir, I believe you are approach 
 ing to insanity, frenzy, lunacy, madness, distraction, a man 
 of your age 
 
 LOVEYET. Age, sir, age! And what then, sir, eigh ! what then? 
 I d have you to know, sir, that I shall not have lived forty years 
 till next spring twelvemonth, old as I am; and if my counte 
 nance seems to belie me a little or so, why trouble, concern for 
 the good of my country, sir, and this tyrannical, villainous Con 
 stitution have made me look so; but my health is sound, sir; my 
 lungs are good, sir, [Raising his voice.] ugh, ugh, ugh, I am 
 neither spindle-shank d nor crook-back d, and I can kiss a 
 pretty girl with as good a relish as ugh, ugh, ha, ha, ha. A 
 
 - 
 
The Politician Out-witted 361 
 
 man of five and forty, old, forsooth! ha, ha. My age, truly! 
 ugh, ugh, ugh. 
 
 TRUEMAN. You talk very valiantly, Mr. Loveyet; very 
 valiantly indeed; I dare say now you have temerity and enter 
 prise enough, even at this time of day, to take a wife. 
 
 LOVEYET. To be sure I have. Let me see, I shou d like a 
 woman an inch or two less than six feet high now, and thick in 
 proportion: By my body, such a woman wou d look noble by the 
 side of me when she was entient. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Oh, monstrous! Entient! an entient woman by 
 the side of an antient husband! Most preposterous, unnatural, 
 and altogether incongruous! 
 
 LOVEYET. Poh, a fig for your high-flown nonsense. I suppose 
 you think if would cost me a great deal of trouble. 
 
 TRUEMAN. No, no; some clever young blade will save you the 
 trouble. 
 
 LOVEYET. By my body, I should love dearly to have such 
 a partner; she would be a credit to me when she had me under the 
 arm. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Under the thumb, you mean. 
 
 LOVEYET. Under the Devil, you mean. 
 
 TRUEMAN. You re right; you might as well be under the 
 Devil s government as petticoat government; you re perfectly 
 right there. 
 
 LOVEYET. I m not perfectly right; I I I mean you are not 
 perfectly right; and as for her age, why I should like her to be 
 let me see about ten years younger than myself: a man shou d 
 be at least ten years older than his wife. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Ten years; fifty-three and ten are sixty- three. 
 Then you mean your wife shall be fifty-three years of age. 
 
 LOVEYET. S death, sir! I tell you I am but two and forty 
 years old: She sha n t be more than thirty odd, sir, and she shall 
 be ten years younger than I am too. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Yes, thirty odd years younger than you are; ha, 
 ha. The exiguity of those legs is a most promising earnest of 
 your future exploits, and demonstrate your agility, virility, 
 salubrity, and amorosity; ha, ha, ha. I can t help laughing to 
 think what a blessed union there will be between August and 
 December; a jolly, buxom, wanton, wishful, plethoric female of 
 thirty odd, to an infirm, decrepit, consumptive, gouty, rheumatic, 
 asthmatic, phlegmatic mortal of near seventy; ha, ha. Ex- 
 
362 Representative Plays 
 
 quisitely droll and humourous, upon my erudition. It puts me in 
 mind of a hot bed in a hard winter, surrounded with ice, and made 
 verdant and flourishing only by artificial means. 
 LOVE YET. Pshaw, you re a fool! 
 
 Enter TOUPEE. 
 
 TOUPEE. Pardonnez moy, monsieur. I hope it not be any 
 intrusion; par dieu, I will not frize dat Jantemon a la mode Paris 
 no more, becase he vas fronte me. 
 
 TRUEMAN. What s the matter, Mr. Toupee? 
 
 TOUPEE. I vill tella your honare of the fracas. I vas vait on 
 monsieur a choses, and make ma compliment avec beaucoup 
 de grace, ven monsieur vas read de news papier; so I say, is your 
 honare ready for be dress? De great man say, "No , d n de 
 barbare." [In a low voice.} I tell de parsone, sare, I have 
 promise pon honare for dress one great man vat is belong to de 
 Congress, bout dis time, sans manquer: De ansare vas (excuse 
 moy, monsieur), "go to h-11, if you be please; I must read bout 
 de Constitution." Dis is de ole affair, monsieur, en verite. 
 
 LOVEYET. Sixty-three, indeed! Heaven forbid! But if I 
 was so old, my constitution is good; age is nothing, the constitu 
 tion is all, ugh, ugh, ugh. 
 
 TOUPEE. Sare, you vill give me leaf, vat is dat Constitution? 
 
 LOVEYET. Hold your prating, you booby. 
 
 TOUPEE. You booby, Vat is dat booby, I vender ! 
 
 TRUEMAN. Ha, ha, a good constitution! With great propriety 
 did the man ask you what constitution you meant. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 TOUPEE. Par Dieu, monsieur de Schoolmastare sail larn a me 
 vat is de booby! oui, an de Constitution, foy d Homme 
 d Honneur. 
 
 TRUEMAN. What a figure for a sound constitution! ha, ha. 
 
 LOVEYET. Ugh, hang you for an old simpleton! Talk of my 
 age and constitution. Ugh, ugh, ugh. [Exit. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Fractious old blockhead! 
 
 TOUPEE. Blockhead! Pourquoi you call a mine head von 
 block, sare? 
 
 TRUEMAN. I mean that old curmudgeon who goes hobbling 
 along there, like a man of forty. 
 
 TOUPEE. Pardonnez moy, monsieur; S il vous plait, ve make 
 de eclaircissement, if you tell me vat is de interpretation you 
 booby. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 363 
 
 TRUEMAN. What! have you the effrontery to call me a booby? 
 S death, you scoundrel, what do you mean? 
 
 TOUPEE. Vous ne m entendez pas. [Hastily. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Do you threaten me, you insignificant thing? 
 Do you call me names? 
 
 TOUPEE. Diable ! me no stand under your names. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Zounds and fury! I am raving. Must I bear to be 
 abus d in this manner, by a vile Tonsor? 
 
 TOUPEE. Yes, you Schoolmastare ; you tell me vat be you 
 booby. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Pertinacious, audacious reptile! [Canes TOUPEE. 
 
 TOUPEE. Ah, mon dieu ! mon dieu ! [Runs off. 
 
 TRUEMAN. To insult a professor of Orthography, Analogy, 
 Syntax, and Prosody! 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 
 Enter YOUNG LOVEYET. 
 
 In compliance with the commands of a father, here I am, 
 once more in the place of my nativity. Duty to him, and curios 
 ity to know, why he has enjoined my sudden departure so peremp 
 torily, as well as a desire to see New- York (perhaps never to leave 
 it more) have all conspir d to bring me here sooner than I am ex 
 pected, let me see yes, I must try to find out Frankton first. 
 [HUMPHRY crosses the stage.} Here, friend, honest man, prithee 
 stop. 
 
 HUMPHRY. What s your will? 
 
 LOVEYET. Can you inform me, friend, where one Mr. Frank- 
 ton lives? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No, I don t know where anybody lives in this big 
 city, not I ; for my part, I believe how they all lives in the street, 
 there s such a monstrous sight of people a scrouging backards and 
 forards, as the old saying is. If I was home now 
 
 LOVEYET. Where is your home, if I may make so free? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Oh, you may make free and welcome, for the more 
 freer the more welcomer, as the old saying is ; I never thinks my 
 self too good to discourse my superiors: There s some of our 
 townsfolks now, why some of um isn t so good as I, to be sure. 
 There s Tom Forge, the blacksmith, and little Daniel Snip, the 
 tailor, and Roger Peg, the cobbler, and Tim Frize, the barber, and 
 Landlord Tipple, that keeps the ale-house at the sign of the 
 
364 Representative Plays 
 
 Turk s Head, and Jeremy Stave, the clerk of the meeting-house, 
 why, there an t one of um that s a single copper before a beggar, 
 as the old saying is; but what o that? We isn t all born alike, as 
 father says; for my part, I likes to be friendly, so give us your 
 hand. You mus n t think how I casts any reflections on you; 
 no, no, I scorn the action. [They shake hands.] That s hearty 
 now Friendship is a fine thing, and, a friend indeed is a friend 
 in need, as the saying is. 
 
 LOVEYET. What an insufferable fool it is! [Half aside. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, it is insufferable cool, that s sartin; but it s 
 time to expect it. 
 
 LOVEYET. Worse and worse! 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, I warrant you it will be worser and worser 
 before long; so I must e en go home soon, and look after the corn 
 and the wheat, or else old father will bring his pigs to a fine 
 market, as the old proverb goes. 
 
 LOVEYET. You re quite right; you mean your father wou d 
 bring his corn to a fine market: You mean it as a figurative ex 
 pression, I presume. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Not I, I isn t for none of your figure expressions, 
 d ye see, becase why, I never larnt to cipher; every grain of 
 corn a pig! Ha, ha, ha. That s pleasant, ecod; why the Jews 
 wou dn t dare for to shew their noses out o doors, everything 
 wou d smell so woundily of pork! Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 LOVEYET. A comical countryman of mine this. [Aside.] 
 What is your name, my honest lad? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, if you ll tell me your name, I ll tell you mine, 
 d ye see; for, one good turn desarves another, as the old saying is, 
 and, evil be to them that evil thinks, every tub must stand upon 
 its own bottom, and, when the steed is stolen, shut the stable 
 door, and, while the grass grows, the mare starves the horse I 
 mean; it don t make no odds, a horse is a mare, but a mare an t 
 a horse, as father says, d ye see and 
 
 LOVEYET. What a monstrous combination of nonsense! 
 
 HUMPHRY. Don t tell me what I am, but tell me what I have 
 been 
 
 LOVEYET. Prithee, Mr. Sancho, let s have no more of those 
 insipid proverbs. You was going to tell me your name. 
 
 HUMPHRY. My name is Cubb, Humphry Cubb, at your sar- 
 vice, as the saying is. 
 . LOVEYET. Hah ! my worthy friend Frankton 
 
The Politician Out-witted 365 
 
 Enter FRANKTON. 
 
 FRANKTON. My best, my long expected Charles! your ar 
 rival has made me the happiest man alive. [They embrace. 
 
 LOVEYET. I am heartily glad to see you, George, and to meet 
 you so opportunely; tis not fifteen minutes since I landed on my 
 native soil, and you are the very person, above every other in the 
 city, whom I wish d first to see. 
 
 FRANKTON. Then you have not forgot your friend. 
 
 LOVEYET. Far from it, Frankton; be assured that the joy 
 I now feel at meeting with you, is by no means the least I expect 
 to experience. 
 
 FRANKTON. Our satisfaction is then mutual your friends are 
 all happy and well, and I know your arrival will not a little con 
 tribute to their felicity, as well as mine but who have you here, 
 Loveyet? Landed not fifteen minutes ago, and in close confab 
 with one of our Boors already? 
 
 HUMPHRY. A boar! why you re worser than he there he only 
 took father s corn for pigs, but do you take me for a &oar,eigh? 
 Do I look like a hog, as the saying is? 
 
 FRANKTON. Begone, you illiterate lubber! My dear Charles, 
 I have a thousand things to say to you, and this is an unfit place 
 for conversation. 
 
 LOVEYET. We will adjourn to the Coffee-House. 
 
 FRANKTON. No, you shall go with me to my lodgings. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, what a cruel-minded young dog he is! See 
 how he swaggers and struts he looks very like the Pharisee s 
 head, on old Coming Sir, honest Dick Tipple s sign, I think No, 
 now I look at him good, he s the very moral of our Tory. 
 
 LOVEYET. I wait your pleasure, Frankton. 
 
 FRANKTON. Then aliens! [Exeunt FRANKTON and LOVEYET. 
 
 HUMPHRY. [Burlesquing them.] Forward, march as our 
 Captain says [Struts after them.] Literary lubber, eigh! But 
 I ll be up with the foutre. 
 
 FRANKTON and LOVEYET return. 
 
 FRANKTON. Do you call me a foutre, you rascal? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Call you a future! ha, ha, ha. I was a talking 
 about something that I was a going for to do some other time, 
 sir. Doesn t future magnify some other time, eigh? 
 
 FRANKTON. The future signifies the time to come, to be sure. 
 
366 Representative Plays 
 
 HUMPHRY. Well, then, isn t I right? What argufies your 
 signifies, or your magnifies? There an t the toss up of a copper 
 between um I wou dn t give a leather button for the choice, 
 as the old proverb goes. 
 
 FRANKTON. Harkee, Mr. Talkative, if you ever 
 
 HUMPHRY. No, sir, never, that I won t no, no, you may be 
 sure of that. 
 
 FRANKTON. Sure of what? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Nothing, sir; we can be sartin of nothing in this 
 world, as Mr. Thumpum says. 
 
 LOVEYET. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 FRANKTON. Oh, what a precious numskull it is! 
 
 LOVEYET. [To FRANKTON.] I have a letter here, which an 
 nounces to my father, my intention to leave the West-Indies the 
 beginning of March, but I miss d of the expected conveyance 
 I have half a mind to send it yet. I would not have him apprized 
 of my arrival; for I wish to try if he would know me; and yet 
 I long to embrace my aged and venerable parent. Will you do 
 me the favour to take this letter to my father, Mr. Cubb? He 
 lives at number two hundred and fifty, in Queen-Street, in a 
 three-story red brick house. I ll reward you for it. 
 
 HUMPHRY. As for your rewards, I m above it, d ye see: If I 
 do it, I ll do it without fear or reward, as the saying is; but if you 
 think fit, you may treat a body to the valuation of a mug or so. 
 Don t you love ale? for they says how the Yorkers is cursed fel 
 lows for strong beer. 
 
 LOVEYET. What a digression ! 
 
 HUMPHRY. I scorn your words tis no transgression at all 
 to drink ale W 7 hy, Parson Thumpum himself drinks ale. 
 
 LOVEYET. Well, will you carry the letter? You shall have as 
 much strong beer when you come back as you can stagger under. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, if I was for to have my beer a-board before 
 I go, I shou dn t get top-heavy, as the saying is; for I can carry 
 as much weight in my head as e er a he that wears a head, with 
 out staggering. 
 
 FRANKTON. I dare say you can; you have always plenty of 
 that. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, you re right I know what you mean; I ve 
 got it here a little, as old Mr. Scourge says. [Exeunt FRANKTON 
 and LOVEYET.] But as for what you said just now no, no, sir; 
 I ll never f outre you, I warrant you I always curses and swears 
 
The Politician Out-witted 367 
 
 in plain English, d ye see I what s he gone? I hope he won t 
 come back again for the sixth time; three times has he been in 
 and out within the circumference of a minute. But I won t stay 
 here no longer I ll go and try if I can t find out where Doll lives, 
 my old sweetheart; I an t so poor, but what I can buy her a rib 
 bon or so; and, if all comes to all, I can get a new pair o breeches 
 too; for, to be sure, this one doesn t look quite so decent, and if 
 that doesn t fetch her, the devil shall, as the old saying is. I m 
 cursedly afraid, I sha n t be able to find out her quarters. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. MR. FRIENDLY S House. 
 Enter HARRIET and MARIA. 
 
 HARRIET. Pray, Maria, how were you entertained at the 
 Assembly last night? 
 
 MARIA. Very indifferently, I assure you, my dear: You know, 
 Harriet, I do most cordially hate dancing at any time; but 
 what must one do with one s self these irksome, heavy, dreary 
 Winters? If it were not for cards, visits to and from, and 
 
 HARRIET. Assemblies. 
 
 MARIA. Yes, as my last resource, Assemblies, I should abso 
 lutely be in a state of despair before Spring. Then one may take 
 an excursion on York or Long- Island an agreeable sail on the 
 East-River a walk in the Broadway, Pharisee-like, to be seen of 
 men, and to see them and then how refreshing to take a negli 
 gent stroll on the Battery, the Fort, the Mall, and from thence to 
 Miss Such-a-one, then to Mrs. Such-a-one, then to Lady What s- 
 her-name, and then home; but now I am half of my time as 
 motionless as Pitt s statue; as petrified and inanimate as an 
 Egyptian mummy, or rather frozen snake, who crawls out of his 
 hole now and then in this season to bask in the rays of the sun. 
 
 HARRIET. And whenever the sunshine of Mr. Frankton s 
 eyes breaks upon you, you revive. 
 
 MARIA. Pshaw I wish you had Mr. Frankton yourself, since 
 you are so full of his sweet image. 
 
 HARRIET. I m sure you did not wish so last night: Your eyes 
 seem d to say, I wish I could secure the good-for-nothing, agree 
 able rake. 
 
 MARIA. Oh, you heard my eyes say so, did you? I ask pardon 
 of your penetration. 
 
 HARRIET. But do you really think the Winter is so destitute of 
 comforts? 
 
368 Representative Plays 
 
 MARIA. Ha, ha, comforts! by comforts I suppose you mean 
 the sweets of domestic life the large portion of comfort arising 
 from a large winter fire, and the very pleasing tittle-tattle of an 
 antiquated maiden aunt, or the equally pleasing (tho less loqua 
 cious) society of a husband, who, with a complaisance peculiar to 
 husbands, responds sometimes by a doubtful shrug, sometimes 
 a stupid yawn, a lazy stretch, an unthinking stare, a clownish 
 nod, a surly no, or interrogates you with a humph? till bed 
 time, when, heaven defend us! you are doom d to be snor d out 
 of your wits till day-break, when 
 
 HARRIET. Hold, Maria what a catalogue of uncomfortable 
 comforts have you run over. Pleasure and Comfort are words 
 which imply the same thing with me; but in this enlighten d age, 
 when words are so curiously refin d and defin d, modern critics 
 and fashionable word-mongers have, in the abundance of their 
 wisdom, made a very nice distinction between them for my part, 
 I always endeavour to reconcile modish pleasure with real com 
 fort, and custom with reason, as much as is in any way consistent 
 with the obligation one is under to conform a little to the perverse 
 notions of mankind. 
 
 MARIA. There now! you know I can t abide to hear you 
 moralize prithee, my dear Harriet, leave that to grey beards 
 and long-ear d caps everything is beautiful in its season, you 
 know. 
 
 HARRIET. Common sense and propriety are ever in season, 
 Maria, and I was going to mention a sentimental pleasure, a 
 rational enjoyment, which is peculiar to the present season, tho 
 beautiful in every one, if you had not got frightened at the idea 
 of being comforted. 
 
 MARIA. Well, my dear comfortable, rational, sentimental 
 Harriet! Let me hear what this rational enjoyment of yours is? 
 
 HARRIET. Hearing a good play, my dear. 
 
 MARIA. Hearing a good play! why not seeing it, pray? 
 
 HARRIET. Because I believe plays are frequently seen, and 
 not heard; at least, not as they ought to be. 
 
 MARIA. I protest you are quite a critic, Harriet. 
 
 HARRIET. If you desire amusement, what so likely to beguile 
 the heavy hours as Comedy? If your spirits are depress d, what 
 so replete with that which can revive them as the laughter-loving 
 Thalia? If the foibles and vices of human nature ought to suffer 
 correction, in what way can they be satiriz d so happily and sue- 
 
The Politician Out-witted 369 
 
 cessfully as on the stage ; or if elegance of language, and refine 
 ment of sentiment 
 
 MARIA. Humph there s sentiment again. 
 
 HARRIET. You dislike every good thing I have mentioned this 
 morning, Maria, except one. 
 
 MARIA. What s that, my dear? 
 
 HARRIET. Mr. Frankton. 
 
 MARIA. Ha, ha. Why, to be sure, the good things of this life 
 are not to be despis d, and men are not the worst creatures be 
 longing to this life, nor Mr. Frankton the worst of men, but 
 apropos, about plays did you observe how much I was affected 
 the other night at the tragedy of Zara? 
 
 HARRIET. I really did not I wish I had seen such a pleasing 
 proof of your sensibility. 
 
 MARIA. Oh, you cruel creature! wish to see your friend in 
 tears? 
 
 HARRIET. Tis rather unusual to see a lady of your taste and 
 spirit, either weep at a pathetic incident in tragedy, or laugh at a 
 comic scene; and as for the gentlemen, your lads of spirit, such 
 as are falsely called ladies men, they are not so masculine as to 
 understand, and, therefore, not so effeminate as to weep; tho 
 one would conclude, from their effeminacy in appearance and be 
 haviour, that they would cry if you were to look at them. 
 
 MARIA. To be sure, a little matter will draw tears from the 
 feminine part of mankind. 
 
 HARRIET. For your part, you seem d to be neither laughing 
 nor crying, but rather displeas d and uneasy. 
 
 MARIA. Oh, you mistake the matter entirely, my dear; your 
 skill in physiognomy is but indifferent, I find why, after the 
 tragedy was over, I laugh d most inordinately for a considerable 
 time. 
 
 HARRIET. On what account, pray? 
 
 MARIA. Why, you must know, my dear, Mr. Frankton sat 
 in the box opposite to the one I was in. 
 
 HARRIET. Yes, I know your dear Mr. Frankton was in the 
 opposite box. 
 
 MARIA. My dear Mr. Frankton! Did I say so? Why I 
 could not say more of him, were he my husband. 
 
 HARRIET. If you conform to custom, you would not say so 
 much of a husband. 
 
370 Representative Plays 
 
 MARIA. But I did not say any such thing. Says I, you must 
 know, my dear Harriet 
 
 HARRIET. No, no, there was no Harriet mentioned. 
 
 MARIA. But I say there was so, as I was going to tell you, 
 you must know, my dear Harriet, that Mr. Frankton sat 
 opposite to me at the theatre ; and as he seem d to be very much 
 chagrin d at the attention which was paid me by a couple of 
 beaux, I took some pains to mortify him a little; for, tho* 
 he strove to hide his uneasiness by chattering, and whispering, 
 and tittering, and shewing his white teeth, his embarrassment 
 was very visible under his affected unconcern. 
 
 HARRIET. How exactly she has described her own situation and 
 feelings! [Aside.] I find that you acquire your skill in physiog 
 nomy from sympathy; or from making suitable comparisons, and 
 drawing natural inferences from them; but now for the remain 
 der of your pleasant anecdote, Maria. 
 
 MARIA. So, I was extremely civil to my two worshipping vo 
 taries, grinn d when they did, and talk d as much nonsense as 
 either of them. During this scene of mock-gallantry, one of my 
 love-sick swains elevated his eyes in a most languishing manner; 
 and, clasping his sweet, unlucky hands together rather eagerly, 
 my little dog Muff happen d to be in the way, by which means 
 my pet was squeez d rather more than it lik d, and my Adonis s 
 finger bit by it so feelingly, that it would have delighted you to 
 see how he twisted his soft features about, with the excruciating 
 anguish. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 HARRIET. Ha, ha, ha. Exceeding ludicrous indeed! But 
 pray, my dear careless, sprightly Maria, was you not a little 
 nettled to see Mr. Frankton and his nymphs so great? And are 
 you not deeply in love with each other, notwithstanding your 
 coquetry at the theatre, and his levity at the Assembly? Yes, 
 yes, your aversion to the dancing last night was only pretence. 
 I hope when your hearts are cemented by wedlock, you will both 
 do better. 
 
 MARIA. It will be well if I do no worse; but, to hear you talk, 
 one would swear you were not in love yourself. 
 
 HARRIET. Love is an amiable weakness, of which our sex are 
 peculiarly susceptible. 
 
 MARIA. Ha, ha, ha; of which our sex are peculiarly susceptible 
 what an evasion! and so my dear lovelorn, pensive, senti 
 mental, romantic Harriet has never experienced that same 
 
The Politician Out-witted 371 
 
 amiable weakness which, it seems, the weaker sex is so susceptible 
 of. But I won t tease you about Mr. Loveyet any more; adieu. 
 
 [Going. 
 
 HARRIET. Ha, ha; why in such sudden haste, my dear? 
 MARIA. I have already made my visit longer than I intended, 
 and I have plagu d you enough now; adieu. 
 
 HARRIET. Ha, ha, ha; that is laughable enough. 
 
 [Exeunt, separately. 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. FRANKTON S Lodgings. 
 FRANKTON and YOUNG LOVEYET sitting. 
 
 LOVEYET. When did you say you saw her? 
 
 FRANKTON. Last night, in company with several other belles 
 of no small note, who did not look a tittle the handsomer for 
 appearing at the same time with her, I assure you. 
 
 LOVEYET. Then she s as charming as ever. 
 
 FRANKTON. Charming as ever! By all that s beautiful, a 
 Seraphim is nothing to her! And as for Cherubims, when they 
 compete with her, 
 
 Conscious of her superior charms they stand, 
 And rival d quite by such a beauteous piece 
 Of mortal composition; they, reluctant, 
 Hide their diminished heads. 
 
 LOVEYET. You extol her in very rapturous strains, George 
 I hope you have not been smitten by her vast perfections, like 
 the Cherubims. 
 
 FRANKTON. I am really enraptur d with the bewitching little 
 Goddess! 
 
 LOVEYET. Do you positively think her so much superior to the 
 generality of women? 
 
 FRANKTON. Most indubitably I do don t you, pray? 
 
 LOVEYET. I thought her handsome once but but but you 
 certainly are not in love with her. 
 
 FRANKTON. Not I, faith. Ha, ha, ha. My enamorata and 
 yours are two distinct persons, I assure you and two such beau- 
 
37 2 Representative Plays 
 
 ties! By all that s desirable, if there was only one more in the 
 city who could vie with the lovely girls, and boast of the same 
 elegantly proportioned forms; the same beauty, delicacy and 
 symmetry of features; the same celestial complexion, in which 
 the lily and carnation are equally excell d; the same 
 
 LOVEYET. Oh, monstrous! Why, they exceed all the Goddesses 
 I ever heard of, by your account. 
 
 FRANKTON. Well, if you had let me proceed, I should have told 
 you that if one more like them could be found in town, they would 
 make a more beautiful triple than the three renowned goddesses 
 who were candidates for beauty and a golden apple long ago; but 
 no matter now. The account you have given of the lovely 
 Harriet, has rekindled the flame she so early inspir d me with, 
 and I already feel myself all the lover; how then shall I feel, when 
 I once more behold the dear maid, like the mother of mankind 
 "with grace in all her steps, heaven in her eye; in every gesture, 
 dignity and love!" 
 
 FRANKTON. Aye and what do you think of your father s 
 sending for you to marry you to this same beautiful piece of 
 mortality? 
 
 LOVEYET. Is it possible? Then I am happy indeed! But this 
 surpasses my most sanguine hopes! 
 
 FRANKTON. Did you suppose he would object to the alliance 
 then? 
 
 LOVEYET. I did not know, my hope was only founded on 
 the probability of his approving it. 
 
 FRANKTON. Well, I can now inform you that your hope has a 
 better basis to rest on, and that there is as fair a prospect of its 
 being shortly swallowed up in fruition as ever Cupid and Hymen 
 presented to a happy mortal s view. For your farther comfort, 
 I have the pleasure to acquaint you, that Mr. Trueman is 
 equally fond of the match. 
 
 LOVEYET. Better and better my dear George! You are the 
 best of friends, my happy genius! My very guardian angel! 
 
 FRANKTON. Well said, Heroics come, spout away. 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, I am happy, very happy, indeed: Moralists 
 disparage this world too much, there is such a thing as happi 
 ness under the sun, I feel it now most irrefragably, here it 
 vibrates in a most extatic manner. 
 
 FRANKTON. Why, you are positively the arrantest love-sick 
 swain that ever had recourse to a philter. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 373 
 
 LOVEYET. Profane heretic in love ! Did not you extol the two 
 Seraphims just now in the same generous language? But you 
 have never experienced the blissful transition from doubt and 
 solicitude to certainty and peace, as I do now. 
 
 FRANKTON. How do you know that? 
 
 LOVEYET. I only conjecture so Did you ever feel the same 
 transports I do? 
 
 FRANKTON. How, in the name of sense, should I know how you 
 feel? 
 
 LOVEYET. Feel! I feel that kind heaven, my friend, my 
 father, and my dearest girl, all conspire to bless me! 
 
 FRANKTON. There he rides his hobby-horse again. 
 
 LOVEYET. Aye, and a generous horse he is he carries me very 
 pleasantly, I assure you. 
 
 FRANKTON. Yes, and, I dare say, could convey you more 
 agreeably and speedily to Paradise than the Ass did Mahomet. 
 
 LOVEYET. Ha, ha. I think you have improved my idea. 
 
 FRANKTON. To improve your reason, and check your strange 
 delirium, I have. 
 
 LOVEYET. I will talk more dispassionately; but my heart 
 will palpitate at the thought of meeting the lovely source of its 
 joy, and the ultimatum of all its wishes! 
 
 FRANKTON. I suppose you know she lives with Mr. Friendly. 
 
 LOVEYET. With Mr. Friendly! 
 
 FRANKTON. Yes, she is nearly related to his family, and as the 
 style in which they live, corresponds with her former prosperity 
 better than the present ineligible situation of her father does, he 
 has granted them her valuable company, after their repeated so 
 licitations had prov d the sincerity of their regard. 
 
 LOVEYET. But how do you account for Mr. Trueman s pov 
 erty, since fortune has lately put it so much in Harriet s power 
 to relieve him from it? I dare not think it arises from her want 
 of filial regard; I do not know anything so likely to abate the 
 ardour of my attachment as a knowledge of that; but it is an 
 ungenerous suggestion, unworthy the benignity and tenderness 
 of the gentle Harriet. 
 
 FRANKTON. It is so. Two things, on the part of the old gen 
 tleman, are the cause: his pride will not suffer him to be the sub 
 ject of a daughter s bounty; and his regard for that daughter s 
 welfare, makes him fearful of being instrumental in impairing her 
 fortune. 
 
374 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. I thought the angelic girl could not be ungrateful 
 to the parent of her being; but don t let us tarry I am already 
 on the wing. 
 
 FRANKTON. You are too sanguine; you must not expect to 
 succeed without a little opposition. 
 
 LOVEYET. How! what say you? pray be explicit. 
 
 FRANKTON. I will remove your suspense. There is a Mr. 
 Worthnought, a thing by some people call d a man, a beau, 
 a fine gentleman, a smart fellow; and by others a coxcomb, 
 a puppy, a baboon and an ass. 
 
 LOVEYET. And what of him? 
 
 FRANKTON. Nothing; only he visits Miss Harriet frequently. 
 
 LOVEYET. Hah! and does she countenance his addresses? 
 
 FRANKTON. I ll explain. He imagines she is fond of him, 
 because she does not actually discard him; upon which presump 
 tion he titters, capers, vows, bows, talks scraps of French, and 
 sings an amorous lay with such an irresistibly languishing air, 
 that she cannot do less than compliment him on the fineness of 
 his voice, for instance; the smartness of his repartees, the brilli 
 ancy of his wit, the gaiety and vivacity of his temper, his genteel 
 carriage, his handsome person, his winning address, his 
 
 LOVEYET. Hah ! you surely cannot be in earnest, Frankton. 
 
 FRANKTON. To be serious then, the sum total of the affair, 
 I take to be this. In order to kill a heavy hour, she sometimes 
 suffers the fool to be in her company, because the extravagance 
 of his behaviour, and the emptiness of his upper region furnish 
 her with a good subject for ridicule; but your presence will soon 
 make him dwindle into his primitive insignificance. 
 
 LOVEYET. If your prediction proves false, Harriet will be 
 false indeed ; but I must see her straightway. 
 
 FRANKTON. I think you go pretty well fraught with the fruits 
 of our united deliberations. 
 
 LOVEYET. Deliberations! away with the musty term 
 No caution need my willing footsteps guide; 
 When Love impels what evil can betide? 
 Patriots may fear, their rulers lack more zeal, 
 And nobly tremble for the public weal; 
 To front the battle, and to fear no harm, 
 The shield must glitter on the warrior s arm: 
 Let such dull prudence their designs attend, 
 But Love, unaided, shall obtain its end! [Exeunt. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 375 
 
 SCENE II. OLD LOVEYET S House. 
 
 Enter OLD LOVEYET and TRUEMAN. 
 
 LOVEYET. I tell you it is the most infernal scheme that ever 
 was devis d. 
 
 TRUEMAN. And I tell you, sir, that your argument is hetero 
 dox, sophistical, and most preposterously illogical. 
 
 LOVEYET. I insist upon it, sir, you know nothing at all about 
 the matter; and, give me leave to tell you, sir 
 
 TRUEMAN. What give you leave to tell me I know nothing at 
 all about the matter! I shall do no such thing, sir I m not to 
 be govern d by your ipse dixit. 
 
 LOVEYET. I desire none of your musty Latin, sir, for I don t 
 understand it, not I. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Oh, the ignorance of the age ! To oppose a plan 
 of government like the new Constitution. Like it, did I say? 
 There never was one like it: neither Minos, Solon, Lycurgus 
 nor Romulus, ever fabricated so wise a system; why it is a 
 political phenomenon, a prodigy of legislative wisdom, the 
 fame of which will soon extend almost ultramundane, and astonish 
 the nations of the world with its transcendent excellence. To 
 what a sublime height will the superb edifice attain ! 
 
 LOVEYET. Your aspiring edifice shall never be erected in this 
 State, sir. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Mr. Loveyet, you will not listen to reason: only 
 attend calmly one moment [Reads.] "We the people of the 
 United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish 
 justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide " 
 
 LOVEYET. I tell you I won t hear it. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Mark all that. [Reads again.] "Section the first. 
 All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a 
 Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate 
 and House of Representatives." Very judicious and salutary, 
 upon my erudition. "Section the second " 
 
 LOVEYET. I 11 hear no more of your sections. 
 
 TRUEMAN. "Section the second. The House of Representa- 
 
 LOVEYET. They never shall represent me, I promise them. 
 TRUEMAN. Why, you won t hear me out. 
 LOVEYET. I have heard enough to set me against it. 
 
376 Representative Plays 
 
 TRUEMAN. You have not heard a quantum sufficit to render 
 you competent to give a decisive opinion ; besides, you hear with 
 passion and prejudice. 
 
 LOVEYET. I don t care for that; I say it is a devilish design 
 upon our liberty and property; by my body, it is; it would re 
 duce us to poverty and slavery. 
 
 Enter HUMPHRY, listening. 
 
 HUMPHRY. What s that about liberty, and property, and sla 
 very, and popery, and the devil? I hope the pope and the devil 
 an t come to town for to play the devil, and make nigers of us! 
 
 TRUEMAN. You will have it your own way. 
 
 LOVEYET. To be sure I will in short, sir, the old Constitution 
 is good enough for me. 
 
 HUMPHRY. I wonder what Constitution magnifies. 
 
 TRUEMAN. The old Constitution! ha, ha, ha, ha. Superla 
 tively ludicrous and facetious, upon my erudition; and highly 
 productive of risibility ha, ha, ha. The old Constitution! 
 A very shadow of a government a perfect caput mortuum; 
 why, one of my schoolboys would make a better: tis grown as 
 superannuated, embecilitated, valetudinarianated, invalidated, 
 enervated and dislocated as an old man of sixty odd. 
 
 LOVEYET. Ah, that s me that s me sixty odd, eigh 
 [Aside.] I I ugh, ugh, I know what you want: a consolida 
 tion and annihilation of the States. 
 
 TRUEMAN. A consolidation and annihilation! You certainly 
 have bid defiance to the first rudiments of grammar, and sworn 
 war against the whole body of lexicographers. Mercy on me! 
 If words are to be thus abus d and perverted, there is an end of 
 the four grand divisions of grammar at once : If consolidation and 
 annihilation are to be us d synonymously, there is a total annihi 
 lation of all the moods, tenses, genders, persons, nouns, pronouns, 
 verbs, adverbs, substantives, conjunctions, interjections, preposi 
 tions, participles, [Coughs. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Oh dear, oh dear, what a wise man a School- 
 
 
 master is! 
 
 TRUEMAN. How can the States be consolidated and annihi 
 lated too? If they are consolidated or compounded into one 
 national mass, surely the individual States cannot be annihilated, 
 for, if they were annihilated, where would be the States to com 
 pose a consolidation? Did you ever study Logic, sir? 
 
The Politician Out-witted 377 
 
 LOVEYET. No, but I ve studied common sense tho , and that 
 tells me I am right, and consequently you are wrong; there, 
 that s as good logic as yours. 
 
 TRUEMAN. You mean Paine s Common Sense, I suppose yes, 
 yes, there you manifest something like common sense, Mr. 
 Loveyet. 
 
 LOVEYET. Tis no such thing, sir; it lately took three speakers, 
 and much better ones than Paine, no less than three whole days, 
 to prove that consolidation and annihilation are one and the 
 same thing. 
 
 TRUEMAN. An execrable Triumvirate a scandalum magnatum 
 to all public bodies: I suppose they and their adherents are now 
 sitting in Pandemonium, excogitating their diabolical machina 
 tions against us. 
 
 LOVEYET. A pack of nonsensical stuff! 
 
 TRUEMAN. Harkee, Mr. Loveyet, I will propound a problem 
 to you. We will suppose there are two parallel lines drawn on 
 this floor, which, notwithstanding they may be very contiguous 
 to each other, and advance ad infinitum, can never approximate 
 so near as to effect a junction, in which fundamental axiom all 
 mathematicians profess a perfect congruity and acquiescence: 
 now, to elucidate the hypothesis a little, we will suppose here is 
 one line; and we will further suppose here is another line. [Draws 
 his cane over LOVEYET s feet, which makes him jump.] Now we 
 will suppose that line is you, and this line is compos d, form d, 
 constituted, made up of discernment, political knowledge, public 
 spirit, and true republicanism, but, as I predicated antece 
 dently, that line is you [Striking his cane on LOVEYET S feet.} 
 You must not forget that. 
 
 LOVEYET. S death, sir, do you mean to make a mathematical 
 instrument of me, to try experiments with? 
 
 TRUEMAN. Now take notice as the East is to the West, the 
 North Pole to the South ditto, the Georgium Sidus to this 
 terraqueous globe, or the Aborigines of America to the Colum 
 bians of this generation, so is that line to this line, or Mr. Love- 
 yet to true wisdom and judgment; sometimes appearing to 
 verge towards a coalition with them, but never to effect it. There, 
 sir, in this argument, you have a major, a minor and a conclu 
 sion, consonant to the received principles of logic. 
 
 LOVEYET. Confound your senseless comparisons; your prob 
 lems, your mathematics, and your Georgium Sidus. 
 
378 Representative Plays 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, confound your gorgon hydras, I say too. 
 
 LOVEYET. Here you have been spending your breath to prove 
 what? that I am not a rational human being, but a mathe 
 matical line. 
 
 TRUEMAN. I know you are not a mathematical line; you are 
 not the twentieth part so straight and well made; I only wish 
 to convince you that the present government is an ignis fatuus 
 that is leading you and thousands more to ruin. 
 
 LOVEYET. But I don t choose to be convinc d by you. 
 
 TRUEMAN. No more than you ll be convinc d you are sixty 
 years old, I suppose. 
 
 LOVEYET. Now see there again, see there! isn t this enough 
 to try Job s patience? I ll let you know that my bodily and 
 political Constitutions are both good, sir, both sound alike. 
 
 TRUEMAN. I know they are. Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Pray, old gentleman, what sort of things may them 
 same constitutions be? 
 
 TRUEMAN. Avaunt, thou plebeian, thou ignoramus! 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, I lay now I can say that as good as you, for 
 all you re such a fine scholard. I won t be plain, thou ignorant 
 mouse. 
 
 TRUEMAN. "Monstrum horrendum, cui lumen ademptum!" 
 
 HUMPHRY. Monstrous memorandums, cu no, I can t say 
 that; that s too hard for me. Well, what a glorious thing it is for 
 to have good laming. 
 
 LOVEYET. Sixty odd years indeed! provoking wretch! 
 
 HUMPHRY. What a bloody passion he s in ! 
 
 TRUEMAN. Pray, Mr. Loveyet, do not anathematize me so; 
 if you do not civilize your phraseology a little, I must have 
 recourse to a little castigation, for, necessitous non habet legem, you 
 know, Mr. Loveyet. 
 
 LOVEYET. I know nothing about such nonsense, not I. 
 
 TRUEMAN. You are the most unenlightened, contumacious, 
 litigious, petulant, opprobrious, proditorious, misanthropic mor 
 tal I ever confabulated a colloquy with ; by the dignity of my 
 profession you are. 
 
 HUMPHRY. What monstrous queer words he discourses the old 
 fellow with! 
 
 LOVEYET. Mighty pleasant and witty, by my body; sixty 
 years, forsooth! But I ll be aveng d of you. Your daughter 
 
 
The Politician Out-witted 379 
 
 sha n t have my son there, sir, how do you like that? Sixty 
 years, indeed! Ugh, ugh. 
 
 HUMPHRY. What an old reprobate it is! He swears till he 
 sweats again. 
 
 TRUEMAN. What an unlucky affair! [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. And give me leave to tell you, Mr. Schoolmaster, 
 I was an old I I mean I was a great fool to disparage him so 
 much as to think of the match. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Illiberal aspersion! But were I as contemptible 
 as you think me, a disastrous war has rendered me so; and as 
 for my child, Providence has placed her above dependence on an 
 unfortunate father: the bequest of a worthy relation has made 
 her, what the world calls, rich; but her mind is far richer; the 
 most amiable temper, improved by a virtuous and refined educa 
 tion (not to mention her beauty) deservedly makes her the object 
 of general love and respect, and renders your present resolution 
 a matter of perfect indifference to me. 
 
 LOVEYET. Well, well, so be it; but you never shall be Charles s 
 father-in-law, for all that that s as fix d as fate, you may beg 
 my forgiveness for your faults by and by, but your daughter shall 
 never be mine, I promise you. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Conceited old sot! [Exit. 
 
 HUMPHRY. He s gone at last. 
 
 LOVEYET. What brought you here, pray? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, my legs, to be sure. Here, old gentleman, 
 if you ll promise you won t get in such a passion as you did just 
 now, I ve got some news to tell you. 
 
 LOVEYET. I in a passion? tis no such thing I didn t mind 
 anything he said, because he s old and fretful; but what news, 
 eigh what news? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Here s a letter for you. [Gives it to LOVEYET. 
 
 LOVEYET. [Opens the letter and reads.] I am heartily glad, 
 faith! [Reads again.} Od s my life, I m as happy as the Great 
 Mogul, and as good-natur d 
 
 HUMPHRY. That s clever; I likes to see people good-natur d, 
 it makes me as happy as the Great Pogul. 
 
 LOVEYET. I ll go tell old Trueman s daughter, Charles is com 
 ing, but not for her I know she ll be mortify d, poor girl, but I 
 can t help that. Who gave you this letter? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why your son, to be sure. 
 
 LOVEYET. When did you leave the Havanna, pray? 
 

 380 Representative Plays 
 
 HUMPHRY. The Havanna? 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, are you not from the West-Indies? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Who me? not I. 
 
 LOVEYET. Why, what the plague makes you think he was my 
 son, then? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Because he said you was his father that s a good 
 reason, an t it? But it s a wise son knows his own father, as the 
 old saying is. 
 
 LOVEYET. How can that be, when the letter is dated in the 
 Island of Cuba, the twentieth day of January, and he says he 
 don t expect to leave it till the beginning of March, and this is 
 only February, so it is impossible he shou d be here yet. 
 
 HUMPHRY. May be you an t the old gentleman, then. 
 
 LOVEYET. To be sure I an t an old gentleman. Did he say I 
 was old, eigh? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, I believe he did. 
 
 LOVEYET. I believe you lie and I ll let you know that I an t 
 old enough to be his father, you 
 
 HUMPHRY. Well, if the case lies there, that settles the harsh, 
 d ye see; but, for my part, I think how you look old enough and 
 ugly enough to be his great-grandfather, as the old saying is. 
 
 LOVEYET. Sirrah, get out of my house, or I ll break your bones 
 for you. 
 
 HUMPHRY. I m a going howsomever, give me the letter 
 again; you ve got no business with it you an t his father. 
 
 LOVEYET. You lie! I am his father if he was here, he 
 wou dn t deny it. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, he is here, I tell you here in New- York. 
 I suppose how he s made a small mistake about the day of the 
 month, and says he s just arrived from the East-Indies, for he s 
 cursed apt for to make blunders; that about the corn and the 
 pigs; ha, ha, ha. 
 
 LOVEYET. Do you laugh at me, you vagabond? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Not I, old gentleman; I ve got too much respect 
 for old age, I ll insure you. 
 
 LOVEYET. I shall go distracted ! 
 
 HUMPHRY. Put on your spectacles and look again I m sure 
 your eyes must perceive you, for I ll give my corporal oath he 
 an t in the East-Indies. 
 
 LOVEYET. It is not the East-Indies, you great calf; you mean 
 the West-Indies. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 381 
 
 HUMPHRY. No matter if it s East or West; the odds an t much 
 for the matter o that. 
 
 LOVEYET. What an abominable fool ! 
 
 HUMPHRY. I m no more a fool than you are 
 
 LOVEYET. Be gone, you scoundrel! Here, Thomas [Enter 
 THOMAS.], lug this fellow out of doors. 
 
 THOMAS. Yes, sir. 
 
 HUMPHRY. No, you sha n t tho , d ye see. 
 
 THOMAS. I m cursedly afraid of the great two-handed fellow 
 too. [Aside, and exit with HUMPHRY. 
 
 LOVEYET [manet]. 
 
 Abusive rascal ! But I won t put myself in a passion with such 
 a vile animal. I I ll read the letter again. 
 "Honour d Sir, 
 
 "I have just time enough to acquaint you by the Oceanus, 
 Captain Seaborn, who is now preparing to sail, that I have at 
 length adjusted my business so as to be able to leave this place 
 for New-York, the beginning of March ; in which case you may 
 look for me before the first of April next; when I promise myself 
 the happiness of seeing you once more, and enjoying the society 
 of the best of parents: till then I shall continue to be, with truly 
 filial attachment, and anxious expectation of the happy event, 
 your obliged and dutiful son, CHARLES LOVEYET." 
 
 I wonder he don t say anything of the coffee and madeira I 
 wrote to him about; egad, I must mind the main chance; a 
 penny sav d, is a penny got; and charity begins at home. By 
 strictly attending to these excellent maxims, I am worth about 
 five and twenty per cent, more than any other merchant in the 
 city; and as for that stupid proverb, money is the root of all 
 evil, tis well enough for those to say so, who have none; for my 
 part, I know that much of the good things of this world is better 
 than not enough that a man can live longer upon a hundred 
 thousand pounds than one thousand pounds that if, the more 
 we have the more we want, the more we have the more we make 
 and that it is better to make hay while the sun shines against a 
 rainy day, when I shall be upon my last legs, than to work and toil 
 like an ass in the rain ; so it plainly appears that money is the root 
 of all good ; that s my logic. I long to see the young rogue tho 
 I dare say he looks very like his father; but, had I thought old 
 Trueman wou d have us d me so ill, I wou d not have wrote for 
 
382 Representative Plays 
 
 f 
 
 him yet; for he shall not have his old sweetheart: if he offers to 
 disobey me in this respect, by my body, I ll disinherit the ungra 
 cious dog immediately. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of LOVEYET S House. 
 DOLLY and THOMAS. 
 
 THOMAS. I ve set a bowl of grog before him, pretty much to the 
 northward, and a luncheon of bread and beef almost as big as his 
 head; for he said he was consumed hungry. 
 
 DOLLY. I language to behold him; but I m afraid he ll be 
 rude to a body. [Enter HUMPHRY, with a large luncheon of bread 
 and butter.} Oh, as I m alive, it is Humphry; old Cubb, the 
 miller s son ! Now will the great bear be for rumpling and hugging 
 a body, as he us d to do. [Aside. 
 
 HUMPHRY. How d ye do again, as the saying is? You re a 
 devilish honest fellow, as I m a gentleman; and thank e for 
 your frugality, with all my heart: I ve eaten up all the beef and 
 grog, so I thought I wou d go to the cupboard, and cut a small 
 slice of bread and butter, d ye see. 
 
 THOMAS. Why didn t you cut yourself a larger slice, while 
 you was about it? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Oh, it s big enough, thank e; I never eat much at 
 a meal; but if I crave more, I ll speak. [Sees DOLLY.] Wha 
 what Doll! is that you? Oh, the wonderful works of nature! 
 Who d ha thought to ha found you here. What, don t you know 
 me? not know your old sweetheart? By Job, I want to buss you, 
 most lasciviously. [Crams all the bread in his mouth in haste, 
 and offers to kiss her. THOMAS hinders him. 
 
 DOLLY. Oh, oh! 
 
 THOMAS. What, do you dare to do such a thing before me, 
 you country brute? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, no :ooner said than done; that s my way. 
 
 THOMAS. But you sha n t say nor do your lascivious tricks 
 before me, I warrant you. 
 
 DOLLY. Oh, the filthy beast! he has frightened me out of my 
 seventy-seven senses; he has given me a fever. 
 
 HUMPHRY. I don t care if you ll give me a favour, or not; for 
 I don t value it an old horse-shoe, not I ; I can get favours enough 
 in New- York, if I go to the expense. I know what I suppose 
 you forget when Jack Wrestle, the country mack-marony 
 
The Politician Out-witted 383 
 
 DOLLY. Oh, oh! 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, in the country you us d for to kiss me with 
 out axing. 
 
 DOLLY. I scorn your words, you worthless blackguard; so 
 I do. [Cries. 
 
 THOMAS. Sir, I d have you to know, sir, that I won t suffer 
 you, sir, to abuse this young lady, sir, in this manner, sir; and, 
 sir in short, sir, you re a dirty fellow, for your pains, sir. 
 
 HUMPHRY. And you re a great Utterly lubber, as the saying 
 is; and if you ll be so friendly as for to fetch the mug of ale you 
 promis d me, I ll lick you out of pure gratitude: have a care 
 grog makes me fight like a tyger. 
 
 THOMAS. It s a bargain, Ishou d be sorry to try you; but 
 I ll go lace you ale a little, and that will spoil your fighting, I 
 warrant you. [Aside, and exit. 
 
 DOLLY. You sha n t fight him. Oh, law, I wou dn t trust my 
 self with him alone, for the riches of the Indians! [Exit, after him. 
 
 HUMPHRY. [Mimicking her.} What an unfaithless trollop! 
 She s got to be very vartuous since she s liv d in town, but 
 vartue is but skin deep, as the saying is: wou dn t even let me 
 kiss her; I meant nothing but the genteel thing neither, all 
 in an honest way. I wonder what she can see in that clumsy 
 booby s face, for to take his part, sooner than I! but I ll go 
 buy a new coat and breeches, and get my head fricaseed, and 
 my beard comb d a little, and then I ll cut a dash with the 
 best on em. I ll go see where that ill-looking fellow stays with 
 the ale. [Exit. 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Barber s Shop. 
 
 HUMPHRY in new clothes, reading a newspaper. 
 TOUPEE shaving him. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Pray now, master barber, what does Constitution 
 mean? I hears so many people a quarrelling about it, I wish I 
 cou d get somebody to give me the exclamation of it; here it is 
 among the news too. It s spelt C, O, N, con S, T, I, sti consti 
 T, U, tu constitu T, I, ti constituti O, N, on con-sti- 
 
384 Representative Plays 
 
 tu-ti-on, but your city folks calls it Constitushon; they ve got 
 such a queer pronouncication. 
 
 TOUPEE. Vat you please, sare? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, it pleases me well enough; I only want to 
 know what it magnifies. 
 
 TOUPEE. Je ne vous entens pas, monsieur. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, what outlandish dialogue is that you re 
 a talking? I can t understand your lingo as well as the School 
 master s, with his monstrous memorandums, and his ignorant 
 mouses. 
 
 TOUPEE. You be quainted with monsieur de Schoolmastare, 
 monsieur? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, mounsieur; he and the consumptive old gen 
 tleman, old what s his name, was a wrangling about that con 
 founded name that I was axing you about; caw-con- [Looks at 
 the paper. ] aye, Constitution. 
 
 TOUPEE. Dat Constitution is no bon; de Schoolmastare vas 
 strike me for dat. By gar, I get de satisfaction ! 
 
 HUMPHRY. He talks as crooked as a Guinea niger. [Aside. 
 
 TOUPEE. He vas call me ah, le diable! block; dis [Points 
 to his head.] blockhead, oui, blockhead. 
 
 HUMPHRY. If you ve got a mind, I ll lather him for you. 
 
 TOUPEE. Yes; den I vill lader you for nothing. 
 
 HUMPHRY. You lather me for nothing? I ll lather you for 
 less yet, you barber-looking 
 
 TOUPEE. No, no; me lader you so. [Lathers HUMPHRY S face. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Oh, with soap-suds, you mean: I ax pardon, 
 mounsieur; I thought how you was a going for to lather me with 
 out soap-suds or razor, as the old proverb is. 
 
 TOUPEE. Dat is no possible, monsieur. 
 
 HUMPHRY. I believe not; you shou d be shav d as clean as a 
 whistle, if you was; faith should you. 
 
 TOUPEE. Yes, I will shave you very clean; here is de bon 
 razor for shave de beard. [Draws the razor over the back of 
 HUMPHRY S hand, to shew him it can cut a hair.] 
 
 HUMPHRY. [Bellowing out.] You ill-looking, lousy, beard- 
 combing, head-shaving rascal ! Did you ever know any body for 
 to have a beard upon their hand? 
 
 TOUPEE. You be von big merican brute, sur mon ame! 
 
 HUMPHRY. You lie, as the saying is. What a mouth he makes 
 whenever he goes for to talk his gibberage! He screws it up 
 
 
The Politician Out-witted 385 
 
 for all the world like a pickled oyster. I must have a care I don t 
 get some of that snuff out of his nose. 
 
 TOUPEE. You please for taste de snuff? 
 
 HUMPHRY. I don t care if I smell some. [Takes a pinch of 
 snuff, which makes him sneeze, while TOUPEE is shaving 
 him; by which he gets his face cut. ] 
 
 TOUPEE. Prenez garde a vous! 
 
 HUMPHRY. The devil take the snuff and you! [Going. 
 
 TOUPEE. S il vous plait, monsieur, you vill please for take de 
 de vat is dat de lettre de shallange to monsieur de School- 
 mastare, for fight me? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, that I will, with the most carefullest manner; 
 he shall have it in the greatest pleasure. 
 
 [TOUPEE gives a paper to HUMPHRY. 
 
 TOUPEE. Dat is de bon civility, I vill be your a very good 
 friend. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Thank e kindly, Mounsieur. [Exeunt, severally. 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 Enter YOUNG LOVEYET and HUMPHRY. 
 
 LOVEYET. Not find where he lives? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No; you re the most unluckiest gentleman for 
 making of blunders, didn t you tell me how your father liv d 
 in number two hundred and fifty, in Queen-Street, in the three- 
 story brick house? 
 
 LOVEYET. I did; is not that the house? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No why, your father don t live there. 
 
 LOVEYET. Did you enquire for Mr. Loveyet? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, I saw Mr. Loveyet. 
 
 LOVEYET. The devil is in the fellow, I believe. Did you give 
 him my letter? 
 
 HUMPHRY, Yes, but I didn t want to. 
 
 LOVEYET. Why not? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Becase I wanted for to carry it to your father. 
 
 LOVEYET. What makes you think Mr. Loveyet is not my father? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Somebody told me so that s got a good right to 
 know; I ve his own words for it. 
 
 LOVEYET. My father tell you so? 
 
 HUMPHRY. The young man is crazy, I believe. I say Mr. 
 Loveyet said you wasn t his son; so I suppose he can t be your 
 father by that. 
 
386 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. I forgot that the letter would probably produce this 
 misunderstanding. [Aside.] He is the only one I know, whom I 
 have a right to call my father. 
 
 HUMPHRY. May be you re the old fellow s bastard, and if 
 you re a bastard, you can t be a son, you know: aye, that s the 
 catch, I suppose. 
 
 LOVEYET. Your new clothes make you quite smart, Mr. Cubb. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, don t I look quite smart, with these here new 
 clothes? they re all new, I ll insure you only a little the worse 
 for wear; I bought em at the vandue option, at the Fly-Market. 
 
 LOVEYET. But how came you by that patch on one side of 
 your face, and that large crop of beard on the other? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Mounsieur, the outlandish barber, give me a small 
 cut across the whiskers; but the best of all you ha n t seen yet; 
 see here. [Pulls off his hat. 
 
 LOVEYET. Aye, now you look something like quite fierce 
 entirely the fine gentleman, upon my falsehood. A genteel dress 
 is the very soul of a man, Mr. Cubb. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Like enough, for I ve got more soul to shew myself, 
 now I cut such a dash; I ve got a soul to see the shews at the 
 play-house; and, I think, I ve got a great deal more soul to spend 
 a few shillings at the ale-house. 
 
 LOVEYET. That s true; I m glad you remind me of my 
 promise. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Not I, I didn t remind you, I scorn it. 
 
 LOVEYET. I dare say you do. [Gives him money.] There, 
 drink my health with that. 
 
 HUMPHRY. With all my heart soul, I mean; aye, here s soul 
 enough [Jingling the money.] to buy the matter o twenty 
 mugs; come, let s go at once. 
 
 LOVEYET. I? excuse me, sir; I have particular business else 
 where. Sir, your most humble servant. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Sir, I am your most humble sarvint too. [Bows 
 awkwardly.) [Exeunt, severally. 
 
 SCENE III. MR. FRIENDLY S House. 
 
 Enter HARRIET. 
 
 [Knocking at the door.] What an incessant knocking! Mr. 
 Friendly s family are out, and between their company and my 
 own, I expect to be engaged all day: I am fairly tired of these 
 morning visits; they are fashionable, and, therefore, agreeable, 
 
The Politician Out-witted 387 
 
 to those who can make propriety and happiness subservient to 
 custom and false politeness; but, for my part 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Miss Airy is waiting in her carriage, madam. 
 HARRIET. Admit her. [Exit SERVANT.] She is the only one I 
 wish to see this morning. 
 
 Enter MARIA. 
 
 MARIA. My dear Harriet, I am rejoic d to find you at home; 
 I this minute heard something, which I knew would make you 
 happy ; and that, I trust, is a good excuse for troubling you twice 
 a day with my company. 
 
 HARRIET. You wrong my friendship, Maria, if you think you 
 can oblige me too often with your desirable company; tis true I 
 was wishing for a little cessation of that torrent of formal visitors 
 which is pouring in from morning till night; but far be it from 
 Harriet to reckon her Maria among that number. 
 
 MARIA. You are very good, my dear; but you must give me 
 leave to be a little jealous that I am not the only one who is fa 
 voured with such a preference. 
 
 HARRIET. Indeed, I do not know any one I have a particular 
 desire to see this morning, except yourself. 
 
 MARIA. You forget Mr. Loveyet, when you say so. 
 
 HARRIET. Poh ! I am not talking of men. 
 
 MARIA. No; but it is very probable you are thinking of a man. 
 
 HARRIET. And pray what reason have you to think, that my 
 thoughts run upon such an improper subject? 
 
 MARIA. Improper subject, ha, ha, ha. So my very discreet, 
 prudish little Harriet never lets man enter into her head; tho 
 it is pretty notorious somebody has enter d into her heart long ago. 
 
 HARRIET. Your discernment must be very subtle, if you know 
 all that is in my heart. 
 
 MARIA. I only judge of your heart, by your tongue; and the 
 abundance of the former is generally inferred from the speech of 
 the latter. Yes, yes that constant, hypocritical heart of yours 
 is now throbbing with love, hope, curiosity, and a thousand 
 speechless sensations, the improper subject of which, I do not 
 hesitate to declare, is odious man; and that man, the accom 
 plished Mr. Loveyet. i 
 
 HARRIET. Pshaw, how can you tantalize one so? 
 
388 Representative Plays 
 
 MARIA. Well, well, it shall not be serv d like Tantalus any 
 more: he was doom d to behold; and, beholding, to wish and 
 languish for the tempting draught, in vain: but a better doom 
 awaits the happy Harriet; what she desires is not thus inter 
 dicted, but will soon be obtain d, and 
 
 HARRIET. How strangely you talk, Maria. 
 
 MARIA. Well, I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Old 
 Mr. Loveyet has received a letter from his son, signifying his in 
 tention to leave the West-Indies shortly after its date, so you may 
 expect to see him very soon. Then hey for a wedding, &c. 
 
 HARRIET. Ha, ha; you are a droll girl. 
 
 MARIA. But my time is precious; I am just going to the widow 
 Affable s: about twelve months ago she paid me a visit, when, 
 agreeably to the form in such cases made and provided, she beg d 
 I would be more sociable, and she would take it so kindly of me : 
 accordingly I shall step in en passant, to shew her my sociabil 
 ity and kindness, which I shall, perhaps, repeat at the end of 
 another year. 
 
 HARRIET. How can you be so cruel? The pleasure I experi 
 ence in your society, makes me regret that any one should be de 
 prived of it. 
 
 MARIA. That is very strange: I should imagine, if you priz d 
 my company so much, you would wish me to withhold it from 
 others; because, the more I bless them with my presence, the 
 less will come to your share, you know, my dear; nor is it easy 
 to conceive how you could be so fond of my sweet person, without 
 being jealous at the partiality of others; but, after all, good peo 
 ple, they say, are scarce ; and my humble admirers shall find the 
 saying verified in me; because they are not fully sensible of my 
 superior value; but, since you prove the contrary, by extolling 
 my conversation and friendship so much, I likewise shall observe 
 a contrary conduct, and indulge you with a tete-a-tete frequently, 
 my dear. But I have fifty places to call at yet: I am to wait on 
 Miss Nancy Startup, Miss Biddy Dresswise, Miss Gaudy, Miss 
 Titterwell, Mrs. Furbelow, Mrs. Neverhome, Mrs et c&tem, 
 et ccetera; which visits I mean to pay with all the formality and 
 fashionable shortness in my power: from thence I shall proceed 
 to Mademoiselle Mincit, the milliner; from thence to two or 
 three score of shops in William-Street, to buy a prodigious num 
 ber of important 
 
 HARRIET. Trifles. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 389 
 
 MARIA. You are right, my dear; as I live, I would not be one 
 of those officious "Nothing else, Ma ms?" for all the goods from 
 the North Church to Maiden-Lane. Adieu, I leave you to 
 meditate on what I have told you. 
 
 HARRIET. Farewell. [Exit MARIA.] Now Maria is gone, I 
 will see no more company. If anything can be an excuse for a 
 falsehood, the present occasion offers a very good one: I feel my 
 mind pretty much at ease, and I do not choose to have it disturbed 
 by the impertinence of pretended friends. Who is there? 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Madam. 
 
 HARRIET. Whoever calls to see me to-day, remember I am not 
 at home. 
 
 SERVANT. Mr. Worthnought is here now, Madam; must I 
 deny you to him? 
 
 HARRIET. Undoubtedly. [Exit SERVANT.] I am disgusted 
 with the repetition of that coxcomb s nonsense. [Sighs.] I wish 
 Charles was here: In spite of the false delicacy of that tyrant, 
 Custom, which forbids us to speak the exquisite effusions of a sus 
 ceptible heart, I can now speak boldly, while that heart dictates 
 to the willing tongue what complacence it feels at the prospect of 
 its Charles s return. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of MR. FRIENDLY S House. 
 WORTHNOUGHT, discovered solus. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Who comes here! He sha n t see her, if I 
 don t, foregad Curse me, but he shall go away with a flea in 
 his ear. 
 
 Enter YOUNG LOVEYET, followed by HUMPHRY. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Mr. Lovit Mr. Lovit. [Takes him aside.] As I 
 was a going along, d ye see, I see you pop in here, and so I follow d 
 you, to tell you, how old Mr. Lovit said he was intend for to go 
 for to see the old fellow s daughter, to tell her something about 
 the letter. Don t Mrs. Harriet live here? 
 
 LOVEYET. I ll make haste, and supersede the design of his 
 errand, if possible; it would be a pity he should come before I 
 had appriz d Harriet I was not in the West-Indies. [Aside.] 
 I am obliged to you for your information. [To HUMPHRY. 
 
39 Representative Plays 
 
 HUMPHRY. Thank e, as the saying is. [Going, WORTHNOUGHT 
 whispers with him.] What s that to you? How clumsy moun- 
 sieur has dress d his calabash! Powder d over the face and 
 eyes. [Exit. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. I wish I knew what he wanted with him; 
 perhaps it is something about me. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. What Butterfly is this we have here! I suppose it 
 is the fop, Frankton mentioned. [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Sir, I have the honour to be, with the pro- 
 foundest respect and esteem, your most obedient, most devoted, 
 and most obliged humble slave, foy d Homme d Honnetir Tol lol, 
 &c. [Sings. 
 
 LOVEYET. A very pompous salutation, truly. [Aside.] Your 
 polite address does me too much honour, sir; I cannot conceive 
 how you can be my obliged slave, as I do not recollect I ever saw 
 you before. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Why, sir, I ll tell you: Your appearance, 
 sir, bespeaks the gentleman of distinction, sir, 
 
 LOVEYET. My appearance; superficial coxcomb! [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Tis true, my words were words of course; 
 but I meant every word, sir, pon hanor. "Cupid, Gad of saft 
 persuasion, &c." [Sings affectedly, and takes snuff. 
 
 LOVEYET. Humph, To whom, sir, am I indebted, for so much 
 civility? 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Dick Worthnought, esquire, at your service, 
 sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. The very fool. [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. And give me leave to add, sir, that I feel the 
 highest felicity, that you have given me so good an opportunity 
 of asking you, in my turn, for the favour of your name, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. My name is Loveyet, sir. With what solemnity the 
 coxcomb talks ! [A side. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. A native of this city, I presume, Mr. Loveyet. 
 
 LOVEYET. I am, sir; but I have been absent for some years, 
 and, as I was a youth when I left the city, I cannot be supposed to 
 have retained much of the Yorker. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Pardon me, sir; to a person of penetration, 
 the Yorker is still conspicuous under the disguise of the foreigner; 
 and I am proud to have the hanor of being your countryman, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. I fancy the honour is by no means reciprocal. [Aside. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 391 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You are acquainted with Miss Harriet True- 
 man, I presume, Mr. Loveyet. 
 
 LOVEYET. I was formerly acquainted with the lady. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You must know, sir, that your humble ser 
 vant has the hanor and felicity of being that lady s very humble 
 admirer. 
 
 LOVEYET. I dare say she is admired by all who have the 
 pleasure of knowing her. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Give me leave, sir, I mean her lover. 
 
 LOVEYET. Conceited ape! [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You have no pretensions, sir, I presume. 
 
 LOVEYET. Pretensions? 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Aye, sir; I thought you might have a small 
 penchant, as the French call it; you apprehend me; but she 
 don t intend to see company to-day. I am monstrously cha- 
 grin d, sir, foregad, that I have it not in my power to introduce 
 you to the divine mistress of my heart; but, as matters are cir- 
 cumstanc d, I think it is not worth our while to stay. 
 
 LOVEYET. I mean to see Miss Trueman before I shall think so. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Oh, fie, sir; you wou d not force a lady to 
 give you her company against her inclination: perhaps, indeed, 
 she may appear to receive you with some warmth, and you may 
 flatter yourself you have fairly made a canquest of her, and think 
 Dick Worthnought esquire, is out-rival d; but if so, you are 
 most demnably bit, foregad, for she s as slippery as ice, tho* 
 not quite so cold; she is the very standard of true modern 
 coquetry, the quintessence of the beau-monde, and the com- 
 pletest example of New- York levity, that New- York has the 
 hanor to call its beautiful inhabitant: ha, ha, she ll jilt you; 
 however, the dear creature, with all her amiable foibles, has 
 been so profuse of her attention to me, that I should be ungrateful 
 not to acknowledge the various favours she has hanor d me 
 with. 
 
 LOVEYET. Consummate impudence! [Aside.] Miss True- 
 man s character is well known, sir. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Miss Trueman s character! Demme, sir, do 
 you mean to say anything against her character? 
 
 LOVEYET. No; and I will take care you shall not, with im 
 punity. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You are the most unmannerly fellow I ever 
 convers d with, pan hanor. 
 
39 2 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. And you the most contemptible puppy; or that 
 fellow would be unmannerly enough to chastise you for your in 
 solence. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. That s a demnable rub, demme; curse him, 
 I m afraid he isn t afraid of me, after all. [Aside.] You wou d 
 find me as brave as yourself then; demme, but you wou d. 
 
 LOVEYET. I ll try you. [Offers to cane him, which makes him 
 cry out. Then enter HARRIET, hastily.] 
 
 HARRIET. Oh, dear! what s the matter? 
 
 [Seeing CHARLES, she shrieks. 
 
 LOVEYET. My dearest, my adorable Harriet! 
 
 HARRIET. Is it possible? I did not dream that Mr. Loveyet 
 was the person who wanted to see me. 
 
 LOVEYET. And am I again blest with a sight of the dear object 
 
 of all my wishes and affections! I thank you, heaven; you have 
 
 been bountiful, indeed! The rolling billows, under your propi- 
 
 V tious guidance, have at length wafted me to my native land, to 
 
 love and my dear Harriet. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. What the devil does he mean! [Aside. 
 
 HARRIET. Your unexpected appearance, and the unaccount 
 able circumstance which attends it, have discomposed me in such 
 a manner, that I cannot express, as I wish, how happy I am in 
 your safe arrival. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Hah, happy in his arrival! If so, she will 
 not be very happy in his rival, I m afraid. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. I will explain the occasion of my charmer s fright 
 immediately; at present I can only tell you that your wou d-be 
 lover, here 
 
 HARRIET. My lover! 
 
 LOVEYET. So he confidently call d himself, and took such other 
 insufferably vain and impudent freedoms with your name, that I 
 attempted to give him a little wholesome admonition with this, if 
 his effeminate cries had not brought my lovely Harriet in to pre 
 vent me; but the very attempt has proved him to be the basest 
 of dastards. [While he is saying this, WORTHNOUGHT makes several 
 attempts to interrupt him. ] 
 
 HARRIET. [To WORTHNOUGHT.] I am equally surpriz d and 
 incens d, sir, that you would dare to take such freedoms with 
 my name. 
 
 LOVEYET. Be assured, Miss Harriet, if you condescend to 
 grant your valuable company to such superficial gentry, they will 
 
The Politician Out-witted 393 
 
 ever prove themselves as unworthy of it as he has; but your 
 goodness does not let you suspect the use which such characters 
 make of the intimacy they are honour d with, or you would spurn 
 their unmeaning flattery, and ridiculous fopperies, with indigna 
 tion. 
 
 HARRIET. I ever till now consider d him as a respectful, well- 
 meaning person, as far as regarded myself; and as such, gave him 
 a prudent share of my civilities; but I never thought either his 
 intellects or his person sufficient to entitle him to a partial inti 
 macy. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You cannot deny, madam, that I have re 
 peatedly experienced the most flattering proofs of your partiality, 
 that a lady (who values her reputation) can ever bestow on her 
 admirer. 
 
 HARRIET. Contemptible thing! An admirer, forsooth! Of 
 what? Your ideas are too mean and frothy to let you admire 
 anything but my dress, or some other trifle as empty and super 
 ficial as the trifler I am speaking to. My demeanour towards 
 you was nothing but the effect of cheerfulness and politeness; 
 qualities which, I believe, are inherent in me, and of which, 
 therefore, all with whom I am acquainted are the objects; but 
 your present unmanly and insupportably impudent discourse, 
 makes me despise myself almost as much as you, for allowing such 
 a wretch even that small degree of attention which he so illy de 
 served. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You are very insulting, madam, pan hanor. 
 
 LOVEYET. How apt such fellows are to have honour in their 
 mouths. [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. This is only a trick to conceal your incon 
 stancy during his absence; but it is the nature of the sex to de 
 ceive us. 
 
 HARRIET. Tis the nature of a fool to say so; and if that fool 
 does not instantly quit the subject and the house together, I must 
 request the favour of Mr. Loveyet to make him. 
 
 LOVEYET. "As matters are circumstanced, Mr. Worthnought, 
 I think it is not worth your while to stay." 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Her unparallel d rudeness shall not compel 
 me to leave the house, till I please. 
 
 LOVEYET. "Oh, fie, sir, you would not force a lady to give 
 you her company against her inclination." 
 
394 Representative Plays 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You are very fond of echoing my words, it 
 seems. 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, when I can apply them to your disappoint 
 ment and disgrace. "I am monstrously chagrin d, sir, foregad, 
 that I have it not in my power to introduce you to the divine mis 
 tress of my heart." Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Tis very well, I will have revenge; if the 
 laws of politeness (which I would rather die than infringe) did not 
 forbid swearing before a lady [In a contemptuous tone. ], curse me, 
 but I would d n you for a 
 
 LOVEYET. [Interrupting him.] "You must know, sir, I have 
 the hanor and felicity of being this lady s very humble admirer." 
 You have failed in your predictions, I think, sir. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Yes, and she shall soon pay for her duplicity; 
 tho I would not have you think that her ill usage mortifies me in 
 the least: I never was in love with her, nor did I ever intend mar 
 riage, which is more than she can say; and, I believe, it is fortu 
 nate for us both, that you arriv d when you did, or something 
 might have happened, which would have obliged me to marry her, 
 merely to prevent her from being miserable. Ha, ha, ha. Tol 
 lol, &c. [Exit. 
 
 HARRIET. What a superlative wretch! 
 
 LOVEYET. He is too contemptible to cost you a thought, 
 Harriet: none but the puppy tribe, and a few splenetic old 
 maids, will pay any attention to his slander; they, no doubt, will 
 spread it with avidity; but to be traduced by such, is to be 
 praised. Hah! there comes my father; I forgot to tell you I 
 expected him here : I will try if he knows me. 
 
 Enter OLD LOVEYET. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. Madam, your most obedient; Sir, your 
 servant. 
 
 LOVEYET. [Bows.] I find he does not know me: Nature, be 
 still ; for now I feel he is indeed my father. 
 
 HARRIET. Mr. Loveyet, I am happy to see you. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. She would not be quite so happy, if she knew 
 my errand. [Aside.] I have waited on you, madam, upon disa 
 greeable business. 
 
 HARRIET. How, sir? I beg you will not leave me in suspense: 
 What is it? 
 
The Politician Out-witted 395 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. It is a matter of a delicate nature, madam, and 
 therefore, must not be spoken at random. 
 
 LOVEYET. Heaven avert any unfavourable event! [Aside. 
 
 HARRIET. Mr. Loveyet, your cautious innuendoes give me sen 
 sible uneasiness. 
 
 LOVEYET. I will withdraw, Miss Trueman; My love friend 
 ship, I would say, though it wishes to afford you happiness, and 
 participate in your troubles, does not presume to intrude on the 
 private conversation Mr. Loveyet wishes. 
 
 HARRIET. I dare say your presence is no restraint, sir. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. I don t know that, madam: pray, who is the 
 gentleman? 
 
 HARRIET. The gentleman is my very particular friend, sir. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. By my body, here is rare wo/k going on. 
 [Aside.] Well, madam, as the gentleman is your very particular 
 friend; and as his love friendship, I mean, is so great, that you 
 dare to entrust all your secrets with him; I shall acquaint you, 
 that, as you and my son have long entertained a partiality for 
 each other, and being desirous to fulfill all my engagements, as 
 well as to make him happy, I have wrote for him to come and con 
 clude the marriage; but, for very good reasons, I have this day 
 determined to forbid the bans; and Mr. Trueman says, he is very 
 willing too. 
 
 LOVEYET. Hah! what can all this mean? [Aside. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. You must know, madam, your father has us d 
 me very ill; and to be plain with you, madam, your familiarity 
 with this person, convinces me you wou d have play d the fool 
 with my son, without my breaking the match. Ugh, ugh. 
 
 LOVEYET, The old gentleman imagines I am going to cut my 
 self out, it seems. [Aside to HARRIET. 
 
 HARRIET. You do not know who this is, sir, or you would not 
 put any improper constructions on the friendly freedom you have 
 observ d between us. 
 
 LOVEYET. True; and, therefore, you need not be concerned 
 at what he says. Since he has made this unlucky resolution, he 
 must not know who I am. [Aside to HARRIET. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. How well she dissembles! Friendly freedom, 
 a pretty term that, for the wanton hussy. [Aside.] I wish 
 Charles was here now; he wou d acknowledge his father s kind 
 ness in preventing a match, which, I am sure, would end in sor 
 row and disappointment. 
 
396 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. I doubt that much. This parent of mine is a sin 
 gular character. [Aside to HARRIET. 
 
 HARRIET. It is necessary you should be made acquainted with 
 some of his oddities: his most striking peculiarity is a desire to 
 be thought younger than he is; and, I dare say, some remark of 
 my father, respecting his age, is the only cause of his present ill 
 humour. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET. Look how they whisper! well, she is the most 
 brazen coquette I ever knew! Yes, yes, now her scandalous con 
 duct is glaring enough. [Aside.] I wish you and your very par 
 ticular friend, a good day, madam. [Exit. 
 
 HARRIET. I think our troubles increase fast: how unlucky, 
 that this dispute should happen at the very crisis of your arrival; 
 an event which we fondly expected would be attended with the 
 most pleasing circumstances. 
 
 LOVEYET. Those fond expectations, my lovely partner in trou 
 ble, shall soon be realized; this is only the momentary caprice 
 of old age. 
 
 HARRIET. You must take care not to talk of age, before him. 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, my fair monitor; I shall think of that: and 
 now permit me, in my turn, to give you a little advice. In the 
 first place, I would have you go to your father fall at his feet 
 clasp your fair hands, thus beseeching him in such terms as that 
 gentle heart is so well form d to dictate, and persuading him with 
 the all-prevailing music of that tuneful voice, to recall his 
 rigourous intention, nor doom such angelic goodness and beauty 
 to despair, by persisting to oppose an alliance which alone can 
 make you blest; and without which, the most faithful of lovers 
 will be rendered the most wretched one on earth. I shall take a 
 similar method with my old gentleman, and 1 think I can insure 
 myself success. 
 
 HARRIET. This is all very fine; but to have the voluntary 
 consent of the parent one loves, how infinitely more agreeable ! 
 I would not offend mine, for the world ; and yet 
 
 LOVEYET. And yet you will be obliged to offend him, by hav 
 ing me, eigh? 
 
 HARRIET. Pshaw; how strangely you misconstrue my mean 
 ing: I was going to observe, that I expect his obstinacy and pride 
 will prove invincible, in spite of all the rhetoric you are pleased to 
 ascribe to me. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 397 
 
 LOVEYET. Then we will employ a little rhetoric, against which 
 another class of fathers are not quite so invincible. Parsons are 
 plenty, you know; and Gold and Silver are persuasive little 
 words. Love inspires me with the spirit of prophecy, and tells me 
 I shall soon with propriety call the loveliest of her sex, mine. 
 
 HARRIET. You are very eloquent, Mr. Loveyet: I do not think 
 the subject merits so many florid speeches. 
 
 LOVEYET. Not merit them ! 
 
 Tis not in human language, to define 
 Merit so rare, and beauty so divine! 
 Then what avails this little praise of mine? 
 HARRIET. Harriet deserves not praise so great as thine. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 End of the Third Act. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. TRUEMAN S House. 
 
 TRUEMAN [solus]. 
 
 I sincerely lament this unfortunate dispute. I know Harriet 
 loves that young fellow, though he has been so long absent; 
 and, therefore, I regret it; for, to what end do I live but to see 
 her happy! But I will not give way to his father; perhaps 
 he may think better of the matter, for I know him to be of a 
 placable nature, though passionate; and yet he seems to be in 
 flexible in his resolution. 
 
 Enter HUMPHRY. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Sarvint, Mr. Schoolmaster; here s a challenge 
 for you. [Gives TRUEMAN the barber s note. 
 
 TRUEMAN. A challenge! Surely the old blockhead would not 
 make himself so ridiculous. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, it s for that; I remember he said you call d 
 him a blockhead. 
 
 TRUEMAN. You may go and tell him I advise him to relinquish 
 his knight-errant project, or I will expose his absurdity by taking 
 the advantage which the law offers in such cases. 
 
 HUMPHRY. That is, you ll take the law of him, if he goes for to 
 fight you. 
 
398 Representative Plays 
 
 TRUEMAN. Fight me! Oh, grovelling idea! Wit-forsaken 
 progeny of a more than soporific pericranium ! Fight me ! Hear 
 and be astonished, O Cicero, Demosthenes, Socrates, Plato, 
 Seneca, Aristotle, 
 
 HUMPHRY. Oh, for shame! Do you read Haristotle? 
 
 TRUEMAN. Be it known to thee, thou monstrous mass of ig 
 norance, if such an uninformed clod, dull and heavy as that ele 
 ment to which it must trace its origin, can comprehend these very 
 obvious and palpable truths, expressed in the most plain, simple, 
 easy, unscholastic diction. I repeat again, that you may appre 
 hend me with the greater perspicuity and facility, be it known 
 to thee, that those immaculate sages would have died rather than 
 have used such an expression; by the dignity of my profession, 
 they would: tis true that the ancients had such things as 
 single combats among the Olympic games, and they were always 
 performed by the populace; but such a fight, alias a tilt, a tourna 
 ment, a wrestle, could not, according to the rule of right, and 
 the eternal fitness and aptitude of things, be properly denomi 
 nated a bona fide fight; for, as I before observed, it was ipso facto, 
 a game, an Olympic game. Olympic, from Olympus. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Pray now, Mr. Schoolmaster, if a body mought be 
 so bold, what do you think of the last war? Does your School- 
 mastership think how that was a fona bide fight? 
 
 TRUEMAN. You are immensely illiterate; but I will reply to 
 your interrogatory. My opinion of the late war, is as follows, to 
 wit. Imprimis. The Americans were wise, brave and virtuous 
 to struggle for that liberty, independence and happiness, which 
 the new government will now render secure. Item. The Ameri 
 cans were prodigious fortunate to obtain the said liberty, inde 
 pendence and happiness. A war, encounter, combat, or, if you 
 please, fight like this, is great and glorious; it will immortalize 
 the name of the renowned WASHINGTON, more than that of 
 Cincinnatus, Achilles, ^Eneas, Alexander the Great, Scipio, Gus- 
 tavus Vasa, Mark Anthony, Kouli Khan, Caesar or Pompey. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Caesar and Pompey! Why them is nigers names. 
 
 TRUEMAN. temporal mores! 
 
 HUMPHRY. He talks Greek like a Trojan. Tempora mores; 
 I suppose how that s as much as to say, it was the temper of 
 the Moors, that s the nigers, for to be call d Caesar and Pompey. 
 I guess how he can give me the exclamation of that plaguy 
 word. Con let me see [Spells it in the manner he did before. ] 
 
 
The Politician Out-witted 399 
 
 Please your worshipful reverence, Mr. Schoolmaster, what s 
 Latin for Constitution? 
 
 TRUEMAN. To tell you what is Latin for Constitution, will not 
 make you a particle the wiser; I will, therefore, explain it in the 
 vernacular tongue. Constitution then, in its primary, abstract, 
 and true signification, is a concatenation or coacervation of sim 
 ple, distinct parts, of various qualities or properties, united, com 
 pounded, or constituted in such a manner, as to form or compose 
 a system or body, when viewed in its aggregate or general nature. 
 In its common, or generally received, acceptation, it implies two 
 things. First, the nature, habit, disposition, organization or 
 construction of the natural, corporeal, or animal system. Sec 
 ondly, a political system, or plan of government. This last defi 
 nition, I apprehend, explains the Constitution you mean. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Like enough, but I don t understand a single word 
 you ve been a talking about. 
 
 TRUEMAN. No! Tis not my fault then: If plainness of lan 
 guage, clearness of description, and a grammatical arrangement 
 of words will not suffice, I can do no more. 
 
 Enter OLD LOVEYET listening. 
 
 HUMPHRY. I mean the Constitution that you read in the news 
 papers about; that that your worship was a going to get at log 
 gerheads with old Mr. What s-his-name, about. 
 
 LOVEYET. I ll old you, you rascal! 
 
 TRUEMAN. Did you never hear your friends in the country 
 talk of the new Constitution? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Not I, I never heard anybody talk about it, at the 
 Pharisee s Head; I don t believe Jeremy Stave, the dark of the 
 meeting-house, no, nor Parson Thumpum himself ever heard of 
 such a word No, not even old Mr. Scourge, the Schoolmaster. 
 
 TRUEMAN. A hopeful genius, for a Schoolmaster, upon my ed 
 ucation. Do you send him to me, I ll qualify him for that im 
 portant station. 
 
 HUMPHRY. And I ll be qualify d I never larnt such a word 
 when I went to his school. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Nor any other one, I believe, properly speaking. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Oh yes, I ll say that for him; he us d to take a 
 great deal of pains for to larn us proper speaking. 
 
 TRUEMAN. The Constitution you hear so much noise about, is 
 a new government, which some great and good men have lately 
 
400 Representative Plays 
 
 contrived, and now recommend for the welfare and happiness of 
 the American nation. 
 
 LOVEYET. Oh, the traitor! 
 
 HUMPHRY. But didn t old Mr. What s-his-name say, how they 
 wanted for to make slaves of us? 
 
 LOVEYET. There s old Mr. What s-his-name, again. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Mr. Loveyet is a weak man; you must not mind 
 what he says. 
 
 LOVEYET. Oh, I shall burst! 
 
 TRUEMAN. Only think now of his sending me a challenge, be 
 cause I told him he was sixty odd years of 
 
 LOVEYET. [Running towards them.] Death and the devil! 
 Have I sent you a challenge? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No, not you, old gentleman. 
 
 LOVEYET. I ll give you old gentleman. Take that, for calling 
 me old again. [Offers to strike him; but missing his blow, he falls 
 down.} Oh, what an unlucky dog I am! My evil genius is cer 
 tainly let loose today. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Let us coolly enquire into this enigmatical affair, 
 Mr. Loveyet. [Breaks open the note, and reads. ] What is all this? 
 Booby blockhead satisfaction challenge courage 
 honour gentleman honour d per Monsieur Cubb. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, that s I. 
 
 TRUEMAN. And pray, Mr. Cubb, who gave you this pretty 
 epistle? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, mounsieur, the barber. 
 
 TRUEMAN. By the dignity of my profession, it must be so: 
 Now there s a solution to the enigma. Mr. Loveyet, you will 
 excuse my mistaking this business so much ; the paltry Frisieur 
 never enter d my head ; you recollect I gave him a little flagella 
 tion this morning. 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, and I recollect the occasion too; this con 
 founded upstart Constitution (that cause of all my crosses and 
 troubles) is at the bottom of every mischief. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Yes, your wou d-be Constitution, has indeed done 
 a deal of mischief. 
 
 LOVEYET. I deny it; it is perfectly inoffensive and mild. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Mild, indeed: happy would it be for America, if 
 her government was more coercive and energetic! I suppose 
 you have heard that Massachusetts has ratified this upstart 
 Constitution; this is the sixth grand column in the federal edi- 
 
 
The Politician Out-witted 401 
 
 fice; we only want three more to make up the lucky nine; and 
 then the nine Muses will make our western world their permanent 
 abode; and he who is at once their Favourite and Patron, will 
 preside over the whole: then we shall see another Golden Age; 
 arts will then flourish, and literature be properly encouraged. 
 That s the grand desideratum of my wishes. 
 
 LOVEYET. A fig for your Latin and your literature! That s 
 the way your unconstitutional Constitutionalists take the ad 
 vantage of our weak side, and 
 
 TRUEMAN. And the said weak side being easily discovered, 
 as you have but one side, go on, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. And cram their unconstitutional bolus down our 
 throats, with Latin; you and your vile junto of perfidious poli 
 ticians want to Latin us out of our liberties. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Well, why don t they take the law of the polli- 
 kitchens then, eigh? 
 
 TRUEMAN. Mr. Loveyet, I never knew a man of your age and 
 wisdom 
 
 LOVEYET. Age, sir! Wisdom! Yes, wisdom, sir. Age again, 
 eigh? Ugh, ugh. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Was there ever such preposterous behaviour! 
 You are getting as crazy as your favorite Constitution. 
 
 LOVEYET. You are crazier than either, you old blockhead, or 
 you would not make such a crazy speech : I say my constitution 
 is a thousand per cent, better than yours. Ugh, ugh, ugh. 
 
 TRUEMAN. A pretty figure for a good constitution! What a 
 striking instance of health, youth, and beauty! How emble 
 matically grotesque ! The very image of deformity and infirmity ! 
 A perfect mirror for Milton s description of Sin and Death. 
 
 Not Yorick s skull, nor Hamlet s ghost, 
 Nor all the tragic, stage-made host; 
 With saucer eyes, and looks aghast, 
 Would make me run away so fast: 
 Not all who Milton s head inspire, 
 "Gorgons and Hydras and Chim&ras dire!" 
 Nor haggard Death, nor snake-torn Sin, 
 Look half so ugly, old and thin; 
 No all his hell-born, monstrous crew, 
 Are not so dire a sight as youl 
 
402 Representative Plays 
 
 [While TRUEMAN is saying this, LOVEYET appears to be in a vio 
 lent rage, and makes several attempts to interrupt the former, 
 who shuns LOVEYET, as if afraid. ] 
 
 LOVEYET. Fire and murder! Must I bear to be held up for 
 such a monster? Perdition! What shall I do? What shall I 
 say? Oh! oh! oh! Oh! liberty! Oh, my country! Look how 
 he ridicules me ! Did ever any poor man suffer so much for the 
 good of his country! But I won t give up the glorious cause yet; 
 sir, Mr. Trueman I insist upon it, the new Constitution, sir, 
 I say, that the old the new that that Zounds and fury! 
 [Running towards him, and making an attempt to strike him. 
 TRUEMAN. My dear Mr. Loveyet, compose yourself a little; 
 for heaven s sake, sir, consider; your animal Constitution is 
 not able to withstand the formidable opposition of my political 
 one; the shock is too great; let me persuade you, sir; and as 
 soon as nine States accede to the adoption of the new Constitu 
 tion, we will investigate the merits of the old. Ha, ha, ha. 
 [This speech and the preceding one, are to be spoken at the same 
 time; during which, TRUEMAN and LOVEYET run about the 
 stage, and HUMPHRY retreats from them as they approach him. ] 
 
 Enter HARRIET alarmed. 
 
 HARRIET. Oh, Papa, my dear Papa, what s the matter! 
 
 LOVEYET. And, sir, as sure as as eight times nine is sixty- 
 three, your new government is not bottom, not sound ; and 
 
 TRUEMAN. And as sure as you are sixty- three, your head is not 
 sound. 
 
 LOVEYET. Here is your incomparable daughter; I came here 
 to acquaint you of her scandalous conduct ; but now she can save 
 me that trouble. 
 
 TRUEMAN. How, sir! My daughter s scandalous conduct? 
 
 LOVEYET. I was going to tell you. I caught her with a strange 
 gallant, a "very particular friend;" whose "love, friendship, 
 I would say," was so sincere, that she was kind enough to grant 
 him a little "friendly freedom," in my presence. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Heaven protect me! There certainly must be 
 something in this. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. And that I have received a letter from my son. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, now he s his son again. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. And that he will be here soon, and that when he 
 conies, I am going to marry him to Miss Maria Airy. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 403 
 
 HUMPHRY. I must go tell Mr. Lovit of that, at once. 
 
 [Aside, and exit. 
 
 LOVEYET. And but it is no matter now: I suppose she will 
 tell you a fine story of a cock and a bull. 
 
 HARRIET. I shall not be base enough to deceive a father, I 
 give you my honour, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. I am very much mistaken if you have not given 
 that to somebody already: A woman s honour is a very perishable 
 commodity; a little thing often spoils it. 
 
 HARRIET. By what a feeble tenure does poor woman hold her 
 character and peace of mind! It is true, sir, that a woman s 
 reputation is too frequently, with ruffian cruelty, blasted in the 
 bud, without a cause; and that so effectually, that it seldom or 
 never flourishes again; but let me remind you, sir, in the words 
 of the poet, that 
 
 "Honour s a sacred tie, the law of kings; 
 It ought not to be sported with. 1 
 
 LOVEYET. I say it ought to be sported with; and, by my body, 
 tis capital sport, too; eigh, Horace? [Sings.] "Then hoity 
 toity, whisky frisky, &c." 
 
 TRUEMAN. A truce to your insipid, hard-labour d wit: the 
 honour you are pleased to call in question, is not an empty name 
 which can be purchased with gold; it is too inestimable to be 
 counterpoised by that imaginary good; otherwise the titles of 
 Honourable and Excellent would be always significant of his 
 Honour s or his Excellency s intrinsic worth; a thing "devoutly 
 to be wish d," but unfortunately too seldom exemplified; for, 
 as the dramatic muse elegantly says of money, "Who steals 
 my purse, steals trash." 
 
 LOVEYET. I deny it; the dramatic muse, as you call him, was 
 a fool : trash indeed ! Ha, ha, ha. Money trash ! Ready Rhino 
 trash! Golden, glittering, jingling money! I m sure he cou dn t 
 mean the hard stuff. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Very sublime conceptions, upon my erudition; 
 and expressed by some truly elegant epithets; but your ideas, 
 like your conscience, are of the fashionable, elastic kind; self- 
 interest can stretch them like Indian-rubber. 
 
 LOVEYET. What a stupid old gudgeon! Well, you ll believe 
 what I tell you, sooner or later, Mr. Schoolmaster; so your ser 
 vant: as for you, Miss Hypocrite, I wish your Honour farewell, 
 and I guess you may do the same. [Exit. 
 
404 Representative Plays 
 
 TRUEMAN. These insinuations, Harriet, have put my anxiety 
 to the rack. 
 
 HARRIET. I am happy I can so soon relieve you from it, sir. 
 Young Mr. Loveyet arrived this morning; but, it seems, the old 
 gentleman has entirely forgot him, during his long absence; and 
 when he heard his father s resolution, in consequence of the dis 
 pute he had with you, he did not think proper to make himself 
 known. It was this which made him think me so culpable, that 
 you hear he talks of marrying him to my friend Maria. 
 
 TRUEMAN. I see into the mistake; but the worst construction 
 the affair will admit, does not justify his using you so indecently; 
 and, if it were not for the more powerful consideration of a 
 daughter s happiness, I would make him repent it. 
 
 HARRIET. I have ever found my honoured, my only parent 
 both wise in concerting plans for that daughter s happiness, and 
 good in executing them to the utmost of his ability; and, I dare 
 say, he does not think her alliance with Mr. Loveyet s son will 
 prove unfavourable to her happiness. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Far from it, my child: Your unusual good sense 
 makes a common-place lecture unnecessary, Harriet; but beware 
 of flattery and dissimulation ; for the manners of the present age 
 are so dissolute, that the young fellows of these degenerate days 
 think they cannot be fine gentlemen without being rakes, and 
 in short, rascals; for they make a merit even of debauching inno 
 cence: indeed, that is scarcely to be wondered at, when so many 
 of those who are called ladies of taste and fashion, strange as it 
 may seem, like them the better for it; but I hope, you and Mr. 
 Loveyet are exceptions to such depravity. 
 
 HARRIET. I think I can venture to assure you, we are, sir; 
 and now, if my father has nothing more to impart, I will take my 
 leave of him; and be assured, sir, your advice shall be treasured 
 here, as a sacred pledge of paternal love. Adieu, Papa. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Farewell, Harriet; Heaven prosper your designs. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 
 Enter HUMPHRY and WORTHNOUGHT meeting. 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Sir, your most obedient. 
 HUMPHRY. Here s that mackmarony again. [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. I have not the honour to know your name, sir, 
 but if you will inform me what you were whispering with Mr. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 405 
 
 Loveyet about, you will make me the most obsequious and de 
 voted of your slaves. 
 
 HUMPHRY. My slave! Why, I wou dn t have you for a slave, 
 if you was to pay me for it; with your silk sattin breeches, and 
 your lily white gloves, and your crimp d up toes, and your fine 
 powder d calabash, that s so smart outside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. You entirely mistake my meaning, friend; 
 I m a man of quality. Do I look like a servant, a hireling, a vile 
 menial? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No, you look more like a dancing-master, a fight 
 ing-master, or a play-actor, or some such flashy folks; but looks 
 is nothing, for everybody dresses alike nowadays; like master, 
 like man, as the old saying is; ecod, you can t tell a Congressman 
 from a marchant s prentice, everybody dresses so fine. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Ha, ha, ha, he is pasitively a very eccentric 
 bady, and there is a small tincture of a barbarous sart of wit in 
 what he says; but it wants an immensity of correction, an infini 
 tude of polishing; he is a mere son of nature, everything he says 
 is express d in such a Gathic, uncouth, Anti-Chesterfieldian style; 
 and as for his dress, it is pasitively most prepasterously clownish 
 and original. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why he talks as many long-winded, old-fashioned 
 words, as the Schoolmaster. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Mr. Mr. Pray what is your proper name, 
 besides Humphry? Your sirname, I mean. 
 
 HUMPHRY. My proper sirname is Humphry Cubb; why our 
 family is the most largest family within the circumroundibus of 
 fifty miles, and the most grandest too, tho I say it that shou dn t 
 say it; for my father s father s great-grandfather was a just-ass 
 of the peace, when King George the third was a sucking baby, 
 and, therefore, as father says, a greater man then, than he was, 
 ha, ha, ha. And his great aunt, by his mother s side, had the 
 honour to be chief waiting woman to Mynheer Van Hardspraken- 
 crampdejawmetlongname, the Dutch governor s public scratche- 
 tary; but I needn t go so far back neither, for I ve got, at this 
 present time, no less than two second cousins; one of em is 
 soup-provider for the county, and t other belongs to the liglisla- 
 ture, and both belonging to our family too; both Cubbs. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Yes, the world abounds with Cubbs, just 
 such unlick d ones as you are; there is a profusion of them in 
 
406 Representative Plays 
 
 this city. You must know, / am Dick Worthnought, esquire; 
 a gentleman, a buck of the blood, and a you understand me. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, your family must be as big as mine, then; 
 for I ve seen hundreds of such Worth-nothing bloody bucks as 
 you, since I ve been in town. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Your criticisms are perfectly barbarous and 
 disagreeable, foregad; but, will you let me know what you and 
 the West-India young gentleman were whispering about, at Miss 
 Trueman s? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes. You can have Miss Trueman now, if you ve 
 a mind. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Can I? Only prove your words, and enroll 
 me your everlasting, your indissoluble friend, demme. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Friend me none of your friends; I don t want such 
 everlasting friends as you, d ye see, becase why, if you never 
 make a beginning with your friendship, I m sure it can t be ever 
 lasting; and if you ve got a mind to shew your friendliness, I m 
 sure you cou dn t have a more fitter time than now. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. What wou d the addity have me say, I 
 wonder. 
 
 HUMPHRY. I wou dn t have you say anything, you talk too 
 much already, for the matter o that; I like for to see people do 
 things, not talk em. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. There [Gives him money. ] is that what you 
 want? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, I thought you understood me well enough. 
 Your friendship wants as much spurring and kicking and coaxing 
 as our lazy old gelding at home; I wou dn t trust such a friend 
 as far as I cou d fling a cow by the tail. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Poh, poh, to the point, to the point. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, then you must know, how old Mr. Lovit is a 
 going for to marry the West- Indian young gentleman to young 
 Mistress Airy, I think he call d her; and so you can go try Mis 
 tress Harriet yourself, for I m sure she won t have him now. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Why, pray? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why if she gets him, she ll get a bastard, for old 
 Mr. Lovit isn t his father. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. No? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No; and then he and the Schoolmaster kick d 
 up a proper rumpus about a challenge I fetch d him ; and that s 
 
The Politician Out-witted 407 
 
 all the news you ll get for your money. A poor shilling that 
 won t buy ale to my oysters to-night. [Exit. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT [manet]. 
 
 This is a lucky meeting, foregad; I ll go immediately and 
 report, that young Loveyet has of late seen my quondam charmer 
 carry a copy of him in miniature about her, which (strange to 
 tell) is continually growing nearer to the life; and that he refuses 
 to have her, on that account. "If she gets him, she will get a 
 bastard." By which I choose to understand, matters have gone 
 so far, that she cannot save herself from that disgrace, even if she 
 marries him. Now, in order that this tale of mine may transpire 
 briskly, I must first see some of my tattling female friends; they 
 will set it a going like wild-fire. Split me, but it is an excellent 
 thought; ha, ha, ha. Poor Loveyet [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. HERALD S House. 
 
 Enter CANTWELL and HERALD. 
 
 CANTWELL. I am very happy to find you home; I was almost 
 eat up with the vapours before I saw you. [Sighs.] Well, what s 
 the news, Miss Herald? 
 
 HERALD. Nothing strange, Miss Tabitha; I am as barren of 
 anything new, as an old Almanack. 
 
 CANTWELL. Oh shocking! "as barren of anything new." 
 What an odious expression ! The most vulgarest comparison in 
 nature. 
 
 HERALD. Umph. I suppose, if Mr. Gracely was here, you 
 would not be so much in the dumps. 
 
 CANTWELL. Ah, Miss Herald! If you felt the corruptions of 
 your wicked heart, you would be in the dumps too, as you call it. 
 
 [Sighs. 
 
 HERALD. I believe there is a certain corruption in your heart, 
 which our sex are apt to feel very sensibly, and that is the want 
 of a husband. 
 
 CANTWELL. The want of a husband! I vow, you are mon 
 strous indelicate, Miss Herald; I am afraid you are wandering 
 from the paths of vartue, as dear good Mr. Gracely says. 
 
 HERALD. There comes his very reverse, Mr. Worthnought. 
 
 CANTWELL. Ah, he is a profane rake; he is lighter than van 
 ity, as Mr. Gracely says; a mere painted sepulchre. 
 
408 Representative Plays 
 
 HERALD. That ancient sepulchre of yours is pretty much 
 daub d, I think. [Aside. 
 
 Enter WORTHNOUGHT. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Ladies, J ay bien de la joye de vous voir. I 
 have the supernal and superlative hanor and felicity, of being 
 most respectfully yours. 
 
 CANTWELL. I hope I have the pleasure to see Mr. Worth- 
 nought well. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Ld, La, Mademoiselle; assez bien: Je vous 
 suis oblige. She has reviv d her wither d chaps with rouge in a 
 very nasty manner, pan hanor. [Aside.] Have you heard the 
 news, respecting Miss Harriet Trueman, ladies? 
 
 CANTWELL. Yes, now I think on t, there is a report about 
 town, that old Mr. Loveyet saw her and another rather familiar 
 together. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Oh, you have not heard half, madam. 
 
 CANTWELL. Do, let us hear, Mr. Worthnought. 
 
 HERALD. Aye, do; but do not say anything that will hurt Miss 
 Tabitha s delicacy; for, before you came in, I was complaining 
 that I was barren of anything new, and she was almost ready to 
 swoon at the expression. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. If Miss Tabitha has such an antipathy to 
 barrenness, she will not be offended at my subject, which is a 
 very prolific one, I assure you ; for Miss Trueman is on the verge 
 of bearing a son. 
 
 CANTWELL. Oh, horrid ! What will this wicked world come to 
 at last! A good-for-nothing, wanton hussy. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Very true, madam: by persons of easy no 
 tions of virtue, indeed, it would be considered a trifling faux pas, 
 as the French call it; a perfect bagatelle; or, at most, a superficial 
 act of incontinency; but to those who have such rigid notions of 
 virtue as Miss Cantwell, for example, or Miss Herald, or their 
 humble servant; it appears quite another thing, quite another 
 thing, ladies: though it is one of my foibles; I own it is a fault 
 to be so intalerably nice about the affairs of women; but it is a 
 laudable imperfection, if I may be allowed the phrase; it is err 
 ing on the safe side, for women s affairs are delicate things to 
 meddle with, ladies. 
 
 CANTWELL. You are perfectly in the right, Mr. Worthnought; 
 but one can t help speaking up for the honour of one s sex, you 
 know. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 409 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Very true, madam : to make the matter still 
 worse, ladies, Mr. Loveyet is just arrived from abroad to be 
 married to her; and the old gentleman is going to ally him imme 
 diately to Miss Maria Airy in consequence of it. 
 
 HERALD. I am glad of that, however; I will forgive Miss 
 Trueman her failing, if that is the case, for then I shall have a 
 better chance to gain Frankton. [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. But this is entre nous, ladies. [Looks at his 
 watch.] Hah, the tete-a-tete! Ladies, I have the hanor to be 
 your slave. [Going. 
 
 CANTWELL. You are positively the greatest lady s man, Mr. 
 Worthnought, 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. I am proud of your compliment, madam ; and 
 I wish Miss Tabitha could consider me such, from her own experi 
 ence; it would be conferring the highest hanor on her slave, pan 
 hanor. 
 
 CANTWELL. Oh, sir, your politeness quite confuses me. 
 
 [Curtsying. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Miss Herald, your thrice devoted. Made 
 moiselle, je suis votre Serviteur tres humble. 
 
 CANTWELL. Mr. Worthnought, your servant. [Exit WORTH- 
 NOUGHT.] Don t you think he is a very pretty fellow, Miss 
 Herald? He s the very pattern of true politeness; his address is 
 so winning and agreeable, and then, he talks French, with the 
 greatest felicity imaginable. 
 
 HERALD. I cannot say I see many perfections in him; but you 
 talk d very differently just now; Mr. Worthnought then was 
 lighter than vanity; and now, it seems, he has more weight with 
 you, than good Mr. Gracely. 
 
 CANTWELL. You are only mortify d that Mr. Worthnought 
 took so little notice of you, ma am; you see he prefers me to you, 
 though you value yourself so much upon being a little young, 
 ma am; you see men of sense don t mind a few years, ma am; 
 so your servant, ma am. [Exit. 
 
 HERALD [manet]. 
 
 What a vain old fool! Now will she make this story of her 
 swain spread like a contagion: as for me, I must circulate it 
 pretty briskly too; perhaps, it may make me succeed better with 
 Frankton; otherwise the poor girl might lie in peaceably, for me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
4io Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE IV. OLD LOVEYET S House. 
 
 OLD LOVEYET discovered solus. 
 
 Enter CHARLES LOVEYET. 
 
 CHARLES. Mr. Loveyet, your most obedient. 
 
 LOVEYET. Sir, your servant. 
 
 CHARLES. Don t you know me, sir? 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, I think I have seen you before. 
 
 CHARLES. You really have, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. Oh, yes, I recollect now; you are the person who 
 have supplanted my son. 
 
 CHARLES. Indeed, sir, I am not that person. 
 
 LOVEYET. How! Was you not with Harriet Trueman, this 
 morning? 
 
 CHARLES. Yes, sir; but I have no intention to supplant your 
 son, I assure you ; on the contrary, it is the supreme wish of my 
 heart, that his love may be rewarded with so rich a treasure as the 
 amiable Harriet. 
 
 LOVEYET. He shall be rewarded with a much richer one, if he 
 is wise enough to think so. 
 
 CHARLES. If it be wisdom to prefer another to Harriet, then 
 may I ever remain a fool! [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. But pray, sir, what is your business with me? 
 
 CHARLES. My business is first to know if you have any objec 
 tion to my marrying Miss Trueman, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. What a paradoxical fellow this is! [Aside.] Did 
 not you this minute say, you did not intend to have her? 
 
 CHARLES. I did not, sir; I mean to have her if possible, and 
 that without disappointing your son; but I shall explain myself 
 better, by telling you who I am. Look at me well, sir did you 
 never see such a face before? 
 
 LOVEYET. I hope I am not talking to a lunatic! [Aside.] Yes, 
 I saw you this morning. 
 
 CHARLES. Did you never see me before that, sir? 
 
 LOVEYET. [Looks at him steadfastly.] Yes, I m sure I have; 
 and I m very much mistaken, if yes, that reconciles all his 
 strange conduct; it must be so; it is Charles himself. 
 
 CHARLES. My father! [Embracing him. 
 
 LOVEYET. And are you indeed my son? 
 
 CHARLES. I hope I am, sir; and as such, I thus kneel to obtain 
 forgiveness for deceiving you so. [Kneels. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 411 
 
 LOVEYET. Rise up my lad ; by my body, I am rejoic d to see 
 you; you did take your father in a little, to be sure; but never 
 mind it; I ll take you in another way, perhaps. 
 
 CHARLES. I wish you would take me in the matrimonial way, 
 sir; that would be a most agreeable take in. 
 
 LOVEYET. Well, well, we shall not disagree about that: I am 
 very happy this affair clears up Harriet s conduct so well; she is 
 a fine girl, that s certain; and, if you love her as much as you for 
 merly did, why I don t know what I may not do. 
 
 CHARLES. Oh, sir, you make me unspeakably happy! If 
 my Love is to be the condition of the welcome Bond, I do not care 
 if it is executed to-morrow; for, were the penalty an age of love, 
 I am sure I could pay it. 
 
 LOVEYET. By my body, I ll have a wedding soon, and a merry 
 one too: I ll go and make it up with old Trueman; but then he 
 must not talk of the Constitution. That s true, Charles, what 
 government are you for, eigh? The old or the new? 
 
 CHARLES. Sir? 
 
 LOVEYET. I say, which Constitution do you like best? 
 
 CHARLES. What the mischief shall I say ! Now Love befriend 
 me. [Aside. ] Since you seem desirous of knowing my opinion on 
 this subject, sir; I must candidly tell you, I am decidedly in favour 
 of the new Constitution. 
 
 LOVEYET. Hah the new Constitution! A good-for-nothing, 
 corrupted, aristocratic profligate! But you shall not have her 
 now; that is as fixed as fate. 
 
 CHARLES. Oh, cruel event! How soon all my towering hopes 
 fall prostrate in the dust! Do, sir, try and think better of the 
 matter; I will promise to make myself think or do anything you 
 please, rather than have the double misfortune to offend my 
 father, and lose my Harriet. 
 
 LOVEYET. Base foe to the liberties of his country! 
 
 CHARLES. It is very strange, sir, that you should be so violent 
 about such matters, at your time of life. 
 
 LOVEYET. Hah! do you dare? Yes, he wants to provoke me 
 still more; to talk to me about my time of life! Why, I m not 
 old enough for your father, you great whelp you: Ungracious 
 young bastard, to have the assurance to ridicule his father! 
 Out of my house, you scape-grace ! 
 
 CHARLES. Unnatural usage for so trivial an offense! But 
 I obey you, sir: I ll remain no longer in the house of a father, who 
 
412 Representative Plays 
 
 is so destitute of a father s feelings; and since I see you value my 
 happiness so little, sir, I shall not think myself undutiful, if I take 
 some necessary steps to promote it myself. 
 
 LOVEYET. Out of my house, I say! Promote your own happi 
 ness, forsooth; did you ever know any one to be happy without 
 money, you fool? And what will you do, if I don t choose to 
 give you any, eigh? 
 
 CHARLES. As well as I can : I have a few of your unnecessary 
 thousands in my hands, thank fortune; I ll try if they will not 
 befriend me, if their avaricious owner, and my unnatural parent 
 will not. [Aside, and exit. 
 
 LOVEYET. My time of life, indeed. Provoking profligate! 
 
 I ll give Miss Airy all I m worth, if she ll consent to have him; 
 
 the graceless fellow has us d me so ill, that he shall be punish d 
 
 for it. [Exit. 
 
 End of the Fourth Act. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. A Street. 
 
 Enter YOUNG LOVEYET, HUMPHRY, and a NEGRO with a trunk 
 on his head. 
 
 LOVEYET. Did you hear him say so? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes; he said how he was intend you should have 
 Miss Mary Airy, or Airy Mary, or some such a name. 
 
 LOVEYET. Say you so, father? I believe I shall do myself the 
 pleasure to baulk you. I want you to go a little way with my 
 man; but you will be sure to make no mistake. 
 
 HUMPHRY. No, no, never fear me; I an t so apt for to make 
 blunders as you. 
 
 LOVEYET. [Looking at his watch. ] Sdeath ! I should have been 
 with her half an hour ago. I know I can depend on you. Here, 
 Cuffy, go with this gentleman. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, HI am a gentleman, Mr. Cuffy needn t give 
 himself the trouble; I can carry it myself. 
 
 CUFFY. Tankee, massa buckaraw; you gi me lilly lif, me bery 
 glad; disa ting damma heby. [Puts down the trunk.] An de 
 debelis crooka tone in a treet more worsa naw pricka pear for 
 poor son a bitch foot; an de cole pinch um so too! 
 
 
The Politician Out-witted 413 
 
 LOVEYET. No, no, you shall carry it; your head is harder 
 than his. 
 
 HUMPHRY. To be sure, my head is a little soft. 
 
 LOVEYET. You must let him take it to number two hundred 
 and twenty-one, Broadway; will you remember the direction? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, number two hundred and twenty-one, Broad 
 way. 
 
 LOVEYET. Right; and enquire for Mr. Frankton, and tell 
 him who it is from. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, aye, let me alone for that. [Exit, with NEGRO. 
 
 LOVEYET [manet]. 
 
 I think I am even with the old gentleman now; but I lament 
 the necessity of this conduct; and, if a man could eat and digest 
 matrimony, without a little matter of money, I would forgive 
 my unreasonable father, with all my heart; and he might eat his 
 gold himself; though, by the bye, this sum of money, in equity 
 and good conscience, is mine. Now he wants to cross my incli 
 nation, by making me the rival of my friend ; what a strange 
 whim! But if I don t trick him out of his project and his money 
 too, it shall not be my fault. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. MR. FRIENDLY S House. 
 
 HARRIET [solus]. 
 
 Notwithstanding the arrival of Charles, and the happy 
 result of the interview with my father, my mind is not at 
 ease; these strange rumours must have some foundation; one 
 says he is married to Maria; another says, he is discovered to be 
 illegitimate; a third reports, he was found in company with a 
 woman of ill fame ; and to conclude the catalogue of evil tidings, 
 a fourth says, that old Mr. Loveyet is going to disinherit him, in 
 consequence of his having made him a grandfather, since his ar 
 rival. But here he comes. 
 
 Enter YOUNG LOVEYET. 
 
 LOVEYET. She seems very thoughtful; perhaps, she too has 
 been unfortunate in her suit to her father; or, what is far worse, 
 perhaps, but I will not cherish such gloomy apprehensions. 
 Your servant, madam. 
 
 HARRIET. Good day, Mr. Loveyet. "Your servant, madam !" 
 What a stoical salutation! I fear there is too much truth in 
 what I have heard. [Aside. 
 
414 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. You seem unusually serious, Miss Harriet: I 
 hope Mr. Trueman has not proved relentless as you expected. 
 
 HARRIET. No sir; it gives me pleasure to acquaint you, my 
 father was all kindness and forgiveness. 
 
 LOVEYET. I wish I could say so of mine; he indeed was kind 
 and forgiving too at first; but no sooner had I begun to antici 
 pate approaching happiness, than one luckless circumstance de 
 prived me of all that love and hope had inspired. 
 
 HARRIET. An unlucky circumstance, indeed; but would the 
 disappointment really be so great, if you were obliged to give up 
 the thought of an alliance with me? 
 
 LOVEYET. How, Miss Harriet! Give up the thought of hav 
 ing you! By heaven, it must be so! Yes, the beau would never 
 have presumed to say so much if it were not so; and Frankton s 
 ambiguous account of them both, confirms the suspicion; and 
 then the extravagant encomiums he bestowed on her yesterday. 
 Confusion! my fears were just, though he ridicul d me for ex 
 posing them. But she must not see my anxiety. [Aside. 
 
 HARRIET. If my doubts are well founded, he must be an adept 
 in the art of dissimulation. I will try him a little farther. 
 [Aside.] What think you, Mr. Loveyet, of our New-York 
 beauties? Have not the superior charms of so many fine women, 
 been able to overcome such old-fashioned notions as constancy 
 and priority of affection? 
 
 LOVEYET. I have beheld their beauty with equal pleasure and 
 astonishment; and the understanding, the affability, and vivac 
 ity, by which strangers, with so much propriety, characterize my 
 fair countrywomen, give them a pre-eminence over the ladies of 
 most other countries, that is highly gratifying to a mind already 
 so much attached to its native city, by the most endearing of all 
 human ties; they are all that the warmest, the most luxuriant 
 fancy can wish; beautiful almost beyond the possibility of an 
 increase of charms; and I had almost said, they furnish room 
 for love and warm conceptions, "even to madness!" 
 
 HARRIET. I am in doubt no longer; such passionate expres 
 sions must have Love for their prompter. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. My friend Frankton extolled them highly; but his 
 description derogates from their desert; you, too, he praised; 
 I listened to him with unspeakable delight, and believed him 
 with all the ardour of faith and expectation ; for I could readily be 
 lieve that, which I had so often, so sweetly experienced; but 
 
The Politician Out-witted 415 
 
 when you last blest my eyes with that enchanting form, how was 
 the idea exceeded by the reality! To do justice to such perfec 
 tion, the praises I this minute bestowed on the ladies I have seen, 
 would be spiritless and insufficient! To charms like Miss Har 
 riet s, what hermit could remain insensible! /was not insensible; 
 the tender passion, I began so early to entertain; a passion, 
 which length of absence, and a succession of objects and events, 
 had rendered too dormant, was then excited to sensations the 
 most exquisitely sensible; was then taught to glow with a 
 flame, too fervent to be now suppressed! 
 
 HARRIET. Were I but sure of his sincerity! [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. With what indifference she hears me! If she is 
 so insensible to the genuine effusions of a heart like mine, I am 
 lost indeed ! But I will try a little deception to discover the truth. 
 [Aside.] What a lovely picture Mr. Frankton drew of Miss 
 Airy! But it was not too highly finished; for a thousand Loves 
 and Graces have conspired, to make her the most accomplished 
 of her sex. 
 
 HARRIET. My pride shall not let him triumph over my cha 
 grin. [Aside.] I know Miss Airy to be as accomplished as you 
 represent her, sir: and Mr. Frankton gave such a lovely descrip 
 tion of her, you say; I dare say he did; oh, yes yes [Ap 
 pears disconcerted, by striving to hide her concern. ] he loves her to 
 distraction; Mr. Frankton has doubtless made a wise choice. 
 
 LOVEYET. By all that s false, she is concerned at Frankton s 
 having praised his mistress! She absolutely loves him! [Aside. 
 
 HARRIET. And you have seen the amiable Miss Airy, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. Forgive me, honour and veracity. [Aside.] Yes, 
 Miss Trueman; and not without a deep sense of her uncommon 
 worth and beauty. 
 
 HARRIET. I admire your discernment, sir; Mr. Frankton, 
 too, is a very nice judge of female merit; and he cannot evince his 
 judgment better, than by praising my friend Maria. 
 
 LOVEYET. Pardon me, madam: with submission to your 
 friend s merit, I think his panegyric would better apply to you. 
 
 HARRIET. That compliment is too great, to be meant, I fancy. 
 
 LOVEYET. I rather think, you value the author of it so little, 
 that you would as soon he should withhold it, madam. 
 
 HARRIET. Certainly, sir, when I have reason to think there is 
 another who has a better right to it, and for whom it is secretly 
 intended. 
 
41 6 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. You wrong me much, madam : some tattling gossip 
 or designing knave, has whispered some falsehood to my preju 
 dice; probably my rival, Mr. Worthnought. 
 
 HARRIET. If you have come here with a design to use me ill, 
 sir, I beg you will tell me so, and then I shall act accordingly. 
 
 LOVEYET. Your actions accord very illy with your professions, 
 I think, madam. 
 
 HARRIET. Your duplicity, sir, both in word and action, justi 
 fies my retorting that ungenerous accusation. 
 
 LOVEYET. I entreat you to believe me, Miss Harriet, when I 
 say, I am unconscious of having done anything I ought to be 
 ashamed of, since my arrival : I am so confident of this, that the 
 circulation of a malicious rumour, however dishonourable to me, 
 would give me little disquiet, did I not reflect, that it is the object 
 of Harriet s credulity; a reflection, that is the source of real un- 
 happiness to me: be kind then, Harriet, and tell me wherein I 
 am guilty; obscurity in a matter so interesting, gives more tor 
 ture to the mind, than the most unwelcome truth. 
 
 HARRIET. He must be sincere. [Aside.] Your request shall 
 be comply d with, sir. The principal offence you are charged 
 with, is your having been smitten by the lady, on whom you have 
 bestowed such liberal commendation; be that as it may, I 
 heard Mr. Loveyet talk of such a match: I believe it will re 
 quire a more able advocate than yourself, to defend this cause. 
 
 LOVEYET. Suppose I assure you, on the sacred honour of a gen 
 tleman, that what you have heard is false; suppose I add the 
 more important sanction of an oath, to seal the truth. 
 
 HARRIET. I will save you that trouble : you have an advocate 
 here, which has already gained your cause. 
 
 LOVEYET. Oh, Harriet, you are too good ! Conscious as I am 
 of the rectitude of my conduct, as it respects my Harriet; sure 
 as I am of not deserving your displeasure, I still feel myself un 
 worthy of such matchless goodness. 
 
 HARRIET. You say too much; and compel me to tell you that 
 you merit my highest esteem. 
 
 LOVEYET. Esteem! What a cold epithet! And am not I 
 entitled to something more than esteem? 
 
 HARRIET. Excuse the poverty of the expression; and be as 
 sured, my heart dictated a more exalted word; let this confes 
 sion atone for the fault. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 417 
 
 LOVEYET. And yet I would fain attract your esteem too; for, 
 I have heard connoisseurs in the science of Love say, it is possible 
 to love an object, and that to distraction, without having a par 
 ticle of esteem for it. 
 
 HARRIET. I have assured you that my esteem is at least 
 equalled by a more passionate affection: but how strangely you 
 talk! First you acknowledge yourself unworthy of my favour; 
 then you are alarmed that I should only esteem you ; and when I 
 talk of a passion, superior to mere Platonic love, you are afraid, 
 on the other hand, it is a blind, enthusiastic impulse, not founded 
 on esteem. How inconsistent are lovers! 
 
 LOVEYET. Your reasoning, like your person, surprises, charms 
 and subdues: I will be more consistent; but our contention is 
 only for pre-eminence in love ; delightful emulation ! Agreeable 
 inconsistency! 
 
 HARRIET. I am now ashamed of my childish suspicions; but I 
 should not have been so credulous, had it not been for an affec 
 tion, which rendered my better judgment blind to the fallacy, and 
 made me more apprehensive of your inconstancy, than satisfied 
 of your innocence; and this disposed me to misinterpret every 
 thing you said. 
 
 LOVEYET. And your apparent indifference, in consequence 
 of that misinterpretation, excited similar suspicions in me; and 
 thus, mutual distrust produced mutual misapprehension. 
 
 HARRIET. But you have not told me the particulars of your 
 interview with old Mr. Loveyet. 
 
 LOVEYET. Were you to hear those particulars, they would only 
 afford you pain; tis sufficient for me to tell you, he has turned 
 me out of his house, only because I told him, I was a friend to the 
 new Constitution, forsooth. 
 
 HARRIET. He is a strange character: when I call d on my 
 father, I was alarmed to find them at high words; and he 
 abus d me most unmercifully. 
 
 LOVEYET. He did? Tis well for him he has call d himself my 
 father; but if my Harriet consents, I will immediately put my 
 self in a situation that will justify my preventing his future ill 
 usage: Fortune has enabled me to act independent either of his 
 frown or his favour; I have taken such measures, in consequence 
 of his base usage, as will guard us against the effects of the one, 
 without obliging us to cringe for the other. 
 
4i 8 Representative Plays 
 
 HARRIET. I am happy to hear it; but affluence is not my ob 
 ject, nor poverty my dread ; and I am happy I can convince you 
 how little I desire an alliance for interest, by now tendering you 
 the whole of my trifling fortune, in case your father should de 
 prive you of yours. 
 
 LOVEYET. Charming Harriet! Miracle of disinterested love! 
 Thus let me evince my gratitude. [Kneels, and kisses her hand. 
 
 HARRIET. Pray do not worship me, Mr. Loveyet; I am less 
 generous than you imagine; self-love is at the bottom of this 
 noble declaration; for if I did not suppose you capable of making 
 me happier than any other man, I would keep both my fortune 
 and my person, to myself. 
 
 LOVEYET. Better and better ! Your explanation gives me new 
 reason to adore such uncommon worth, and makes me blest be 
 yond measure! By heaven, New- York does not contain such a 
 fortunate fellow! 
 
 Enter FRANKTON. 
 
 HARRIET. [Seeing FRANKTON. ] Ha, ha. You could not say 
 more, if you were addressing my friend Maria. 
 
 LOVEYET. Talk not of your friend Maria, 
 
 HARRIET. You talked enough of her perfections just now, for 
 both of us. 
 
 FRANKTON. He did, eigh? [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. I spoke of her as I thought she deserv d ; she is a 
 lovely creature, but but [Sees FRANKTON. ] Frankton ! 
 
 FRANKTON. I hope Miss Trueman will excuse my coming in 
 so abruptly: I have been looking for Mr. Loveyet, all over the 
 city; at last I concluded, I might find him here. 
 
 HARRIET. Really sir; and pray, what made you conclude so? 
 
 FRANKTON. I thought it was within the compass of probabil 
 ity, madam. 
 
 LOVEYET. Perhaps it was the lady you wanted to see so 
 much, Frankton; that she might be here, was certainly within 
 the compass of probability. 
 
 FRANKTON. Had I then known what I have discovered since, 
 I should have looked for you at some place not very distant from 
 the lady, whose perfections you have been contemplating with so 
 much admiration; for by Miss Harriet s account, you have seen 
 her, perhaps, more than once. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 419 
 
 LOVEYET. I saw her yesterday, and was charmed with her 
 beauty. Whenever I am betrayed into one falsehood, I am 
 obliged to support it with twenty more. [Aside. 
 
 HARRIET. It is really so, sir; he was enraptured with her 
 idea just now. I fear your friend is your rival, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. And I fear my friend is my rival, madam. 
 
 HARRIET. Nay, what cause have you for such a fear? 
 
 LOVEYET. About as good as you have, my dear. I am glad 
 you came in when you did, Frankton; for you must know, we 
 have had certain mutual doubts and jealousies; in consequence 
 of which, a little ill-natured altercation, otherwise called love, 
 ensued: a small foretaste of conjugal felicity; but the short-liv d 
 storm soon subsided, and a reconciliation made all calm again. 
 
 FRANKTON. I have something to say to you in private, Love- 
 yet. [A side to LOVEYET.] I am sorry to deprive you of Mr. 
 Loveyet s company, madam; but I trust you willj excuse me, 
 when I tell you I have particular business with him. 
 
 HARRIET. By all means, sir. 
 
 FRANKTON. Your most obedient, madam. 
 
 LOVEYET. [Goes up to HARRIET.] Adieu; expect me soon, 
 and be assured of my unalterable fidelity. [Exit with FRANKTON. 
 
 HARRIET. Farewell. I wish he had look d for you a little 
 farther, before he had taken you away. There are so many cap 
 tivating objects in the city (as he has already seen and declared), 
 and dissipation abounds so much among us, that who knows, if 
 he is now sincere, how long he will remain so; and how long 
 after marriage: "Ah, there s the rub." Well, matrimony will 
 put his constancy to the test, that s one comfort; it is a hazard 
 ous expedient, but it is a certain one. 
 
 SCENE III. A Street. 
 Enter FRANKTON and YOUNG LOVEYET. 
 
 LOVEYET. He denounces perpetual enmity against me; 
 threatens me with beggary, and (what is worse) resolves to pre 
 vent my union with Harriet, and thus blast all my hopes; but 
 I shall take care to disappoint his views; I have just sent the 
 most valuable part of my property to 
 
 FRANKTON. Hah! There goes Miss Airy, I believe: pray ex 
 cuse me, Charles; perhaps she has observed me. You have 
 eased my mind of its doubts, and your resolution has made your 
 friend happy. Adieu. [Exit in haste. 
 
420 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET [manet]. 
 
 A plague take your hurry, I say: In the very moment of 
 my telling him about sending the money to his house, he 
 must conceit he saw Miss Airy; but he has not received it yet, 
 or he would have told me. I hope Humphry has made no mis 
 take; I must see about it immediately. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Street before MARIA S House. 
 
 Enter HUMPHRY and NEGRO with a trunk. 
 
 HUMPHRY. This here is the house, I warrant you; these 
 crooked figures is enough for to puzzle a lawyer. He said num 
 ber two hundred and twenty-one: two two s and a one stands 
 for that, and there it is. [Knocks, Servant comes out. ] Does one 
 Mr. Frankton live here, pray? 
 
 SERVANT. No; he is here pretty often though, and I expect 
 he will live here altogether, by and by. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, I suppose he s only a lodger; yes, this must 
 be the place. 
 
 SERVANT. Tis not the place you want, I believe. Mr. Airy 
 lives here. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Mr. Airy! Aye, aye, now I ve got it. Here, Mr. 
 What-d ye-call um, will you please to tell Miss Mary, somebody 
 wants for to speak to her. [Exit SERVANT.] Now I ve found out 
 the mistake; since I told him how the old man was a going for 
 to marry him to Miss Mary, he thought he must obey the old fel 
 low, for fear he shou dn t let him have any of his money, and she s 
 got a swinging fortune, they say; so he sent the trunk to her. 
 But what shou d he tell me to take it to Mr. Frankton s for? 
 Why I suppose he thought I should find him here, for the man 
 says he s here very often: and then the number on the door; 
 why, that settles the matter at once, there can t be two num 
 bers alike, in the same street, sartainly: Yes, he s made one of 
 his old blunders. 
 
 SERVANT returns. 
 
 SERVANT. Please to walk in, sir. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, aye; here, master Cuffy, this way. 
 
 [They go in. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 421 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in MARIA S House. 
 MARIA and OLD LOVEYET discovered sitting. 
 
 LOVEYET. It certainly is a mistake, madam; I have sent 
 nothing out of my house to-day. 
 
 MARIA. He said it was from Mr. Loveyet, sir. I confess I 
 could not conceive what could induce you to send me a trunk of 
 money. 
 
 LOVEYET. Who brought it, madam? 
 
 MARIA. A clownish kind of person, sir, a countryman, I 
 believe. 
 
 LOVEYET. Ah, now I begin to suspect something. What a sad 
 rascal! want to cheat his father! But this lucky mistake will 
 spoil his project. [Aside. 
 
 MARIA. You are striving to unravel the mystery, sir. I am 
 afraid the man has made some serious mistake. 
 
 LOVEYET. No matter, it could not have come to a more 
 suitable place; for, now it is here, it shall be yours, if you will 
 consent to a proposal I have to make to you; for I have dis 
 covered it to be my property, after all. 
 
 MARIA. If I can with propriety consent to anything you may 
 propose, I will, sir; but I hope you do not think either your or 
 your son s money will tempt me. 
 
 LOVEYET. No, madam, that is to say, I dare say it will not 
 tempt you to do anything that is wrong; but money is a tempt 
 ing thing too, though not quite so tempting as Miss Maria. 
 Hem, hem. There was a delicate compliment for her! [Aside. 
 
 MARIA. Mercy on me! What can the ugly old mortal mean! 
 It cannot be possible he would have the vanity to propose his 
 odious self. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. You must know, madam, my son has lately arrived 
 from the West-Indies 
 
 MARIA. Really? You rejoice me, sir. Happy, happy Har 
 riet! 
 
 LOVEYET. Not so happy as you imagine, madam; for she is 
 not to have my son, I assure you; I intend a lady of greater 
 beauty and merit for him, who is not very far from me now, 
 provided she and her father have no objection. There I put it 
 home to her [Aside.]. Ugh, ugh. 
 
 MARIA. I fear there is something in this rumour about Harriet. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
422 Representative Plays 
 
 LOVEYET. Come, shall it be so, eigh? Well, silence gives con 
 sent. I know you can t have any particular objection. I must 
 have you for a Ugh, ugh, uh. 
 
 MARIA. I must humour this joke a little. [Aside. ] The honour 
 you wish to confer on me, is so great, Mr. Loveyet, that I want 
 words to express a suitable acknowledgment; but what will the 
 world say, when a gentleman of Mr. Loveyet s sedateness and 
 experience stoops to a giddy girl like me? 
 
 LOVEYET. By my body, she thinks I want to have her myself. 
 Why, what a lucky young dog I am ! I wish old Trueman was 
 here now; ods my heart, and my life, and my ugh, ugh, but 
 I must talk the matter over coolly with her. Hem, hem. [Aside.] 
 Oh, you dear little charming, angelic creature; I love you so 
 much, I cou d find in my heart to Zounds! I cou d eat you up. 
 By my body, but you must give me a sweet kiss. [Offers to 
 kiss her.] Sblood! I can t bear it any longer. [Snatches a kiss.] 
 Ugh, ugh. 
 
 MARIA. What a preposterous old dotard! [Aside.] You 
 will excuse me, Mr. Loveyet; I have company waiting for me. 
 
 LOVEYET. By all means, my blossom; it goes to my very 
 heart to part with you, though; but go to your company, my 
 love, go, go. I wou dn t disoblige you, nor put the least thing in 
 your way, for the seraglio of the Grand Seignior. You may give 
 up the trunk to my son now, if he calls for it, my love. [Exit 
 MARIA. J Oh, what a dear creature ! Such sweet lips, such pant 
 ing, precious, plump, little oh, I cou d jump out of my skin at 
 the thoughts of it! By my body, I must have her, and poor 
 Charles may have Harriet, for all. A fig for both the Constitu 
 tions now, I say; I wou dn t give my dear little Maria for a score 
 of them. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Street. 
 
 Enter YOUNG LOVEYET. 
 
 I wish I could find that fellow; I cannot think he has been 
 treacherous; but it is very strange, neither he nor my man have 
 returned yet: I am tired of seeking Frankton too; since he 
 made free to call at Harriet s for me, I think I will go to Miss 
 Airy s for him : they say she lives near by. [Enter HUMPHRY. ] 
 Well, sir, what have you done with the trunk? 
 
The Politician Out-witted 423 
 
 HUMPHRY. Why, what you told me, to be sure. I ve been a 
 making your man Cuffy drunk, with some of the money you give 
 me; but he s most sober now. 
 
 LOVEYET. Did you see Mr. Frankton? 
 
 HUMPHRY. No; but I carried the trunk to his lodgings 
 though: I was just a going to Mr. Airy s, to see if I cou dn t find 
 you there. 
 
 LOVEYET. Mr. Airy s? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Aye, where Mr. Frankton lodges; number two 
 hundred and twenty-one; there it is before your eyes. 
 
 LOVEYET. That is number one hundred and twenty- two; 
 you did not carry it there, I hope. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes I did. Why isn t that the place? 
 
 LOVEYET. Confound your dull brains! Did you not enquire 
 who liv d there? 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes, Mr. Airy lives there. 
 
 LOVEYET. What a strange circumstance! You are sure Mr. 
 Airy lives there. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Sure and sartin; why I see the young lady 
 you re a going to be married to, and I give her the trunk; for I 
 think the sarvint said how Mr. Frankton lodg d there. I hope 
 there s no harm done. 
 
 LOVEYET. I hope so too; I must step in, and see; but this is 
 the last time I shall send you with a message. [Goes in. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Like enough, for I m a going home in the country 
 to-morrow. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. TRUEMAN S House. 
 Enter TRUEMAN [reading a letter]. 
 
 This is very unaccountable ; Richard Worthnought, eigh : 
 I wish, Mr. Worthnought, you had been at my school a while, 
 before you scrawl d this wretched epistle: but the subject is still 
 more unintelligible. 
 
 Enter WORTHNOUGHT. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Mr. Trueman, I am yours. 
 
 TRUEMAN. I deny it. Heaven forbid, such a thing as you 
 should be either mine or my daughter s! 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. I should not gain much credit by the alli 
 ance, I believe. You have received my letter, sir, I presume. 
 
424 Representative Plays 
 
 TRUEMAN. I think you presume rather more than becomes 
 you, sir. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. I find, the foolish old Put don t like me. 
 [Aside.] I am sorry you do not approve of my offer; but, but 
 a rat me, but I must have her, for all that. Ha, ha, ha; fore- 
 gad, I must, old gentleman. 
 
 Enter OLD LOVEYET. 
 
 LOVEYET. But I say you shall not have her, sir; there, I 
 suppose you will have the impudence to call me old gentleman 
 next. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Demme, sir; what have you to do with his 
 daughter? 
 
 LOVEYET. Nothing; but my son has something to do with 
 her: ha n t he, friend Horace? 
 
 TRUEMAN. Heyday! what does all this mean? Has any 
 State rejected the new Constitution? 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Come, let s have no palitics, for gad s sake; 
 rat the canstitution ; I wou dn t give une Fille dejoye, for all the 
 musty canstitutions in Christendom. 
 
 TRUEMAN. By the dignity of my profession, you never read 
 Publius then ; or you would have liked one constitution. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Publius! ha, ha, ha. I read Publius! Not 
 I, sir, I assure you: an outre fellow, a dull, mysterious, me 
 chanical writer, as ever I refused to read, split me. 
 
 LOVEYET. So he is, so he is, sir: by my body, I am glad to find 
 somebody of my mind. 
 
 [TRUEMAN and LOVEYET retire to the back of the stage. 
 
 Enter FRANKTON and HUMPHRY. 
 
 FRANKTON. You saw him go into Miss Airy s house, this 
 morning, you say. 
 
 HUMPHRY. Yes. [Walks thoughtlessly about the stage. 
 
 FRANKTON. I think, this is a tolerable confirmation of the 
 matter. [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Hah, Frankton; foregad, I am yours, 
 superlatively. 
 
 FRANKTON. Are you, positively? Hah, she is here. [Enter 
 MARIA, on the opposite side.] Your humble servant, Miss Airy. 
 
 MARIA. [Pretends to take no notice of FRANKTON.] Mr. True- 
 man, I hope I have the pleasure to see you well. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 425 
 
 TRUEMAN. I thank you, madam. [Resumes his discourse with 
 LOVEYET, who does not yet observe MARIA.] 
 
 MARIA. I hoped to have found Miss Harriet here, sir. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Madam? [Turns to LOVEYET again. 
 
 LOVEYET. Therefore, sir, as I was telling you, I am determined 
 to have her. [To TRUEMAN. 
 
 TRUEMAN. [Leaving LOVEYET.] How is this, madam? Mr. 
 Loveyet tells me, he is determined to have you. 
 
 FRANKTON. Who! How! Have who, sir? 
 
 [Loud and earnestly. 
 
 LOVEYET. [Seeing MARIA. ] By my body, there she is herself. 
 Have who, sir? Why, have this lady, sir; who do you think? 
 My sweet Miss Airy, I have the transcendent pleasure to kiss 
 your hand, ugh, ugh. 
 
 MARIA. Oh, fie, Mr. Loveyet. I will have the pleasure to 
 tease Frankton, now. [Retires with OLD LOVEYET, whispering, 
 and looking tenderly at him. ] 
 
 FRANKTON. Amazement! The old fellow! [Aside. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. This is all very astanishing, foregad: 
 demme, but she deserves to die an old maid, if she has him. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 MARIA. [Pretends to observe FRANKTON, for the first time. ] Mr. 
 Frankton ! I did not observe you before : I give you joy of your 
 friend s arrival, sir; I suppose you have seen him; he is very 
 agreeable. 
 
 FRANKTON. Then I need not ask you, if you have seen him, 
 madam. 
 
 MARIA. He was at my house not two hours ago. 
 
 FRANKTON. Did not you see him before that, madam? 
 
 MARIA. I did not, sir. 
 
 FRANKTON. Detested falsehood! [Aside. 
 
 MARIA. The old gentleman acquainted me of his arrival, only 
 a few minutes before. 
 
 LOVEYET. Eigh, how, old gentleman! she did not mean 
 me, I hope. [Aside. 
 
 FRANKTON. And you think Mr. Loveyet is so agreeable then. 
 
 LOVEYET. Aye, that s me; by my body, he is jealous of me. 
 Ha, ha; poor young fool! [Aside. 
 
 FRANKTON. He thinks very highly of you, I assure you, 
 madam; he speaks of you with admiration. 
 
426 Representative Plays 
 
 MARIA. And what of that, sir? You speak as if you thought 
 him my only admirer. [Affectedly. 
 
 FRANKTON. Disgusting vanity! [Aside.] No, madam, the 
 number of your admirers is at least equal to that of your acquain 
 tance; but there is only one, who sincerely laves, as well as ad 
 mires you. 
 
 LOVEYET. Come, come, sir; none of your airs, sir: love her 
 indeed; why why, she don t love you. 
 
 [Ogling and winking at her, &c. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Ha, ha, gudgeons all, demme; old square 
 toes is cursedly bit; I see that. [Aside. 
 
 MARIA. Mr. Loveyet, I return d the trunk to your son. 
 
 HUMPHRY. His son. Ha, ha. 
 
 LOVEYET. Yes, yes, he told me so just now: the poor dog 
 was ready to jump out of his skin, when I told him he should 
 have Harriet. 
 
 Enter CANTWELL and HERALD. 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Oh, the devil! Now shall I be blown up, like 
 a barrel of gun-powder. [Aside. 
 
 CANTWELL. Servant, gentlemen and ladies. How is your 
 daughter, Mr. Trueman? I hope she is likely to do well. 
 
 TRUEMAN. I hope she is, madam; it is a match which we all 
 approve. 
 
 CANTWELL. No, no, sir; I mean concerning her late affair. 
 
 HERALD. Why, young Loveyet certainly would not stoop so 
 low, as to have her now. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Zounds! Why not, pray? 
 
 LOVEYET. What, in the name of ill luck, can they mean! 
 I hope, I oh, there they come. 
 
 Enter HARRIET and CHARLES LOVEYET. 
 
 CANTWELL. Oh, dear, here they are; why she don t look as if 
 that was the case. [To HERALD. 
 
 TRUEMAN. I desire, ladies, to know what you mean, by these 
 mysterious whispers. 
 
 CANTWELL. La! sir; you only want to put a body to the 
 blush; but if you want an explanation, that gentleman [Point 
 ing to WORTHNOUGHT.] can give it to you. 
 
 CHARLES. The villain! [Aside.] I fancy / could explain it as 
 well. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 427 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Hem, hem, now comes on my trial. [Aside. 
 
 CHARLES. But first, your blessing, sir. [Kneels to his father. 
 
 HARRIET. And yours, sir. [Kneels to TRUEMAN. 
 
 LOVEYET. What, married already! 
 
 CHARLES. This ten minutes, sir. [Rising. 
 
 CANTWELL 1 
 
 AND > Married! 
 
 HERALD J 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Then my ill-star d fortune is decided. [Aside. 
 
 TRUEMAN. Upon my erudition, you have been too precipitate, 
 Harriet; but I have no reason to think, you will repent it; you, 
 therefore, have my sincerest benediction. [Raising her. 
 
 MARIA. I give you joy, my dear. [To HARRIET. 
 
 FRANKTON. Now all my fears have vanished. 
 
 [Aside, and goes to YOUNG LOVEYET. 
 
 LOVEYET. By my body, you have made quick work of it, 
 Charles. 
 
 CHARLES. For fear of the worst, I have. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. But but are you in favour of the new Constitution 
 yet? 
 
 CHARLES. At present I can think of no Constitution but that 
 of Love and Matrimony, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. And I shall be sorry if your matrimonial Constitu 
 tion does not prove the better one of the two. Eigh, Maria? 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Dick Worthnought, esquire, thou art an ass 
 and a liar; and, what is worse than both, as poor as poverty. 
 Oh, Fortune, thou blind disposer of human events, when wilt 
 thou make a man of me? [Going angrily. 
 
 CHARLES. Stay a little, if you please, sir. My happiness is 
 too great at present, to let me take that revenge, which the base 
 ness of your conduct deserves: but justice bids me accuse you of 
 having wickedly, and without cause, endeavoured to injure the 
 reputation of this lady, whom it is my highest boast and felicity 
 now to call my wife; my making her such, however, at the very 
 time when the baneful tongue of Slander is so diligent to damn 
 her spotless fame, [Looking significantly at CANTWELL and 
 HERALD. ] will at once convince the public of her innocence, and 
 the cruelty of her enemies. With her, you have also injured her 
 connexions; but I, for my own part, am fully satisfied with those 
 symptoms of shame and repentance, which you now evince. 
 
428 Representative Plays 
 
 TRUEMAN. Upon my education, I did not think him suscep 
 tible of either. A few minutes ago, I received this audacious 
 epistle from him. 
 
 "Sir, I have the honour to acquaint you that I have an in 
 clination to marry your daughter, notwithstanding the late 
 scandalous reports that are transpiring to her disadvantage, and 
 (what is still worse) the comparative meanness of her fortune 
 to mine." The comparative meanness of her fortune to mine. 
 HARRIET, 
 MARIA, 
 
 LOVEYET, 
 
 Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 CHARLES, 
 FRANKTON, 
 
 WORTHNOUGHT. Never was put so much to my trumps, fore- 
 gad. [Exit. 
 
 HERALD. Unmannerly wretches! [Scornfully, and exit. 
 
 CANTWELL. Oh, the wickedness of this wicked world ! 
 
 [Exit after her. 
 
 LOVEYET. Why, this is just as it should be now; I think 
 business goes on finely. 
 
 MARIA. You will not think so, much longer. [Aside. 
 
 LOVEYET. By my body, I am as merry as a cricket; an t you, 
 Maria? For my part, I feel so well pleased, I could find in my 
 heart to to do as you have done; [To CHARLES.] cou dn t you, 
 my love? [To MARIA. 
 
 MARIA. Yes, sir. 
 
 LOVEYET. Oh, you dear little rogue! With whom, eigh, with 
 whom? Don t be bashful, tell them. I know she means me. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 MARIA. I beg to be excused from telling that, sir; but I will 
 tell you who it is I would not have. 
 
 LOVEYET. Aye, that s him. [Aside, looking at FRANKTON.] 
 Well, who is it you won t have, Maria, who is it? 
 
 MARIA. You, sir. [Emphatically. 
 
 LOVEYET. Me, eigh? me me, Maria? 
 
 CHARLES. Preposterous infatuation! 
 
 LOVEYET. D d, wanton, treacherous jilt! 
 
 [Walks about discomposed. 
 
 MARIA. You have jilted yourself, sir; nothing but excess of 
 dotage and self-conceit could have let you impose on yourself in 
 such a manner. 
 
The Politician Out-witted 429 
 
 FRANKTON. And may I then hope 
 
 MARIA. Hope? Oh, yes, sir; you have my permission to 
 hope for anything you please. 
 
 CHARLES. And you, madam, the disposition to gratify his 
 hopes, I fancy. 
 
 LOVEYET. I fancy you lie, sir; and you sha n t have Harriet, 
 for your impertinence. 
 
 CHARLES. Excuse me, father; it is not in your power to pre 
 vent that; the happy deed is already executed. 
 
 LOVEYET. Zounds! that s true! and, what is still worse, the 
 other deed is executed too. Fire and fury! All is lost, for the 
 sake of that inveigling, perfidious young Syren. Ugh, ugh, ugh. 
 
 TRUEMAN. [Burlesquing what LOVEYET has said in a former 
 scene.] " Sdeath, sir! I tell you I am but two and forty years old: 
 she sha n t be more than thirty odd, sir; and she shall be ten 
 years younger than I am too. A man of five and forty, old, for 
 sooth!" Ha, ha, ha. 
 
 LOVEYET. Perdition! Is this what I have come to at last? 
 Despis d, betray d, laugh d at, supplanted by a puppy, 
 [Pointing to FRANKTON] trick d out of my money by a grace 
 less, aristocratic son, I I ll I ll go hang myself. 
 
 [Exit in a passion. 
 
 HUMPHRY. This is, for all the world, like the show I see t other 
 night, at the Play-house. 
 
 CHARLES. His agitation of mind distresses me: my happiness 
 is not complete, while it is enjoyed at the expense of a father s: 
 painful reflection! We will go immediately, Harriet, and en 
 deavour to pacify him. 
 
 His conduct shall instruct the hoary Sage, 
 That youth and beauty were not meant for age; 
 His rage, resentment, av rice, dotage, pride, 
 (Sad view of human nature s frailest side!} 
 Shall mend us all; but chiefly I shall prove, 
 That all his Politics, can never match my LOVE. 
 
 The End. 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 By 
 
 ROYALL TYLER 
 
ROYALL TYLER 
 
ROYALL TYLER 
 
 (1757-1826) 
 
 William Dunlap is considered the father of the American 
 Theatre, and anyone who reads his history of the American 
 Theatre will see how firmly founded are his claims to this title. 
 But the first American play to be written by a native, and to 1 
 gain the distinction of anything like a "run" is "The Contrast," l 
 by Royall Tyler. Unfortunately for us, the three hundred page 
 manuscript of Tyler s "Life," which is in possession of one of 
 his descendants, has never been published. Were that document 
 available, it would throw much valuable light on the social 
 history of New England. For Tyler was deep-dyed in New 
 England traditions, and, strange to say, his playwriting began as 
 a reaction against a Puritanical attitude toward the theatre. 
 
 When Tyler came to New York on a very momentous occasion, 
 as an official in the suppression of Shays s Rebellion, he had little 
 thought of ever putting his pen to paper as a playwright, although 
 he was noted from earliest days as a man of literary ambition, his 
 tongue being sharp in its wit, and his disposition being brilliant 
 in the parlour. It was while in what was even then considered 
 to be the very gay and wicked city of New York, that Royall 
 Tyler went to the theatre for the first time, and, on that auspi 
 cious occasion, witnessed Sheridan s "The School for Scandal." 
 We can imagine what the brilliancy of that moment must have 
 been to the parched New England soul of our first American 
 dramatist. 
 
 Two days afterwards, inspiration began to burn, and he dashed 
 off, in a period of a few weeks, the comedy called "The Contrast," 
 not so great a "contrast," however, that the literary student 
 would fail to recognize "The School for Scandal" as its chief 
 inspiration. 
 
 ^he/Contrast./a/Comedyj/In Five Acts:/Written By a/Citizen of the United 
 States -,/Performed with Applause at the Theatres in New-York./Philadelphia, and 
 Maryland ;/and published (under an Assignment of the Copy- Right) by/Thomas 
 Wigne\l./Primus ego in pair iam/ A onto deduxi vertice Musas. /Virgil. /(Imitated.)/ 
 First on our shores I try Thalia s powers,/And bid the laughing, useful Maid be 
 ours./Philadelphia:/From the Press of Prichard & Hall, in Market Street:/ Between 
 Second and Front Streets./M. DCC. XC. [See Frontispiece.] 
 
434 Representative Plays 
 
 Our young dramatist, whose original name, William Clark 
 Tyler, was changed, by act of Court, to Royall, was born in 
 Boston on July 18, 1757, near the historic ground of Faneuil 
 Hall. His father was one of the King s Councillors, and figured 
 in the Stamp Act controversy. From him, young Tyler inherited 
 much of his ability. The family was wealthy and influential. 
 Naturally, the father being a graduate of Harvard, his son like 
 wise went to that institution. His early boyhood, when he was 
 at the grammar school, was passed amidst the tumult of the 
 Stamp Act, and the quartering of troops in Boston. When he 
 entered Harvard as a freshman, on July 15, 1772, three days 
 before he was fifteen years old, he was thoroughly accustomed 
 to the strenuous atmosphere of the coming Revolution. 
 
 There were many students in his class, who afterwards won 
 distinction as chief justices, governors and United States sena 
 tors, but at that time none of them were so sedate as to ignore the 
 usual pranks of the college boy. Tyler s temperament is well 
 exhibited by the fact that he was one of the foremost instigators 
 in a fishing party from his room window, when the students 
 hooked the wig of the reverend president from his head one 
 morning as that potentate was going to chapel. 
 
 Tyler graduated with a B.A. degree from Harvard in July, 
 1776, the Valedictorian of his class; and was similarly honoured 
 with a B.A. by Yale (1776). Three years after, he received an 
 M.A. from Harvard and, in later life (1811), from the University 
 of Vermont. He read law for three years with the Hon. Francis 
 Dana, of Cambridge, and the Hon. Benjamin Hichbourne, of 
 Boston, during that time being a member of a club which used to 
 meet at the rooms of Colonel John Trumbull, well known to all 
 students as a soldier and painter. Unfortunate for us that the 
 life-size canvas of Royall Tyler, painted by Trumbull, was de 
 stroyed by fire. We are assured by Trumbull, in his "Reminis 
 cences," that during those long evenings, they "regaled them 
 selves with a cup of tea instead of wine, and discussed subjects 
 of literature, politics and war." In 1778, Tyler found himself 
 by the side of Trumbull, fighting against the British and serving 
 a short while under General Sullivan. 
 
 In 1779, he was admitted to the bar, and there followed a long 
 succession of activities, in which he moved from place to place, 
 finally associating himself definitely with the early history of 
 Vermont, and Brattleboro in particular. 
 
The Contrast 435 
 
 There is much interesting data in existence relating to Royall 
 Tyler s literary activities, as a writer of witty articles, sprightly 
 verse and autobiographical experiences in a style which, while 
 lacking in distinction, is none the less a measure of the sprightli- 
 ness of the author s disposition. It is not my purpose to enter 
 into a discussion of anything but Royall Tyler as the author of 
 "The Contrast." He wrote several other plays besides, 1 one 
 dealing with the wild-cat land speculation in Georgia. But 
 the play under discussion is fully representative of his dramatic 
 ability, an ability which would scarcely be worthy of too much 
 commendation were it not for the fact that Tyler may be re 
 garded as the creator of the Yankee type in American drama. 
 
 In 1787, Shays s Rebellion brought Tyler once more under the 
 command of Major-General Benjamin Lincoln, with whom he 
 had served in the Revolutionary War. As an aide, he was 
 required to go into the State of New York, and arrange for the 
 pursuit and capture of Shays. It was, as I have said, while on 
 this mission in New York City that he went to the theatre for 
 the first time. He witnessed Sheridan s "The School for Scan 
 dal," and in the audience on the occasion there very probably 
 sat George Washington. The latter was a constant frequenter 
 of the little John Street Theatre, where Wignell was the chief 
 comedian. Apart from Jonathan s description of this "Colonial" 
 Playhouse, as it looked after the Revolution, we have Seilhamer s 
 impression (i, 212), as follows: 
 
 "... the theatre in John Street . . . for a quarter of a cen 
 tury was to New York what the Southwark Theatre was to Phila 
 delphia. Both houses were alike in appearance, but the New York 
 Theatre stood back about sixty feet from the street, with a covered 
 way of rough wooden materials from the sidewalk to the doors. It 
 was principally of wood and was painted red. It had two rows of 
 boxes, and a pit and gallery, the capacity of the house when full 
 being about eight hundred dollars. The stage was sufficiently large 
 for all the requirements of that theatrical era, and the dressing- 
 rooms and green room were in a shed adjacent to the theatre." 
 
 This was, it seems, the first time Tyler had ever left New 
 England. His manuscript was finished in three weeks, and 
 
 1 For example, "The Duelists," a Farce in three acts; "The Georgia Spec; or, 
 Land in the Moon" (1797); "The Doctor in Spite of Himself," an imitation of 
 Moliere; and "Baritaria; or, The Governor of a Day," being adventures of Sancho 
 Panza. He also wrote a libretto, "May-day in Town; or, New York in an Uproar." 
 (See Sonneck: "Early Opera in America.") 
 
436 Representative Plays 
 
 shortly after handed over to the American Company for pro 
 duction. So loath was he to have his name connected with it, 
 that, when he gave the manuscript to Wignell, he consigned also 
 to that actor the copyright, with the instruction that, when the 
 play was published, on the title-page, the piece should be credited 
 to the authorship of "a citizen of the United States." Of all the 
 productions which came from his pen, the very prosaic and 
 doubtfully authoritative Vermont Law Reports is the only 
 publication bearing his name on the title-page. 
 
 "The Contrast" was produced on April 16, 1787, at the John 
 Street Theatre, in New York, by the American Company, the 
 original cast including Mr. Henry and Mr. Hallam as the rival 
 lovers, and Mr. Wignell in the part of Jonathan, the first stage 
 Yankee. Anyone who has read the play will quite understand 
 why it is that the honours so easily fell to Mr. Wignell rather than 
 to Mr. Henry or to Mr. Hallam, and it is no surprise, therefore, 
 to find, after the initial performance, that jealousy began to 
 manifest itself between these three gentlemen, so much so, 
 indeed, that, when the time arrived for the Company to go to 
 Philadelphia, in December, 1787, Mr. Wignell was unable to 
 present "The Contrast" in the theatre, and had to content 
 himself with a reading, because it was "impracticable at this 
 time to entertain the public with a dramatic representation." 
 The Notice continued: Mr. Wignell, "in compliance with the 
 wishes of many respectable citizens of Philadelphia, proposes to 
 read that celebrated performance at the City Tavern on Monday 
 evening, the loth inst. The curiosity which has everywhere 
 been expressed respecting this first dramatic production of 
 American genius, and the pleasure which it has already afforded 
 in the theatres of New York and Maryland, persuade Mr. Wignell 
 that his excuses on this occasion will be acceptable to the public 
 and that even in so imperfect a dress, the intrinsic merit of the 
 comedy will contribute to the amusement and command the 
 approbation of the audience." Of Wignell and his associates, 
 an excellent impression may be had from a first hand description 
 by W. B. Wood, in his "Personal Recollections." 
 
 Whether the intrinsic merits of the play would contribute to the 
 amusement of audiences to-day is to be doubted, although it is 
 a striking dramatic curio. The play in the reading is scarcely 
 exciting. It is surprisingly devoid of situation. Its chief char 
 acteristic is "talk," but that talk, reflective in its spirit of "The 
 
The Contrast 437 
 
 School for Scandal," is interesting to the social student. When 
 the ladies discuss the manners of the times and the fashions of 
 the day, they discuss them in terms of the Battery, in New York, 
 but in the spirit of London. The only native product, as I have 
 said, is Jonathan, and his surprise over the play-house, into 
 which he is inveigled, measures the surprise which must have 
 overwhelmed the staid New England conscience of Royall Tyler, 
 when he found himself actually in that den of iniquity, the 
 theatre. For the first time in the American Drama, we get New 
 England dialogue and some attempt at American characteriza 
 tion. Wignell, being himself a character actor of much ability, 
 and the son of a player who had been a member of Garrick s 
 Company in London, it is small wonder that he should have 
 painted the stage Yankee in an agreeable and entertaining and 
 novel manner. 
 
 But, undoubtedly, the only interest that could attach itself to 
 this comedy for the theatre-going audience of to-day would be in 
 its presentment according to the customs and manners of the 
 time. In fact, one would be very much entertained were it 
 possible to make Letitia and Charlotte discuss their social schemes 
 and ambitions in a parlour which reflected the atmosphere of 
 New York in 1787. As a matter of fact, however, the audience 
 that crowded into the little John Street Theatre, on the opening 
 night of "The Contrast," was treated to an interior room, which 
 was more closely akin to a London drawing-room than to a 
 parlour in Manhattan. According to the very badly drawn 
 frontispiece, which Wignell used in the printed edition of the 
 play, and which William Dunlap executed, we see a very poor 
 imitation of the customs, costumes, and situations which Tyler 
 intended to suggest. 
 
 Indeed, we wonder whether Dunlap, when he drew this picture, 
 did not have a little malice in his heart; for there is no doubt 
 that he showed jealousy over the successof "The Contrast, "when, 
 after a three years stay in London, under the tutelage of 
 Benjamin West, he returned to America to find "The Contrast" 
 the talk of the town. Both he and Seilhamer who, however 
 prejudiced they may be in some of their judgments and in some 
 of their dates, are nevertheless the authorities for the early his 
 tory of the American Theatre, try their best to take away from 
 the credit due Tyler as an American dramatist. They both 
 contend that "The Contrast," though it was repeated several 
 
438 Representative Plays 
 
 times in succession and this repetition of a native drama before 
 audiences more accustomed to the English product must have 
 been a sign of its acceptance, was scarcely what they would 
 consider a success. As evidence, Seilhamer claims that, just as 
 soon as Roy all Tyler handed over the copyright of his play to 
 Wignell, the latter advertised the printed edition whenever the 
 subscribers list was sufficiently large to warrant the publication. 
 It was not, however, until several years after this advertisement, 
 t that the play was actually published, the subscribers being 
 1 headed by the name of President George Washington, and in- 
 ! eluding many of Washington s first cabinet, four signers of the 
 Declaration of Independence, and several Revolutionary soldiers. 
 According to Seilhamer, the American dramatists of those days 
 were very eager to follow the work of their contemporary crafts 
 men, and, in the list of subscribers, we find the names of Dunlap, 
 Peter Markoe, who wrote "The Patriot Chief" (1783), Samuel 
 Low, author of "The Politician Out-witted" (1789), and Colonel 
 David Humphreys, who translated from the French "The Widow 
 of Malabar; or, The Tyranny of Custom" (1790). 
 
 We are told by some authorities that Royall Tyler was on 
 friendly terms with the actors of this period, a fact accentuated 
 all the more because his brother, Col. John S. Tyler, had become 
 manager of the Boston Theatre. In many ways he was a great 
 innovator, if, on one hand, he broke through the New England 
 prejudices against the theatre, and if, on the other hand, during 
 his long career as lawyer and as judge of the Supreme Court of 
 Vermont, he broke through the traditional manner of conducting 
 trials, as is evidenced by many human, amusing anecdotes, 
 illustrative of his wit and quick repartee. He was married to 
 Mary Palmer, in 1794, and brought up a family of eleven children, 
 a number of whom won distinction in the ministry, but none of 
 whom followed their father s taste for playwriting. He mingled 
 with the most intellectual society of the time, being on intimate 
 terms with the Adams family, the Quincys and Cranchs, and 
 identifying himself very closely with the literary history of the 
 country. 
 
 In a record of New England periodicals, his name will figure 
 constantly as contributing editor. We have letters of his, 
 descriptive of his home life in Brattleboro, Vermont, filled with 
 a kindly benevolence and with a keen sense of humour. It was 
 there that he died on August 16, 1826. But, all told, we fear that 
 
The Contrast 439 
 
 even though Royall Tyler has the distinction of being one of the 
 first American dramatists, he came into the theatre purely by 
 accident. "The Contrast" is not, strictly speaking, a very 
 dramatic representation. 
 
 When, in June, 1912, Brattleboro celebrated its local history 
 with a pageant, a production of "The Contrast" was rehearsed 
 and given in a little hall, fitted up to represent the old John 
 Street Theatre. A scene from the play was given at an American 
 Drama Matinee, produced by the American Drama Committee 
 of the Drama League of America, New York Centre, on January 
 22 and 23, 1917, the conversation between Jonathan and 
 Jenny. In Philadelphia, under the auspices of the Drama League 
 Centre, and in cooperation with the University of Pennsylvania, 
 the play, in its entirety, was presented on January 18, 1917, by 
 the "Plays and Players" organization. A revival was also given 
 in Boston, produced in the old manner, "and the first rows of 
 seats were reserved for those of the audience who appeared in the 
 costume of the time." 
 
 The play in its first edition is rare, but, in 1887, it was reprinted 
 by the Dunlap Society. The general reader is given an oppor 
 tunity of judging how far Jonathan is the typical Yankee, and 
 how far Royall Tyler cut the pattern which later was followed 
 by other playwrights in a long series of American dramas, in 
 which the Yankee was the chief attraction. 1 
 
 1 The song which occurs in the play under the title, "Alknomook," had great 
 popularity in the eighteenth century. Its authorship was attributed to Philip 
 Freneau, in whose collected poems it does not appear. It is also credited to a Mrs. 
 Hunter, and is contained in her volume of verse, published in 1806. It appears 
 likewise in a Dublin play of 1740, "New Spain; or, Love in Mexico." See also, the 
 American Museum, vol. i, page 77. The singing of "Yankee Doodle" is likewise 
 to be noted (See Sonneck s interesting essay on the origin of "Yankee Doodle," 
 General Bibliography), not the first time it appears in early American Drama, as 
 readers of Barton s "Disappointment" (1767) will recognize. 
 
AS A JUST ACKNOWLEDGMENT OP THE LIBERAL EXERTIONS 
 
 BY WHICH THE STAGE HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM 
 
 AN IGNOMINIOUS PROSCRIPTION, 
 
 THE CONTRAST, 
 
 (BEING THE FIRST ESSAY OF AMERICAN GENIUS IN THE 
 DRAMATIC ART) 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 THE PRESIDENT AND MEMBERS OF THE 
 
 Dramatic Aflbciation, 
 
 BY 
 
 THEIR MOST OBLIGED 
 
 AND 
 MOST GRATEFUL SERVANT, 
 
 THOMAS WIG NELL. 
 
 PHI LADFLfHIA,? 
 
 I January, 1790. $ 
 
 DEDICATION PAGE IN THE FIRST EDITION OF "THE CONTRAST" 
 

ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 The Subscribers (to whom the Editor thankfully professes his 
 obligations) may reasonably expect an apology for the delay 
 which has attended the appearance of "The Contrast;" but, as 
 the true cause cannot be declared without leading to a discussion, 
 which the Editor wishes to avoid, he hopes that the care and 
 expence which have been bestowed upon this work will be 
 accepted, without further scrutiny, as an atonement for his 
 seeming negligence. 
 
 In justice to the Author, however, it may be proper to observe 
 that this Comedy has many claims to the public indulgence, 
 independent of its intrinsic merits: It is the first essay of Ameri 
 can genius in a difficult species of composition; it was written 
 by one who never critically studied the rules of the drama, and, 
 indeed, had seen but few of the exhibitions of the stage; it was 
 undertaken and finished in the course of three weeks; and the 
 profits of one night s performance were appropriated to the 
 benefit of the sufferers by the fire at Boston. 
 
 These considerations will, therefore, it is hoped, supply in the 
 closet the advantages that are derived from representation, and 
 dispose the reader to join in the applause which has been be 
 stowed on this Comedy by numerous and judicious audiences, 
 in the Theatres of Philadelphia, New- York, and Maryland. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 Written by a young gentleman of New-York, and spoken 
 by Mr. Wignell. 
 
 Exult, each patriot heart! this night is shewn 
 A piece, which we may fairly call our own; 
 Where the proud titles of "My Lord ! Your Grace !" 
 To humble Mr. and plain Sir give place. 
 Our Author pictures not from foreign climes 
 The fashions or the follies of the times; 
 But has confin d the subject of his work 
 To the gay scenes the circles of New- York. 
 On native themes his Muse displays her pow rs; 
 If ours the faults, the virtues too are ours. 
 Why should our thoughts to distant countries roam, 
 When each refinement may be found at home? 
 Who travels now to ape the rich or great, 
 To deck an equipage and roll in state; 
 To court the graces, or to dance with ease, 
 Or by hypocrisy to strive to please? 
 Our free-born ancestors such arts despis d; 
 Genuine sincerity alone they priz d; 
 Their minds, with honest emulation fir d, 
 To solid good not ornament aspir d ; 
 Or, if ambition rous d a bolder flame, 
 Stern virtue throve, where indolence was shame. 
 
 But modern youths, with imitative sense, 
 Deem taste in dress the proof of excellence; 
 And spurn the meanness of your homespun arts, 
 Since homespun habits would obscure their parts; 
 Whilst all, which aims at splendour and parade, 
 Must come from Europe, and be ready made. 
 Strange ! we should thus our native worth disclaim, 
 And check the progress of our rising fame. 
 Yet one, whilst imitation bears the sway, 
 Aspires to nobler heights, and points the way. 
 
The Contrast 445 
 
 Be rous d, my friends! his bold example view; 
 Let your own Bards be proud to copy you! 
 Should rigid critics reprobate our play, 
 At least the patriotic heart will say, 
 "Glorious our fall, since in a noble cause. 
 "The bold attempt alone demands applause." 
 Still may the wisdom of the Comic Muse 
 Exalt your merits, or your faults accuse. 
 But think not, tis her aim to be severe; 
 We all are mortals, and as mortals err. 
 If candour pleases, we are truly blest; 
 Vice trembles, when com pell d to stand confess d. 
 Let not light Censure on your faults offend, 
 Which aims not to expose them, but amend. 
 Thus does our Author to your candour trust; 
 Conscious, the free are generous, as just. 
 

 CHARACTERS 
 
 
 
 New-York. 
 
 Maryland. 
 
 COL. MANLY, 
 
 Mr. Henry. 
 
 Mr. Hallam. 
 
 DIMPLE, 
 
 Mr. Hallam. 
 
 Mr. Harper. 
 
 VAN ROUGH, 
 
 Mr. Morris. 
 
 Mr. Morris. 
 
 JESS AMY, 
 
 Mr. Harper. 
 
 Mr. Biddle. 
 
 JONATHAN, 
 
 Mr. Wignell. 
 
 Mr. Wignell. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, 
 
 Mrs. Morris. 
 
 Mrs. Morris. 
 
 MARIA, 
 
 Mrs. Harper. 
 
 Mrs. Harper. 
 
 LETITIA, 
 
 Mrs. Kenna. 
 
 Mrs. Williamson. 
 
 JENNY, 
 
 Miss Tuke. 
 
 Miss W. Tuke. 
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 SCENE, New-York. 
 
 N.B. The lines marked with inverted commas, "thus", are omitted in the 
 representation. 
 
 
THE CONTRAST 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment at CHARLOTTE S. 
 CHARLOTTE and LETITIA discovered. 
 
 LETITIA. And so, Charlotte, you really think the pocket-hoop 
 unbecoming. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. No, I don t say so: It may be very becoming to 
 saunter round the house of a rainy day; to visit my grand 
 mamma, or to go to Quakers meeting: but to swim in a minuet, 
 with the eyes of fifty well-dressed beaux upon me, to trip it in the 
 Mall, or walk on the Battery, give me the luxurious, jaunty, flow 
 ing bell-hoop. It would have delighted you to have seen me the 
 last evening, my charming girl ! I was dangling o er the battery 
 with Billy Dimple; a knot of young fellows were upon the plat 
 form; as I passed them I faltered with one of the most bewitch 
 ing false steps you ever saw, and then recovered myself with such 
 a pretty confusion, flirting my hoop to discover a jet black shoe 
 and brilliant buckle. Gad ! how my little heart thrilled to hear 
 the confused raptures of "Demme, Jack, what a delicate foot!" 
 "Hal General, what a well-turned " 
 
 LETITIA. Fie! fie! Charlotte [Stopping her mouth.]. I protest 
 you are quite a libertine. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, my dear little prude, are we not all such 
 libertines? Do you think, when I sat tortured two hours under 
 the hands of my friseur, and an hour more at my toilet, that I 
 had any thoughts of my aunt Susan, or my cousin Betsey? though 
 they are both allowed to be critical judges of dress. 
 
 LETITIA. Why, who should we dress to please, but those who 
 are judges of its merits? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, a creature who does not know Buff on from 
 Soufle Man! my Letitia Man! for whom we dress, walk, 
 dance, talk, lisp, languish, and smile. Does not the grave Spec 
 tator assure us that even our much bepraised diffidence, modesty, 
 and blushes are all directed to make ourselves good wives and 
 
448 Representative Plays 
 
 mothers as fast as we can? Why, I ll undertake with one flirt of 
 this hoop to bring more beaux to my feet in one week than the 
 grave Maria, and her sentimental circle, can do. by sighing senti 
 ment till their hairs are grey. 
 
 LETITIA. Well, I won t argue with you; you always out-talk 
 me; let us change the subject. I hear that Mr. Dimple and 
 Maria are soon to be married. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You hear true. I was consulted in the choice of 
 the wedding clothes. She is to be married in a delicate white 
 satin, and has a monstrous pretty brocaded lutestring for the 
 second day. It would have done you good to have seen with 
 what an affected indifference the dear sentimentalist [turned over 
 a thousand pretty things, just as if her heart did not palpitate 
 with her approaching happiness, and at last made her choice and] l 
 arranged her dress with such apathy as if she did not know that 
 plain white satin and a simple blond lace would shew her clear 
 skin and dark hair to the greatest advantage. 
 
 LETITIA. But they say her indifference to dress, and even to 
 the gentleman himself, is not entirely affected. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. How? 
 
 LETITIA. It is whispered that if Maria gives her hand to Mr. 
 Dimple, it will be without her heart. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Though the giving the heart is one of the last of 
 all laughable considerations in the marriage of a girl of spirit, yet 
 I should like to hear what antiquated notions the dear little piece 
 of old-fashioned prudery has got in her head. 
 
 LETITIA. Why, you know that old Mr. John-Richard-Robert- 
 Jacob-Isaac-Abraham-Cornelius Van Dumpling, Billy Dimple s 
 father (for he has thought fit to soften his name, as well as 
 manners, during his English tour) was the most intimate friend 
 of Maria s father. The old folks, about a year before Mr. Van 
 Dumpling s death, proposed this match: the young folks were 
 accordingly introduced, and told they must love one another. 
 Billy was then a good-natured, decent-dressing young fellow, 
 with a little dasli of the coxcomb, such as our young fellows of 
 fortune usually have. At this time, I really believe she thought 
 she loved him; and had they then been married, I doubt not they 
 might have jogged on, to the end of the chapter, a good kind of a 
 sing-song, lack-a-daysaical life, as other honest married folks do. 
 
 1 The omitted passages in the First Edition, indicated by inverted commas, are 
 here enclosed in heavy brackets. 
 
The Contrast 449 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why did they not then marry? 
 
 LETITIA. Upon the death of his father, Billy went to England 
 to see the world and rub off a little of the patroon rust. During 
 his absence, Maria, like a good girl, to keep herself constant to 
 her nown true-love, avoided company, and betook herself, for her 
 amusement, to her books, and her dear Billy s letters. But, 
 alas ! how many ways has the mischievous demon of inconstancy 
 of stealing into a woman s heart! Her love was destroyed by 
 the very means she took to support it. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. How? Oh! I have it some likely young beau 
 found the way to her study. 
 
 LETITIA. Be patient, Charlotte; your head so runs upon 
 beaux. Why, she read Sir Charles Grandison, Clarissa Harlow, 
 Shenstone, and the Sentimental Journey; and between whiles, as 
 I said, Billy s letters. But, as her taste improved, her love 
 declined. The contrast was so striking betwixt the good sense 
 of her books and the flimsiness of her love-letters, that she dis 
 covered she had unthinkingly engaged her hand without her 
 heart; and then the whole transaction, managed by the old folks, 
 now appeared so unsentimental, and looked so like bargaining for 
 a bale of goods, that she found she ought to have rejected, accord 
 ing to every rule of romance, even the man of her choice, if 
 imposed upon her in that manner. Clary Harlow would have 
 scorned such a match. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, how was it on Mr. Dimple s return? Did 
 he meet a more favourable reception than his letters? 
 
 LETITIA. Much the same. She spoke of him with respect 
 abroad, and with contempt in her closet. She watched his con 
 duct and conversation, and found that he had by travelling 
 acquired the wickedness of Lovelace without his wit, and the 
 politeness of Sir Charles Grandison without his generosity. The 
 ruddy youth, who washed his face at the cistern every morning, 
 and swore and looked eternal love and constancy, was now ** 
 metamorphosed into a flippant, palid, polite beau, who devotes 
 the morning to his toilet, reads a few pages of Chesterfield s 
 letters, and then minces out, to put the infamous principles in 
 practice upon every woman he meets. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. But, if she is so apt at conjuring up these senti 
 mental bugbears, why does she not discard him at once? 
 
 LETITIA. Why, she thinks her word too sacred to be trifled 
 with. Besides, her father, who has a great respect for the memory 
 
45 Representative Plays 
 
 of his deceased friend, is ever telling her how he shall renew his 
 years in their union, and repeating the dying injunctions of old 
 Van Dumpling. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. A mighty pretty story! And so you would make 
 me believe that the sensible Maria would give up Dumpling 
 Manor, and the all-accomplished Dimple as a husband, for the 
 absurd, ridiculous reason, forsooth, because she despises and 
 abhors him. Just as if a lady could not be privileged to spend 
 a man s fortune, ride in his carriage, be called after his name, 
 and call him her nown dear lovee when she wants money, without 
 loving and respecting the great he-creature. Oh ! my dear girl, 
 you are a monstrous prude. 
 
 LETITIA. I don t say what I would do; I only intimate how I 
 suppose she wishes to act. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. No, no, no! A fig for sentiment. If she breaks, 
 or wishes to break, with Mr. Dimple, depend upon it, she has 
 some other man in her eye. A woman rarely discards one lover 
 until she is sure of another. Letitia little thinks what a clue I 
 have to Dimple s conduct. The generous man submits to render 
 himself disgusting to Maria, in order that she may leave him at 
 liberty to address me. I must change the subject. 
 
 [Aside, and rings a bell. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 Frank, order the horses to. Talking of marriage, did you 
 
 hear that Sally Bloomsbury is going to be married next week 
 to Mr. Indigo, the rich Carolinian? 
 
 LETITIA. Sally Bloomsbury married ! why, she is not yet in 
 her teens. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I do not know how that is, but you may depend 
 upon it, tis a done affair. I have it from the best authority. 
 There is my aunt Wyerly s Hannah (you know Hannah; though 
 a black, she is a wench that was never caught in a lie in her life) ; 
 now, Hannah has a brother who courts Sarah, Mrs. Catgut the 
 milliner s girl, and she told Hannah s brother, and Hannah, who, 
 as I said before, is a girl of undoubted veracity, told it directly 
 to me, that Mrs. Catgut was making a new cap for Miss Blooms- 
 bury, which, as it was very dressy, it is very probable is designed 
 for a wedding cap. Now, as she is to be married, who can it 
 be to, but to Mr. Indigo? Why, there is no other gentleman that 
 visits at her papa s. 
 
The Contrast 451 
 
 LETITIA. Say not a word more, Charlotte. Your intelligence 
 is so direct and well grounded, it is almost a pity that it is not a 
 piece of scandal. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh ! I am the pink of prudence. Though I can 
 not charge myself with ever having discredited a tea-party by 
 my silence, yet I take care never to report any thing of my 
 acquaintance, especially if it is to their credit, discredit, I mean, 
 until I have searched to the bottom of it. It is true, there is 
 infinite pleasure in this charitable pursuit. Oh! how delicious to 
 go and condole with the friends of some backsliding sister, or to 
 retire with some old dowager or maiden aunt of the family, who j 
 love scandal so well that they cannot forbear gratifying their ap- 
 petite at the expence of the reputation of their nearest relations! ! 
 And then to return full fraught with a rich collection of circum 
 stances, to retail to the next circle of our acquaintance under the 
 strongest injunctions of secrecy, ha, ha, ha! interlarding the 
 melancholy tale with so many doleful shakes of the head, and 
 more doleful "Ah! who would have thought it! so amiable, so 
 prudent a young lady, as we all thought her, what a monstrous 
 pity! well, I have nothing to charge myself with; I acted the part 
 of a friend, I warned her of the principles of that rake, I told her 
 what would be the consequence; I told her so, I told her so." 
 Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 LETITIA. Ha, ha, ha! Well, but, Charlotte, you don t tell me 
 what you think of Miss Bloomsbury s match. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Think! why I think it is probable she cried for 
 a plaything, and they have given her a husband. Well, well, well, 
 the puling chit shall not be deprived of her plaything: tis only ex 
 changing London dolls for American babies. Apropos, of babies, 
 have you heard what Mrs. Affable s high-flying notions of delicacy 
 have come to? 
 
 LETITIA. Who, she that was Miss Lovely? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. The same; she married Bob Affable of Schenec- 
 tady. Don t you remember? 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Madam, the carriage is ready. 
 LETITIA. Shall we go to the stores first, or visiting? 
 CHARLOTTE. I should think it rather too early to visit, especi 
 ally Mrs. Prim; you know she is so particular. 
 LETITIA. Well, but what of Mrs. Affable? 
 
452 Representative Plays 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh, I ll tell you as we go; come, come, let us 
 hasten. I hear Mrs. Catgut has some of the prettiest caps 
 arrived you ever saw. I shall die if I have not the first sight 
 of them. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in VAN ROUGH S House. 
 MARIA [sitting disconsolate at a table, with books, fc.]. 
 
 SONG. 1 
 
 I. 
 
 The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day; 
 But glory remains when their lights fade away! 
 Begin, ye tormentors! your threats are in vain, 
 For the son of Alknomook shall never complain. 
 
 II. 
 
 Remember the arrows he shot from his bow; 
 Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low: 
 Why so slow? do you wait till I shrink from the pain? 
 No the son of Alknomook will never complain. 
 
 III. 
 
 Remember the wood where in ambush we lay; 
 And the scalps which we bore from your nation away: 
 Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain; 
 But the son of Alknomook can never complain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I go to the land where my father is gone; 
 His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son: 
 Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain; 
 And thy son, O Alknomook ! has scorn d to complain. 
 
 There is something in this song which ever calls forth my 
 affections. The manly virtue of courage, that fortitude which 
 steels the heart against the keenest misfortunes, which inter 
 weaves the laurel of glory amidst the instruments of torture and 
 death, displays something so noble, so exalted, that in despite 
 of the prejudices of education, I cannot but admire it, even in a 
 
 1 A page reproduction of the original music is given in the Dunlap reprint of 
 this play. 
 
The Contrast 453 
 
 savage. The prepossession which our sex is supposed to enter 
 tain for the character of a soldier is, I know, a standing piece of 
 raillery among the wits. A cockade, a lapell d coat, and a feather, 
 they will tell you, are irresistible by a female heart. Let it be 
 so. Who is it that considers the helpless situation of our sex, 
 that does not see that we each moment stand in need of a pro 
 tector, and that a brave one too? [Formed of the more delicate 
 materials of nature, endowed only with the softer passions, 
 incapable, from our ignorance of the world, to guard against the 
 wiles of mankind, our security for happiness often depends upon 
 their generosity and courage : Alas ! how little of the former do 
 we find!] How inconsistent! that man should be leagued to 
 destroy that honour upon which solely rests his respect and 
 esteem. Ten thousand temptations allure us, ten thousand pas 
 sions betray us; yet the smallest deviation from the path of 
 rectitude is followed by the contempt and -insult of man, and 
 the more remorseless pity of woman; years of penitence and 
 tears cannot wash away the stain, nor a life of virtue obliterate 
 its remembrance. [Reputation is the life of woman; yet courage 
 to protect it is masculine and disgusting; and the only safe 
 asylum a woman of delicacy can find is in the arms of a man of 
 honour. How naturally, then, should we love the brave and the 
 generous; how gratefully should we bless the arm raised for our 
 protection, when nerv d by virtue and directed by honour!] 
 Heaven grant that the man with whom I may be connected 
 may be connected! Whither has my imagination transported 
 me whither does it now lead me? Am I not indissolubly en 
 gaged, [by every obligation of honour which my own consent 
 and my father s approbation can give,] to a man who can never 
 share my affections, and whom a few days hence it will be 
 criminal for me to disapprove to disapprove ! would to heaven 
 that were all to despise. For, can the most frivolous manners, 
 actuated by the most depraved heart, meet, or merit, anything 
 but contempt from every woman of delicacy and sentiment? 
 
 [VAN ROUGH without: Mary! ] 
 Ha! my father s voice Sir! 
 
 Enter VAN ROUGH. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. What, Mary, always singing doleful ditties, and 
 moping over these plaguy books. 
 
454 Representative Plays 
 
 MARIA. I hope, sir, that it is not criminal to improve my mind 
 with books; or to divert my melancholy with singing, at my 
 leisure hours. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Why, I don t know that, child; I don t know 
 that. They us d to say, when I was a young man, that if a 
 woman knew how to make a pudding, and to keep herself out of 
 fire and water, she knew enough for a wife. Now, what good have 
 these books done you? have they not made you melancholy? as 
 you call it. Pray, what right has a girl of your age to be in the 
 dumps? hav n t you every thing your heart can wish; an t you 
 going to be married to a young man of great fortune; an t you 
 going to have the quit-rent of twenty miles square? 
 
 MARIA. One hundredth part of the land, and a lease for life of 
 the heart of a man I could love, would satisfy me. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Pho, pho, pho! child; nonsense, downright non 
 sense, child. This comes of your reading your story-books; your 
 Charles Grandisons, your Sentimental Journals, and your Robin 
 son Crusoes, and such other trumpery. No, no, no! child, it is 
 money makes the mare go; keep your eye upon the main chance, 
 Mary. 
 
 MARIA. Marriage, sir, is, indeed, a very serious affair. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. You are right, child ; you are right. I am sure I 
 found it so, to my cost. 
 
 MARIA. I mean, sir, that as marriage is a portion for life, and 
 so intimately involves our happiness, we cannot be too con 
 siderate in the choice of our companion. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Right, child ; very right. A young woman should 
 be very sober when she is making her choice, but when she has 
 once made it, as you have done, I don t see why she should not be 
 as merry as a grig; I am sure she has reason enough to be so. 
 Solomon says that "there is a time to laugh, and a time to weep." 
 Now, a time for a young woman to laugh is when she has made 
 sure of a good rich husband. Now, a time to cry, according to 
 you, Mary, is when she is making choice of him; but I should 
 think that a young woman s time to cry was when she despaired 
 of getting one. Why, there was your mother, now : to be sure, 
 when I popp d the question to her she did look a little silly; 
 but when she had once looked down on her apron-strings, as all 
 modest young women us d to do, and drawled out ye-s, she 
 was as brisk and as merry as a bee. 
 
The Contrast 455 
 
 MARIA. My honoured mother, sir, had no motive to melan 
 choly; she married the man of her choice. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. The man of her choice! And pray, Mary, an t 
 you going to marry the man of your choice what trumpery 
 notion is this? It is these vile books [Throwing them away.]. I d 
 have you to know, Mary, if you won t make young Van Dumpling 
 the man of your choice, you shall marry him as the man of my 
 choice. 
 
 MARIA. You terrify me, sir. Indeed, sir, I am all submission. 
 My will is yours. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Why, that is the way your mother us d to talk. 
 "My will is yours, my dear Mr. Van Rough, my will is yours;" 
 but she took special care to have her own way, though, for all 
 that. 
 
 MARIA. Do not reflect upon my mother s memory, sir 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Why not, Mary, why not? She kept me from 
 speaking my mind all her life, and do you think she shall henpeck 
 me now she is dead too? Come, come; don t go to sniveling; be 
 a good girl, and mind the main chance. I ll see you well settled 
 in the world. 
 
 MARIA. I do not doubt your love, sir, and it is my duty to 
 obey you. I will endeavour to make my duty and inclination go 
 hand in hand. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Well, well, Mary; do you be a good girl, mind 
 the main chance, and never mind inclination. Why, do you know 
 that I have been down in the cellar this very morning to examine 
 a pipe of Madeira which I purchased the week you were born, 
 and mean to tap on your wedding day? That pipe cost me 
 fifty pounds sterling. It was well worth sixty pounds; but I 
 over-reach d Ben Bulkhead, the supercargo: I ll tell you the 
 whole story. You must know that 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Sir, Mr. Transfer, the broker, is below. [Exit. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Well, Mary, I must go. Remember, and be a 
 
 good girl, and mind the main chance. [Exit. 
 
 MARIA [alone]. 
 
 How deplorable is my situation! How distressing for a daugh- I 
 ter to find her heart militating with her filial duty! I know my I 
 father loves me tenderly; why then do I reluctantly obey him? 
 
456 Representative Plays 
 
 [Heaven knows! with what reluctance I should oppose the will 
 of a parent, or set an example of filial disobedience;] at a parent s 
 command, I could wed awkwardness and deformity. [Were the 
 heart of my husband good, I would so magnify his good qualities 
 with the eye of conjugal affection, that the defects of his person 
 and manners should be lost in the emanation of his virtues.] 
 At a father s command, I could embrace poverty. Were the 
 poor man my husband, I would learn resignation to my lot; I 
 would enliven our frugal meal with good humour, and chase 
 away misfortune from our cottage with a smile. At a father s 
 command, I could almost submit to what every female heart 
 knows to be the most mortifying, to marry a weak man, and 
 blush at my husband s folly in every company I visited. But 
 to marry a depraved wretch, whose only virtue is a polished 
 exterior; [who is actuated by the unmanly ambition of conquer 
 ing the defenceless; whose heart, insensible to the emotions of 
 patriotism, dilates at the plaudits of every unthinking girl;] 
 whose laurels are the sighs and tears of the miserable victims of 
 his specious behaviour Can he, who has no regard for the peace 
 and happiness of other families, ever have a due regard for the 
 peace and happiness of his own? Would to heaven that my father 
 were not so hasty in his temper! Surely, if I were to state my 
 reasons for declining this match, he would not compel me to 
 marry a man, whom, though my lips may solemnly promise to 
 honour, I find my heart must ever despise. [Exit. 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter CHARLOTTE and LETITIA. 
 
 CHARLOTTE [at entering]. 
 
 Betty, take those things out of the carriage and carry them 
 to my chamber; see that you don t tumble them. My dear, I 
 protest, I think it was the homeliest of the whole. I declare I 
 was almost tempted to return and change it. 
 
 LETITIA. Why would you take it? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. [Didn t Mrs. Catgut say it was the most fashion 
 able? 
 
The Contrast 457 
 
 LETITIA. But, my dear, it will never fit becomingly on you. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I know that; but did not you hear Mrs. Catgut 
 say it was fashionable? 
 
 LETITIA. Did you see that sweet airy cap with the white sprig? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Yes, and I longed to take it; but,] my dear, what 
 could I do? Did not Mrs. Catgut say it was the most fashion 
 able; and if I had not taken it, was not that awkward, gawky 
 Sally Slender ready to purchase it immediately? 
 
 LETITIA. [Did you observe how she tumbled over the things at 
 the next shop, and then went off without purchasing any thing, 
 nor even thanking the poor man for his trouble? But, of all the 
 awkward creatures, did you see Miss Blouze endeavouring to 
 thrust her unmerciful arm into those small kid gloves? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Ha, ha, ha, ha!] 
 
 LETITIA. Then did you take notice with what an affected 
 warmth of friendship she and Miss Wasp met? \vhen all their 
 acquaintance know how much pleasure they take in abusing each 
 other in every company. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Lud! Letitia, is that so extraordinary? Why, my 
 dear, I hope you are not going to turn sentimentalist. Scandal, 
 you know, is but amusing ourselves with the faults, foibles, fol 
 lies, and reputations of our friends; indeed, I don t know why we 
 should have friends, if we are not at liberty to make use of them. 
 But no person is so ignorant of the world as to suppose, because 
 I amuse myself with a lady s faults, that I am obliged to quarrel 
 with her person every time we meet: believe me, my dear, we 
 should have very few acquaintances at that rate. 
 
 SERVANT enters and delivers a letter to CHARLOTTE, and [Exit. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You ll excuse me, my dear. 
 
 [Opens and reads to herself. 
 
 LETITIA. Oh, quite excusable. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. As I hope to be married, my brother Henry is in 
 the city. 
 
 LETITIA. What, your brother, Colonel Manly? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Yes, my dear; the only brother I have in the 
 world. 
 
 LETITIA. Was he never in this city? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Never nearer than Harlem Heights, where he lay 
 with his regiment. 
 
458 Representative Plays 
 
 LETITIA. What sort of a being is this brother of yours? If he 
 is as chatty, as pretty, as sprightly as you, half the belles in the 
 city will be pulling caps for him. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. My brother is the very counterpart and reverse 
 of me: I am gay, he is grave; I am airy, he is solid; I am ever 
 selecting the most pleasing objects for my laughter, he has a tear 
 for every pitiful one. And thus, whilst he is plucking the briars 
 and thorns from the path of the unfortunate, I am strewing my 
 own path with roses. 
 
 LETITIA. My sweet friend, not quite so poetical, and a little 
 more particular. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hands off, Letitia. I feel the rage of simile upon 
 me; I can t talk to you in any other way. My brother has a 
 heart replete with the noblest sentiments, but then, it is like 
 it is like Oh! you provoking girl, you have deranged all my 
 ideas it is like Oh ! I have it his heart is like an old maiden 
 lady s band-box; it contains many costly things, arranged with 
 the most scrupulous nicety, yet the misfortune is that they are 
 too delicate, costly, and antiquated for common use. 
 
 LETITIA. By what I can pick out of your flowery description, 
 your brother is no beau. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. No, indeed ; he makes no pretension to the charac 
 ter. He d ride, or rather fly, an hundred miles to relieve a dis 
 tressed object, or to do a gallant act in the service of his country; 
 but, should you drop your fan or bouquet in his presence, it is 
 ten to one that some beau at the farther end of the room would 
 have the honour of presenting it to you before he had observed 
 that it fell. I ll tell you one of his antiquated, anti-gallant 
 notions. He said once in my presence, in a room full of company, 
 would you believe it? in a large circle of ladies, that the best 
 evidence a gentleman could give a young lady of his respect and 
 affection was to endeavour in a friendly manner to rectify her 
 foibles. I protest I was crimson to the eyes, upon reflecting that 
 I was known as his sister. 
 
 LETITIA. Insupportable creature! tell a lady of her faults! If 
 he is so grave, I fear I have no chance of captivating him. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. [His conversation is like a rich, old-fashioned 
 brocade, it will stand alone ; every sentence is a sentiment. Now 
 you may judge what a time I had with him, in my twelve months 
 visit to my father. He read me such lectures, out of pure brother 
 ly affection, against the extremes of fashion, dress, flirting, and 
 
The Contrast 459 
 
 coquetry, and all the other dear things which he knows I dote 
 upon, that I protest his conversation made me as melancholy 
 as if I had been at church; and, heaven knows, though I never 
 prayed to go there but on one occasion, yet I would have ex 
 changed his conversation for a psalm and a sermon. Church 
 is rather melancholy, to be sure; but then I can ogle the beaux, 
 and be regaled with "here endeth the first lesson," but his 
 brotherly here, you would think had no end.] You captivate 
 him! Why, my dear, he would as soon fall in love with a box 
 of Italian flowers. There is Maria, now, if she were not engaged, 
 she might do something. Oh ! how I should like to see that pair 
 of pensorosps together, looking as grave as two sailors wives 
 of a stormy night, with a flow of sentiment meandering through 
 their conversation like purling streams in modern poetry. 
 
 LETITIA. Oh ! my dear fanciful 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hush! I hear some person coming through the 
 entry. 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Madam, there s a gentleman below who calls him 
 self Colonel Manly; do you choose to be at home? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Shew him in. [Exit SERVANT. ] Now for a sober 
 face. 
 
 Enter COLONEL MANLY. 
 
 MANLY. My dear Charlotte, I am happy that I once more 
 enfold you within the arms of fraternal affection. I know you are 
 going to ask (amiable impatience!) how our parents do, the 
 venerable pair transmit you their blessing by me they totter on 
 the verge of a well-spent life, and wish only to see their, children 
 settled in the world, to depart in peace. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I am very happy to hear that they are well. 
 [Coolly. ] Brother, will you give me leave to introduce you to our 
 uncle s ward, one of my most intimate friends? 
 
 MANLY [Saluting LETITIA.]. I ought to regard your friends as 
 my own. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Come, Letitia, do give us a little dash of your 
 vivacity; my brother is so sentimental and so grave, that I pro 
 test he ll give us the vapours. 
 
 MANLY. Though sentiment and gravity, I know, are banished 
 the polite world, yet I hoped they might find some countenance 
 in the meeting of such near connections as brother and sister. 
 
460 Representative Plays 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Positively, brother, if you go one step further in 
 this strain, you will set me crying, and that, you know, would 
 spoil my eyes; and then I should never get the husband which 
 our good papa and mamma have so kindly wished me never be 
 established in the world. 
 
 MANLY. Forgive me, my sister, I am no enemy to mirth ; I 
 love your sprightliness; and I hope it will one day enliven the 
 hours of some worthy man; but when I mention the respectable 
 authors of my existence, the cherishers and protectors of my 
 helpless infancy, whose hearts glow with such fondness and 
 attachment that they would willingly lay down their lives for my 
 welfare, you will excuse me if I am so unfashionable as to speak 
 of them with some degree of respect and reverence. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, well, brother; if you won t be gay, we ll 
 not differ; I will be as grave as you wish. [Affects gravity.] 
 And so, brother, you have come to the city to exchange some 
 of your commutation notes for a little pleasure. 
 
 MANLY. Indeed you are mistaken; my errand is not of amuse 
 ment, but business; and as I neither drink nor game, my ex- 
 pences will be so trivial, I shall have no occasion to sell my 
 notes. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Then you won t have occasion to do a very good 
 thing. Why, here was the Vermont General he came down 
 some time since, sold all his musty notes at one stroke, and 
 then laid the cash out in trinkets for his dear Fanny. I want a 
 dozen pretty things myself; have you got the notes with you? 
 
 MANLY. I shall be ever willing to contribute, as far as it is in 
 my power, to adorn or in any way to please my sister; yet I hope 
 I shall never be obliged for this to sell my notes. I may be 
 romantic, but I preserve them as a sacred deposit. Their full 
 amount is justly due to me, but as embarrassments, the natural 
 consequences of a long war, disable my country from supporting 
 its credit, I shall wait with patience until it is rich enough to 
 discharge them. If that is not in my day, they shall be trans 
 mitted as an honourable certificate to posterity, that I have 
 humbly imitated our illustrious WASHINGTON, in having exposed 
 my health and life in the service of my country, without reaping 
 any other reward than the glory of conquering in so arduous a 
 contest. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well said heroics. Why, my dear Henry, you 
 have such a lofty way of saying things, that I protest I almost 
 
The Contrast 461 
 
 tremble at the thought of introducing you to the polite circles 
 in the city. The belles would think you were a player run mad, 
 with your head filled with old scraps of tragedy; and, as to the 
 beaux, they might admire, because they would not understand 
 you. But, however, I must, I believe, venture to introduce you 
 to two or three ladies of my acquaintance. 
 
 LETITIA. And that will make him acquainted with thirty or 
 forty beaux. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! brother, you don t know what a fund of 
 happiness you have in store. 
 
 MANLY. I fear, sister, I have not refinement sufficient to 
 enjoy it. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! you cannot fail being pleased. 
 
 LETITIA. Our ladies are so delicate and dressy. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And our beaux so dressy and delicate. 
 
 LETITIA. Our ladies chat and flirt so agreeably. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And our beaux simper and bow so gracefully. 
 
 LETITIA. With their hair so trim and neat. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And their faces so soft and sleek. 
 
 LETITIA. Their buckles so tonish and bright. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And their hands so slender and white. 
 
 LETITIA. I vow, Charlotte, we are quite poetical. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And then, brother, the faces of the beaux are of 
 such a lily-white hue! None of that horrid robustness of consti 
 tution, that vulgar corn-fed glow of health, which can only serve 
 to alarm an unmarried lady with apprehensions, and prove a 
 melancholy memento to a married one, that she can never hope 
 for the happiness of being a widow. I will say this to the credit 
 of our city beaux, that such is the delicacy of their complexion, 
 dress, and address, that, even had I no reliance upon the honour 
 of the dear Adonises, I would trust myself in any possible situa 
 tion with them, without the least apprehensions of rudeness. 
 
 MANLY. Sister Charlotte! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Now, now, now, brother [Interrupting him.], 
 now don t go to spoil my mirth with a dash of your gravity, I 
 am so glad to see you, I am in tiptop spirits. Oh! that you 
 could be with us at a little snug party. There is Billy Simper, 
 Jack Chaffe, and Colonel Van Titter, Miss Promonade, and the 
 two Miss Tambours, sometimes make a party, with some other 
 ladies, in a side-box, at the play. Everything is conducted with 
 such decorum, first we bow round to the company in general, 
 
462 Representative Plays 
 
 then to each one in particular, then we have so many inquiries 
 after each other s health, and we are so happy to meet each other, 
 and it is so many ages since we last had that pleasure, [and if a 
 married lady is in company, we have such a sweet dissertation 
 upon her son Bobby s chin-cough;] then the curtain rises, then 
 our sensibility is all awake, and then, by the mere force of 
 apprehension, we torture some harmless expression into a double 
 meaning, which the poor author never dreamt of, and then we 
 have recourse to our fans, and then we blush, and then the 
 gentlemen jog one another, peep under the fan, and make the 
 prettiest remarks; and then we giggle and they simper, and they 
 giggle and we simper, and then the curtain drops, and then for 
 nuts and oranges, and then we bow, and it s Pray, ma am, take 
 it, and Pray, sir, keep it, and, Oh! not for the world, sir; and 
 then the curtain rises again, and then we blush and giggle and 
 simper and bow all over again. Oh! the sentimental charms of 
 a side-box conversation! [All laugh.] 
 
 MANLY. Well, sister, I join heartily with you in the laugh; 
 for, in my opinion, it is as justifiable to laugh at folly as it is 
 reprehensible to ridicule misfortune. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, but, brother, positively I can t introduce 
 you in these clothes: why, your coat looks as if it were calcu 
 lated for the vulgar purpose of keeping yourself comfortable. 
 
 MANLY. This coat was my regimental coat in the late war. 
 The public tumults of our state have induced me to buckle on 
 the sword in support of that government which I once fought 
 to establish. I can only say, sister, that there was a time when 
 this coat was respectable, and some people even thought that 
 those men who had endured so many winter campaigns in the 
 service of their country, without bread, clothing, or pay, at least 
 deserved that the poverty of their appearance should not be 
 ridiculed. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. We agree in opinion entirely, brother, though it 
 would not have done for me to have said it: it is the coat makes 
 the man respectable. In the time of the war, when we were 
 almost frightened to death, why, your coat was respectable, that 
 is, fashionable ; now another kind of coat is fashionable, that is, 
 respectable. And, pray, direct the tailor to make yours the 
 height of the fashion. 
 
 MANLY. Though it is of little consequence to me of what shape 
 my coat is, yet, as to the height of the fashion, there you will please 
 
The Contrast 463 
 
 to excuse me, sister. You know my sentiments on that subject. 
 I have often lamented the advantage which the French have 
 over us in that particular. In Paris, the fashions have their 
 dawnings, their routine, and declensions, and depend as much 
 upon the caprice of the day as in other countries; but there 
 every lady assumes a right to deviate from the general ton as 
 far as will be of advantage to her own appearance. In America, 
 the cry is, What is the fashion? and we follow it indiscriminately, 
 because it is so. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Therefore it is, that when large hoops are in 
 fashion, we often see many a plump girl lost in the immensity of 
 a hoop-petticoat, whose want of height and en-bon-point would 
 never have been remarked in any other dress. When the high 
 head-dress is the mode, how then do we see a lofty cushion, with 
 a profusion of gauze, feathers, and ribband, supported by a face 
 no bigger than an apple; whilst a broad, full-faced lady, who 
 really would have appeared tolerably handsome in a large head 
 dress, looks with her smart chapeau as masculine as a soldier. 
 
 MANLY. But remember, my dear sister, and I wish all my fair 
 countrywomen would recollect, that the only excuse a young 
 lady can have for going extravagantly into a fashion is because 
 it makes her look extravagantly handsome. Ladies, I must wish 
 you a good morning. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. But, brother, you are going to make home with us. 
 
 MANLY. Indeed I cannot. I have seen my uncle and ex 
 plained that matter. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Come and dine with us, then. We have a family 
 dinner about half-past four o clock. 
 
 MANLY. I am engaged to dine with the Spanish ambassador. 
 I was introduced to him by an old brother officer; and instead 
 of freezing me with a cold card of compliment to dine with him 
 ten days hence, he, with the true old Castilian frankness, in a 
 friendly manner, asked me to dine with him to-day an honour 
 I could not refuse. Sister, adieu madam, your most obedient 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I will wait upon you to the door, brother; I 
 have something particular to say to you. [Exit. 
 
 LETITIA [alone]. What a pair! She the pink of flirtation, he 
 the essence of everything that is outre and gloomy. I think I 
 have completely deceived Charlotte by my manner of speaking of 
 Mr. Dimple; she s too much the friend of Maria to be confided 
 
464 Representative Plays 
 
 in. He is certainly rendering himself disagreeable to Maria, in 
 order to break with her and proffer his hand to me. This is 
 what the delicate fellow hinted in our last conversation. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The Mall. 
 
 Enter JESSAMY. 
 
 Positively this Mall is a very pretty place. I hope the cits 
 won t ruin it by repairs. To be sure, it won t do to speak of in 
 the same day with Ranelagh or Vauxhall; however, it s a fine 
 place for a young fellow to display his person to advantage. 
 Indeed, nothing is lost here; the girls have taste, and I am very 
 happy to find they have adopted the elegant London fashion 
 of looking back, after a genteel fellow like me has passed them. 
 Ah! who comes here? This, by his awkwardness, must be 
 the Yankee colonel s servant. I ll accost him. 
 
 Enter JONATHAN. 
 
 JESSAMY. Votre tres-humble serviteur, Monsieur. I understand 
 Colonel Manly, the Yankee officer, has the honour of your ser 
 vices. 
 
 JONATHAN. Sir! 
 
 JESSAMY. I say, sir, I understand that Colonel Manly has the 
 honour of having you for a servant. 
 
 JONATHAN. Servant ! Sir, do you take me for a neger, I am 
 Colonel Manly s waiter. 
 
 JESSAMY. A true Yankee distinction, egad, without a differ 
 ence. Why, sir, do you not perform all the offices of a servant? 
 do you not even blacken his boots? 
 
 JONATHAN. Yes; I do grease them a bit sometimes; but I am 
 a true blue son of liberty, for all that. Father said I should 
 come as Colonel Manly s waiter, to see the world, and all that; 
 but no man shall master me: my father has as good a farm as 
 the Colonel. 
 
 JESSAMY. Well, sir, we will not quarrel about terms upon the 
 eve of an acquaintance from which I promise myself so much 
 satisfaction ; therefore, sans ceremonie 
 
 JONATHAN. What? 
 
The Contrast 465 
 
 JESSAMY. I say I am extremely happy to see Colonel Manly s 
 waiter. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, and I vow, too, I am pretty considerably 
 glad to see you; but what the dogs need of all this outlandish 
 lingo? Who may you be, sir, if I may be so bold? 
 
 JESSAMY. I have the honour to be Mr. Dimple s servant, or, if 
 you please, waiter. We lodge under the same roof, and should 
 be glad of the honour of your acquaintance. 
 
 JONATHAN. You a waiter! by the living jingo, you look so 
 topping, I took you for one of the agents to Congress. 
 
 JESSAMY. The brute has discernment, notwithstanding his 
 appearance. Give me leave to say I wonder then at your 
 familiarity. 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, as to the matter of that, Mr. ; pray, 
 
 what s your name? 
 
 JESSAMY. Jessamy, at your service. 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, I swear we don t make any great matter of 
 distinction in our state between quality and other folks. 
 
 JESSAMY. This is, indeed, a levelling principle. I hope, Mr. 
 Jonathan, you have not taken part with the insurgents. 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, since General Shays has sneaked off and 
 given us the bag to hold, I don t care to give my opinion; but 
 you ll promise not to tell put your ear this way you won t 
 tell? I vow I did think the sturgeons were right. 
 
 JESSAMY. I thought, Mr. Jonathan, you Massachusetts-men 
 always argued with a gun in your hand. Why didn t you join 
 them? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, the Colonel is one of those folks called the 
 Shin Shin dang it all, I can t speak them lignum vita words 
 you know who I mean there is a company of them they wear 
 a China goose at their button-hole a kind of gilt thing. Now 
 the Colonel told father and brother, you must know there are, 
 let me see -there is Elnathan, Silas, and Barnabas, Tabitha 
 no, no, she s a she tarnation, now I have it there s Elnathan, 
 Silas, Barnabas, Jonathan, that s I seven of us, six went into 
 the wars, and I stayed at home to take care of mother. Colonel 
 said that it was a burning shame for the true blue Bunker-Hill 
 sons of liberty, who had fought Governor Hutchinson, Lord 
 North, and the Devil, to have any hand in kicking up a cursed 
 dust against a government which we had, every mother s son 
 of us, a hand in making. 
 
466 Representative Plays 
 
 JESSAMY. Bravo! Well, have you been abroad in the city 
 since your arrival? What have you seen that is curious and 
 entertaining? 
 
 JONATHAN. Oh! I have seen a power of fine sights. I went 
 to see two marble-stone men and a leaden horse that stands out 
 in doors in all weathers ; and when I came where they was, one 
 had got no head, and t other wer n t there. They said as how 
 the leaden man was a damn d tory, and that he took wit in his 
 anger and rode off in the time of the troubles. 
 
 JESSAMY. But this was not the end of your excursion. 
 
 JONATHAN. Oh, no; I went to a place they call Holy Ground. 
 Now I counted this was a place where folks go to meeting; so I 
 put my hymn-book in my pocket, and walked softly and grave 
 as a minister; and when I came there, the dogs a bit of a meeting 
 house could I see. At last I spied a young gentlewoman stand 
 ing by one of the seats which they have here at the doors. I 
 took her to be the deacon s daughter, and she looked so kind, 
 and so obliging, that I thought I would go and ask her the way 
 to lecture, and would you think it? she called me dear, and 
 sweeting, and honey, just as if we were married: by the living 
 jingo, I had a month s mind to buss her. 
 
 JESSAMY. Well, but how did it end? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, as I was standing talking with her, a parcel 
 of sailor men and boys got round me, the snarl-headed curs fell 
 a-kicking and cursing of me at such a tarnal rate, that I vow 
 I was glad to take to my heels and split home, right off, tail 
 on end, like a stream of chalk. 
 
 JESSAMY. Why, my dear friend, you are not acquainted with 
 the city; that girl you saw was a [Whispers.] 
 
 JONATHAN. Mercy on my soul! was that young woman a 
 harlot! Well! if this is New- York Holy Ground, what must 
 the Holy-day Ground be! 
 
 JESSAMY. Well, you should not judge of the city too rashly. 
 We have a number of elegant fine girls here that make a man s 
 leisure hours pass very agreeably. I would esteem it an honour 
 to announce you to some of them. Gad! that announce is a 
 select word ; I wonder where I picked it up. 
 
 JONATHAN. I don t want to know them. 
 
 JESSAMY. Come, come, my dear friend, I see that I must 
 assume the honour of being the director of your amusements. 
 Nature has given us passions, and youth and opportunity stimu- 
 
The Contrast 467 
 
 late to gratify them. It is no shame, my dear Blueskin, for a 
 man to amuse himself with a little gallantry. 
 
 JONATHAN. Girljiuntry! I don t altogether understand. I 
 never played at that game. I know how to play hunt the squirrel, 
 but I can t play anything with the girls; I am as good as mar 
 ried. 
 
 JESSAMY. Vulgar, horrid brute! Married, and above a hun 
 dred miles from his wife, and think that an objection to his 
 making love to every woman he meecs! He never can have read, 
 no, he never can have been in a room with a volume of the 
 divine Chesterfield. So you are married? 
 
 JONATHAN. No, I don t say so; I said I was as good as mar 
 ried, a kind of promise. 
 
 JESSAMY. As good as married ! 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, yes; there s Tabitha Wymen, the deacon s 
 daughter, at home ; she and I have been courting a great while, 
 and folks say as how we are to be married ; and so I broke a piece 
 of money with her when we parted, and she promised not to 
 spark it with Solomon Dyer while I am gone. You wou dn t 
 have me false to my true-love, would you? 
 
 JESSAMY. Maybe you have another reason for constancy; 
 possibly the young lady has a fortune? Ha! Mr. Jonathan, the 
 solid charms : the chains of love are never so binding as when 
 the links are made of gold. 
 
 JONATH AN. Why, as to fortune, I must needs say her father is 
 pretty dumb rich; he went representative for our town last year. 
 He will give her let me see four times seven is seven times 
 four nought and carry one, he will give her twenty acres of 
 land somewhat rocky though a Bible, and a cow. 
 
 JESSAMY. Twenty acres of rock, a Bible, and a cow! Why, 
 my dear Mr. Jonathan, we have servant-maids, or, as you would 
 more elegantly express it, waitresses, in this city, who collect 
 more in one year from their mistresses cast clothes. 
 
 JONATHAN. You don t say so! 
 
 JESSAMY. Yes, and I ll introduce you to one of them. There 
 is a little lump of flesh and delicacy that lives at next door, 
 waitress to Miss Maria; we often see her on the stoop. 
 
 JONATHAN. But are you sure she would be courted by me? 
 
 JESSAMY. Never doubt it; remember a faint heart never 
 blisters on my tongue I was going to be guilty of a vile proverb ; 
 flat against the authority of Chesterfield. I say there can be no 
 
468 Representative Plays 
 
 doubt that the brilliancy of your merit will secure you a favour 
 able reception. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, but what must I say to her? 
 
 JESSAMY. Say to her! why, my dear friend, though I admire 
 your profound knowledge on every other subject, yet, you will 
 pardon my saying that your want of opportunity has made the 
 female heart escape the poignancy of your penetration. Say to 
 her! Why, when a man gees a-courting, and hopes for success, 
 he must begin with doing, aad not saying. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, what must I do? 
 
 JESSAMY. Why, when you are introduced you must: make five 
 or six elegant bows. 
 
 JONATHAN. Six elegant bows! I understand that:; six, you 
 say? Well 
 
 JESSAMY. Then you must press and kiss her hand; then press 
 and kiss, and so on to her lips and cheeks; then talk as much 
 as you can about hearts, darts, flames, nectar, and ambrosia 
 the more incoherent the better. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, but suppose she should be angry with I? 
 
 JESSAMY. Why, if she should pretend please to observe, Mr. 
 Jonathan if she should pretend to be offended, you must But 
 I ll tell you how my master acted in such a case: He \vas seated 
 by a young lady of eighteen upon a sofa, plucking with a wanton 
 hand the blooming sweets of youth and beauty. When the 
 lady thought it necessary to check his ardour, she called up a 
 frown upon her lovely face, so irresistibly alluring, that it would 
 have warmed the frozen bosom of age; remember, said she, 
 putting her delicate arm upon his, remember your character 
 and my honour. My master instantly dropped upon his knees, 
 with eyes swimming with love cheeks glowing with desire, and 
 in the gentlest modulation of voice he said: My dear Caroline, 
 in a few months our hands will be indissolubly united at the 
 altar; our hearts 1 feel are already so; the favours you now 
 grant as evidence of your affection are favours indeed; yet, 
 when the ceremony is once past, what will now be received with 
 rapture will then be attributed to duty. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, and what was the consequence? 
 
 JESSAMY. The consequence! Ah! forgive me, my dear friend, 
 but you New-England gentlemen have such a laudable curiosity 
 of seeing the bottom of everything; why, to be honest, I con,- 
 
The Contrast 469 
 
 fess I saw the blooming cherub of a consequence smiling in its 
 angelic mother s arms, about ten months afterwards. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, if I follow all your plans, make them six 
 bows, and all that, shall I have such little cherubim consequen 
 ces? 
 
 JESSAMY. Undoubtedly. What are you musing upon? 
 
 JONATHAN. You say you ll certainly make me acquainted? 
 Why, I was thinking then how I should contrive to pass this 
 broken piece of silver won t it buy a sugar-dram? 
 
 JESSAMY. What is that, the love-token from the deacon s 
 daughter? You come on bravely. But I must hasten to my 
 master. Adieu, my dear friend. 
 
 JONATHAN. Stay, Mr. Jessamy must I buss her when I am 
 introduced to her? 
 
 JESSAMY. I told you, you must kiss her. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, but must I buss her? 
 
 JESSAMY. Why kiss and buss, and buss and kiss, is all one. 
 
 JONATHAN. Oh! my dear friend, though you have a profound 
 knowledge of all, a pugnency of tribulation, you don t know 
 everything. [Exit. 
 
 JESSAMY [alone]. 
 
 Well, certainly I improve; my master could not have insinu 
 ated himself with more address into the heart of a man he 
 despised. Now will this blundering dog sicken Jenny with his 
 nauseous pawings, until she flies into my arms for very ease. 
 How sweet will the contrast be between the blundering Jonathan 
 and the courtly and accomplished Jessamy ! 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. DIMPLE S Room. 
 
 DIMPLE [discovered at a toilet, reading]. 
 
 "Women have in general but one object, which is their beauty." 
 Very true, my lord; positively very true. "Nature has hardly 
 formed a woman ugly enough to be insensible to flattery upon 
 her person." Extremely just, my lord; every day s delightful 
 experience confirms this. "If her face is so shocking that she 
 must, in some degree, be conscious of it, her figure and air, 
 
47 Representative Plays 
 
 she thinks, make ample amends for it." The sallow Miss Wan 
 is a proof of this. Upon my telling the distasteful wretch, the 
 other day, that her countenance spoke the pensive language 
 of sentiment, and that Lady Wortley Montague declared that, 
 if the ladies were arrayed in the garb of innocence, the face 
 would be the last part which would be admired, as Monsieur 
 Milton expresses it, she grin d horribly a ghastly smile. "If 
 her figure is deformed, she thinks her face counterbalances it." 
 
 Enter JESSAMY with letters. 
 
 DIMPLE. Where got you these, Jessamy? 
 JESSAMY. Sir, the English packet is arrived. 
 
 DIMPLE [opens and reads a letter enclosing notes}. 
 "Sir, 
 
 "I have drawn bills on you in favour of Messrs. Van Cash and Co. 
 as per margin. I have taken up your note to Col. Piquet, and dis 
 charged your debts to my Lord Lurcher and Sir Harry Rook. I 
 herewith enclose you copies of the bills, which I have no doubt will 
 be immediately honoured. On failure, I shall empower some lawyer 
 in your country to recover the amounts. 
 "I am, sir, 
 
 "Your most humble servant, 
 "JOHN HAZARD." 
 
 Now, did not my lord expressly say that it was unbecoming 
 a well-bred man to be in a passion, I confess I should be ruffled. 
 [Reads.] "There is no accident so unfortunate, which a wise 
 man may not turn to his advantage; nor any accident so for 
 tunate, which a fool will not turn to his disadvantage." True, 
 my lord; but how advantage can be derived from this I can t 
 see. Chesterfield himself, who made, however, the worst prac 
 tice of the most excellent precepts, was never in so embarrassing 
 a situation. I love the person of Charlotte, and it is necessary 
 I should command the fortune of Letitia. As to Maria! I 
 doubt not by my sang-froid behaviour I shall compel her to 
 decline the match; but the blame must not fall upon me. A 
 prudent man, as my lord says, should take all the credit of a 
 good action to himself, and throw the discredit of a bad one 
 upon others. I must break with Maria, marry Letitia, and 
 as for Charlotte why, Charlotte must be a companion to my 
 wife. Here, Jessamy! 
 
The Contrast 471 
 
 Enter JESSAMY. 
 DIMPLE folds and seals two letters. 
 
 DIMPLE. Here, Jessamy, take this letter to my love. [Gives one. 
 
 JESSAMY. To which of your honour s loves? Oh ! [Reading. ] 
 to Miss Letitia, your honour s rich love. 
 
 DIMPLE. And this [Delivers another.] to Miss Charlotte 
 Manly. See that you deliver them privately. 
 
 JESSAMY. Yes, your honour. [Going. 
 
 DIMPLE. Jessamy, who are these strange lodgers that came 
 to the house last night? 
 
 JESSAMY. Why, the master is a Yankee colonel; I have not 
 seen much of him; but the man is the most unpolished animal 
 your honour ever disgraced your eyes by looking upon. I have 
 had one of the most outre conversations with him! He really 
 has a most prodigious effect upon my risibility. 
 
 DIMPLE. I ought, according to every rule of Chesterfield, to 
 wait on him and insinuate myself into his good graces. Jes 
 samy, wait on the Colonel with my compliments, and if he is 
 disengaged I will do myself the honour of paying him my re 
 spects. Some ignorant, unpolished boor 
 
 JESSAMY goes off and returns. 
 
 JESSAMY. Sir, the Colonel is gone out, and Jonathan his ser 
 vant says that he is gone to stretch his legs upon the Mall. 
 Stretch his legs! what an indelicacy of diction! 
 
 DIMPLE. Very well. Reach me my hat and sword. I ll 
 accost him there, in my way to Letitia s, as by accident; 
 pretend to be struck with his person and address, and endeav 
 our to steal into his confidence. Jessamy, I have no business 
 for you at present. [Exit. 
 
 JESSAMY [taking up the book]. 
 
 \ 
 
 My master and I obtain our knowledge from the same source; 
 though, gad! I think myself much the prettier fellow of the 
 two. [Surveying himself in the glass.] That was a brilliant 
 thought, to insinuate that I folded my master s letters for him; 
 the folding is so neat, that it does honour to the operator. I 
 once intended to have insinuated that I wrote his letters too; 
 but that was before I saw them; it won t do now: no honour 
 there, positively. "Nothing looks more vulgar [Reading 
 
47 2 Representative Plays 
 
 affectedly.], ordinary, and illiberal than ugly, uneven, and ragged 
 nails; the ends of which should be kept even and clean, not 
 tipped with black, and cut in small segments of circles." Seg 
 ments of circles! surely my lord did not consider that he wrote 
 for the beaux. Segments of circles! what a crabbed term! Now 
 I dare answer that my master, with all his learning, does not 
 know that this means, according to the present mode, to let the 
 nails grow long, and then cut them off even at top. [Laughing 
 without.} Ha! that s Jenny s titter. I protest I despair of ever 
 teaching that girl to laugh; she has something so execrably 
 natural in her laugh, that I declare it absolutely discomposes 
 my nerves. How came she into our house! [Calls.] Jenny! 
 
 Enter JENNY. 
 
 JESSAMY. Prythee, Jenny, don t spoil your fine face with 
 laughing. 
 
 JENNY. Why, mustn t I laugh, Mr. Jessamy? 
 
 JESSAMY. You may smile; but, as my lord says, nothing can 
 authorize a laugh. 
 
 JENNY. Well, but I can t help laughing. Have you seen him, 
 Mr. Jessamy? ha, ha, ha! 
 
 JESSAMY. Seen whom? 
 
 JENNY. Why, Jonathan, the New-England colonel s servant. 
 Do you know he was at the play last night, and the stupid crea 
 ture don t know where he has been. He would not go to a play 
 for the world; he thinks it was a show, as he calls it. 
 
 JESSAMY. As ignorant and unpolished as he is, do you know, 
 Miss Jenny, that I propose to introduce him to the honour of 
 your acquaintance? 
 
 JENNY. Introduce him to me! for what? 
 
 JESSAMY. Why, my lovely girl, that you may take him under 
 your protection, as Madame Rambotilliet did young Stanhope; 
 that you may, by your plastic hand, mould this uncouth cub into 
 a gentleman. He is to make love to you. 
 
 JENNY. Make love to me! 
 
 JESSAMY. Yes, Mistress Jenny, make love to you ; and, I doubt 
 not, when he shall become domesticated in your kitchen, that this 
 boor, under your auspices, will soon become un amiable petit 
 Jonathan. 
 
 JENNY. I must say, Mr. Jessamy, if he copies after me, he will 
 be vastly, monstrously polite. 
 
The Contrast 473 
 
 JESSAMY. Stay here one moment, and I will call him. 
 Jonathan! Mr. Jonathan! [Calls.] 
 
 JONATHAN [Within.]. Holla! there. [Enters.] You promise 
 to stand by me six bows you say. [Bows.] 
 
 JESSAMY. Mrs. Jenny, I have the honour of presenting Mr. 
 Jonathan, Colonel Manly s waiter, to you. I am extremely happy 
 that I have it in my power to make two worthy people acquainted 
 with each other s merits. 
 
 JENNY. So, Mr. Jonathan, I hear you were at the play last 
 night. 
 
 JONATHAN. At the play! why, did you think I went to the 
 devil s drawing-room? 
 
 JENNY. The devil s drawing-room! 
 
 JONATHAN. Yes; why an t cards and dice the devil s device, 
 and the play-house the shop where the devil hangs out the vani 
 ties of the world upon the tenter-hooks of temptation. I believe 
 you have not heard how they were acting the old boy one night, 
 and the wicked one came among them sure enough, and went 
 right off in a storm, and carried one quarter of the play-house with 
 him. Oh! no, no, no! you won t catch me at a play-house, I 
 warrant you. 
 
 JENNY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, though I don t scruple your 
 veracity, I have some reasons for believing you were there; pray, 
 where were you about six o clock? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, I went to see one Mr. Morrison, the hocus- 
 pocus man; they said as how he could eat a case knife. 
 
 JENNY. Well, and how did you find the place? 
 
 JONATHAN. As I was going about here and there, to and again, 
 to find it, I saw a great crowd of folks going into a long entry that 
 had lantherns over the door ; so I asked a man whether that was 
 not the place where they played hocus-pocus? He was a very civil, 
 kind man, though he did speak like the Hessians; he lifted up 
 his eyes and said, "They play hocus-pocus tricks enough there, 
 Got knows, mine friend." 
 
 JENNY. Well 
 
 JONATHAN. So I went right in, and they shewed me away, clean 
 up to the garret, just like meeting-house gallery. And so I saw 
 a power of topping folks, all sitting round in little cabins, "just 
 like father s corn-cribs;" and then there was such a squeaking 
 with the fiddles, and such a tarnal blaze with the lights, my head 
 was near turned. At last the people that sat near me set up such 
 
474 Representative Plays 
 
 a hissing hiss like so many mad cats; and then they went 
 thump, thump, thump, just like our Peleg threshing wheat, 
 and stampt away, just like the nation; and called out for one 
 Mr. Langolee, I suppose he helps act[s] the tricks. 
 
 JENNY. Well, and what did you do all this time? 
 
 JONATHAN. Gor, I I liked the fun, and so I thumpt away, 
 and hiss d as lustily as the best of em. One sailor-looking man 
 that sat by me, seeing me stamp, and knowing I was a cute fel 
 low, because I could make a roaring noise, clapt me on the 
 shoulder and said, "You are a d d hearty cock, smite my tim 
 bers!" I told him so I was, but I thought he need not swear so, 
 and make use of such naughty words. 
 
 JESSAMY. The savage! Well, and did you see the man with 
 his tricks? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, I vow, as I was looking out for him, they 
 lifted up a great green cloth and let us look right into the next 
 neighbour s house. Have you a good many houses in New- York 
 made so in that ere way? 
 
 JENNY. Not many; but did you see the family? 
 
 JONATHAN. Yes, swamp it; I see d the family. 
 
 JENNY. Well, and how did you like them? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, I vow they were pretty much like other 
 families; there was a poor, good-natured curse of a husband, 
 and a sad rantipole of a wife. 
 
 JENNY. But did you see no other folks? 
 
 JONATHAN. Yes. There was one youngster; they called him 
 Mr. Joseph; he talked as sober and as pious as a minister; but, 
 like some ministers that I know, he was a sly tike in his heart for 
 all that: He was going to ask a young woman to spark it with him, 
 and the Lord have mercy on my soul! she was another man s 
 wife. 
 
 JESSAMY. TheWabash! 
 
 JENNY. And did you see any more folks? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, they came on as thick as mustard. For 
 my part, I thought the house was haunted. There was a 
 soldier fellow, who talked about his row de dow, dow, and 
 courted a young woman; but, of all the cute folk I saw, 
 I liked one little fellow 
 
 JENNY. Aye! who was he? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, he had red hair, and a little round plump 
 face like mine, only not altogether so handsome. His name was 
 
The Contrast 475 
 
 Darby; that was his baptizing name; his other name I for 
 got. Oh! it was Wig Wag Wag-all, Darby Wag-all, pray, 
 do you know him? I should like to take a sling with him, or a 
 drap of cyder with a pepper-pod in it, to make it warm and 
 comfortable. 
 
 JENNY. I can t say I have that pleasure. 
 
 JONATHAN. I wish you did; he is a cute fellow. But there 
 was one thing I didn t like in that Mr. Darby; and that was, 
 he was afraid of some of them ere shooting irons, such as your 
 troopers wear on training days. Now, I m a true born Yankee 
 American son of liberty, and I never was afraid of a gun yet in 
 all my life. 
 
 JENNY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, you were certainly at the play 
 house. 
 
 JONATHAN. I at the play-house! Why didn t I see the play 
 then? 
 
 JENNY. Why, the people you saw were players. 
 
 JONATHAN. Mercy on my soul! did I see the wicked play 
 ers? Mayhap that ere Darby that I liked so was the old ser 
 pent himself, and had his cloven foot in his pocket. Why, I 
 vow, now I come to think on t, the candles seemed to burn 
 blue, and I am sure where I sat it smelt tarnally of brimstone. 
 
 JESSAMY. Well, Mr. Jonathan, from your account, which I 
 confess is very accurate, you must have been at the play-house. 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, I vow, I began to smell a rat. \Vhen I 
 came away, I went to the man for my money again; you want 
 your money? says he; yes, says I; for what? says he; why, 
 says I, no man shall jocky me out of my money; I paid my m oney 
 to see sights, and the dogs a bit of a sight have I seen, unless you 
 call listening to people s private business a sight. Why, says 
 he, it is the School for Scandalization. The School for Scan- 
 dalization ! Oh ! ho ! no wonder you New-York folks are so cute 
 at it, when you go to school to learn it ; and so I jogged off. 
 
 JESSAMY. My dear Jenny, my master s business drags me 
 from you ; would to heaven I knew no other servitude than to 
 your charms. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, but don t go; you won t leave me so. 
 
 JESSAMY. Excuse me. Remember the cash. [Aside to him, 
 and Exit.] 
 
 JENNY. Mr. Jonathan, won t you please to sit down. Mr. 
 
476 Representative Plays 
 
 Jessamy tells me you wanted to have some conversation with me. 
 [Having brought forward two chairs, they sit. ] 
 
 JONATHAN. Ma am! 
 
 JENNY. Sir! 
 
 JONATHAN. Ma am! 
 
 JENNY. Pray, how do you like the city, sir? 
 
 JONATHAN. Ma am! 
 
 JENNY. I say, sir, how do you like New- York? 
 
 JONATHAN. Ma am! 
 
 JENNY. The stupid creature! but I must pass some little time 
 with him, if it is only to endeavour to learn whether it was his 
 master that made such an abrupt entrance into our house, and 
 my young mistress heart, this morning. [Aside.] As you 
 don t seem to like to talk, Mr. Jonathan do you sing? 
 
 JONATHAN. Gor, I I am glad she asked that, for I forgot what 
 Mr. Jessamy bid me say, and I dare as well be hanged as act what 
 he bid me do, I m so ashamed. [Aside.] Yes, ma am, I can sing 
 I can sing Mear, Old Hundred, and Bangor. 
 
 JENNY. Oh! I don t mean psalm tunes. Have you no little 
 song to please the ladies, such as Roslin Castle, or the Maid of the 
 Mill? . 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, all my tunes go to meeting tunes, save one, 
 and I count you won t altogether like that ere. 
 
 JENNY. What is it called? 
 
 JONATHAN. I am sure you have heard folks talk about it; it is 
 called Yankee Doodle. 
 
 JENNY. Oh ! it is the tune I am fond of; and, if I know anything 
 of my mistress, she would be glad to dance to it. Pray, sing! 
 
 JONATHAN [sings]. 
 
 Father and I went up to camp, 
 Along with Captain Goodwin; 
 And there we saw the men and boys, 
 As thick as hasty-pudding. 
 
 Yankee doodle do, &c. 
 
 And there we saw a swamping gun, 
 Big as log of maple, 
 On a little deuced cart, 
 A load for father s cattle. 
 
 Yankee doodle do, &c. 
 
The Contrast 477 
 
 And every time they fired it off 
 It took a horn of powder, 
 It made a noise like father s gun, 
 Only a nation louder. 
 
 Yankee doodle do, &c. 
 
 There was a man in our town, 
 His name was 
 
 No, no, that won t do. Now, if I was with Tabitha Wymen 
 and Jemima Cawley down at father Chase s, I shouldn t mind 
 singing this all out before them you would be affronted if I 
 was to sing that, though that s a lucky thought; if you should 
 be affronted, I have something dang d cute, which Jessamy told 
 me to say to you. 
 
 JENNY. Is that all ! I assure you I like it of all things. 
 
 JONATHAN. No, no; I can sing more; some other time, when you 
 and I are better acquainted, I ll sing the whole of it no, no 
 that s a fib I can t sing but a hundred and ninety verses: our 
 Tabitha at home can sing it all. [Sings.] 
 
 Marblehead s a rocky place, 
 And Cape-Cod is sandy; 
 Charlestown is burnt down, 
 Boston is the dandy. 
 
 Yankee doodle, doodle do, &c. 
 
 I vow, my own town song has put me into such topping spirits 
 that I believe I ll begin to do a little, as Jessamy says we must 
 when we go a-courting. [Runs and kisses her.] Burning rivers! 
 cooling flames! red-hot roses! pig-nuts! hasty-pudding and 
 ambrosia ! 
 
 JENNY. What means this freedom? you insulting wretch. 
 [Strikes him.] 
 
 JONATHAN. Are you affronted? 
 
 JENNY. Affronted ! with what looks shall I express my anger? 
 
 JONATHAN. Looks ! why as to the matter of looks, you look as 
 cross as a witch. 
 
 JENNY. Have you no feeling for the delicacy of my sex? 
 
 JONATHAN. Feeling! Gor, I I feel the delicacy of your sex 
 pretty smartly [Rtibbing his cheek.], though, I vow, I thought when 
 you city ladies courted and married, and all that, you put feeling 
 out of the question. But I want to know whether you are really 
 
478 Representative Plays 
 
 affronted, or only pretend to be so? Cause, if you are certainly 
 right down affronted, I am at the end of my tether; Jessamy 
 didn t tell me what to say to you. 
 
 JENNY. Pretend to be affronted ! 
 
 JONATHAN. Aye, aye, if you only pretend, you shall hear how 
 I ll go to work to make cherubim consequences. [Runs up to her.] 
 
 JENNY. Begone, you brute! 
 
 JONATHAN. That looks like mad; but I won t lose my speech. 
 My dearest Jenny your name is Jenny, I think? My dearest 
 Jenny, though I have the highest esteem for the sweet favours you 
 have just now granted me Gor, that s a fib, though; but Jessamy 
 says it is not wicked to tell lies to the women. [Aside.] I say, 
 though I have the highest esteem for the favours you have just 
 now granted me, yet you will consider that, as soon as the dis 
 solvable knot is tied, they will no longer be favours, but only 
 matters of duty and matters of course. 
 
 JENNY. Marry you! you audacious monster! get out of my 
 sight, or, rather, let me fly from you. [Exit hastily. 
 
 JONATHAN. Gor ! she s gone off in a swinging passion, before I 
 had time to think of consequences. If this is the way with your 
 city ladies, give me the twenty acres of rock, the bible, the cow, 
 and Tabitha, and a little peaceable bundling. 
 
 SCENE II. The Mall. 
 Enter MANLY. 
 
 It must be so, Montague! and it is not all the tribe of Mande- 
 / villes that shall convince me that a nation, to become great, 
 must first become dissipated. Luxury is surely the bane of a 
 nation: Luxury! which enervates both soul and body, by 
 opening a thousand new sources of enjoyment, opens, also, a 
 thousand new sources of contention and want: Luxury! which 
 renders a people weak at home, and accessible to bribery, cor 
 ruption, and force from abroad. When the Grecian states 
 knew no other tools than the axe and the saw, the Grecians were 
 a great, a free, and a happy people. The kings of Greece de 
 voted their lives to the service of their country, and her senators 
 knew no other superiority over their fellow-citizens than a 
 glorious pre-eminence in danger and virtue. They exhibited to 
 the world a noble spectacle, a number of independent states 
 united by a similarity of language, sentiment, manners, common 
 
The Contrast 479 
 
 interest, and common consent, in one grand mutual league of 
 protection. And, thus united, long might they have continued 
 the cherishers of arts and sciences, the protectors of the oppressed, 
 the scourge of tyrants, and the safe asylum of liberty. But 
 when foreign gold, and still more pernicious, foreign luxury had 
 crept among them, they sapped the vitals of their virtue. The 
 virtues of their ancestors were only found in their writings. 
 Envy and suspicion, the vices of little minds, possessed them. 
 The various states engendered jealousies of each other; and, 
 more unfortunately, growing jealous of their great federal coun 
 cil, the Amphictyons, they forgot that their common safety had 
 existed, and would exist, in giving them an honourable extensive 
 prerogative. The common good was lost in the pursuit of private 
 interest; and that people who, by uniting, might have stood 
 against the world in arms, by dividing, crumbled into ruin; 
 their name is now only known in the page of the historian, and 
 what they once were is all we have left to admire. Oh! that 
 America! Oh! that my country, would, in this her day, learn 
 the things which belong to her peace ! 
 
 Enter DIMPLE. 
 
 DIMPLE. You are Colonel Manly, I presume? 
 
 MANLY. At your service, sir. 
 
 DIMPLE. My name is Dimple, sir. I have the honour to be a 
 lodger in the same house with you, and, hearing you were in the 
 Mall, came hither to take the liberty of joining you. 
 
 MANLY. You are very obliging, sir. 
 
 DIMPLE. As I understand you are a stranger here, sir, I have 
 taken the liberty to introduce myself to your acquaintance, as 
 possibly I may have it in my power to point out some things in 
 this city worthy your notice. 
 
 MANLY. An attention to strangers is worthy a liberal mind, and 
 must ever be gratefully received. But to a soldier, who has no 
 fixed abode, such attentions are particularly pleasing. 
 
 DIMPLE. Sir, there is no character so respectable as that of a 
 soldier. And, indeed, when we reflect how much we owe to those 
 brave men who have suffered so much in the service of their 
 country, and secured to us those inestimable blessings that we 
 now enjoy, our liberty and independence, they demand every 
 attention which gratitude can pay. For my own part, I never 
 meet an officer, but I embrace him as my friend, nor a private in 
 
480 Representative Plays 
 
 distress, but I insensibly extend my charity to him. I have hit 
 the Bumkin off very tolerably. [Aside. 
 
 MANLY. Give me your hand, sir ! I do not proffer this hand to 
 everybody; but you steal into my heart. I hope I am as insensi 
 ble to flattery as most men; but I declare (it may be my weak 
 side) that I never hear the name of soldier mentioned with 
 respect, but I experience a thrill of pleasure which I never feel 
 on any other occasion. 
 
 DIMPLE. Will you give me leave, my dear Colonel, to confer an 
 obligation on myself, by shewing you some civilities during your 
 stay here, and giving a similar opportunity to some of my friends? 
 
 MANLY. Sir, I thank you; but I believe my stay in this city 
 will be very short. 
 
 DIMPLE. I can introduce you to some men of excellent sense, 
 in whose company you will esteem yourself happy; and, by way 
 of amusement, to some fine girls, who will listen to your soft 
 things with pleasure. 
 
 MANLY. Sir, I should be proud of the honour of being ac 
 quainted with those gentlemen; but, as for the ladies, I don t 
 : understand you. 
 
 DIMPLE. Why, sir, I need not tell you, that when a young 
 gentleman is alone with a young lady he must say some soft 
 things to her fair cheek indeed, the lady will expect it. To be 
 sure, there is not much pleasure when a man of the world and a 
 finished coquette meet, who perfectly know each other; but how 
 delicious is it to excite the emotions of joy, hope, expectation, and 
 delight in the bosom of a lovely girl who believes every tittle of 
 what you say to be serious! 
 
 MANLY. Serious, sir! In my opinion, the man who, under 
 pretensions of marriage, can plant thorns in the bosom of an 
 innocent, unsuspecting girl is more detestable than a common 
 robber, in the same proportion as private violence is more 
 despicable than open force, and money of less value than hap 
 piness. 
 
 DIMPLE. How he awes me by the superiority of his sentiments. 
 [Aside. ] As you say, sir, a gentlemen should be cautious how he 
 mentions marriage. 
 
 MANLY. Cautious, sir! [No person more approves of an inter 
 course between the sexes than I do. Female conversation softens 
 our manners, whilst our discourse, from the superiority of our 
 literary advantages, improves their minds. But, in our young 
 
The Contrast 481 
 
 country, where there is no such thing as gallantry, when a gentle 
 man speaks of love to a lady, whether he mentions marriage or 
 not, she ought to conclude either that he meant to insult her or 
 that his intentions are the most serious and honourable.] How 
 mean, how cruel, is it, by a thousand tender assiduities, to win 
 the affections of an amiable girl, and, though you leave her 
 virtue unspotted, to betray her into the appearance of so many 
 tender partialities, that every man of delicacy would suppress 
 his inclination towards her, by supposing her heart engaged! 
 Can any man, for the trivial gratification of his leisure-hours, 
 affect the happiness of a whole life! His not having spoken of 
 marriage may add to his perfidy, but can be no excuse for his 
 conduct. 
 
 DIMPLE. Sir, I admire your sentiments; they are mine. The 
 light observations that fell from me were only a principle of the 
 tongue; they came not from the heart; my practice has ever 
 disapproved these principles. 
 
 MANLY. I believe you, sir. I should with reluctance suppose 
 that those pernicious sentiments could find admittance into the 
 heart of a gentleman. 
 
 DIMPLE. I am now, sir, going to visit a family, where, if you 
 please, I will have the honour of introducing you. Mr. Manly s 
 ward, Miss Letitia, is a young lady of immense fortune; and his 
 niece, Miss Charlotte Manly, is a young lady of great sprightliness 
 and beauty. 
 
 MANLY. That gentleman, sir, is my uncle, and Miss Manly my 
 sister. 
 
 DIMPLE. The devil she is! [Aside.] Miss Manly your sister, sir? 
 I rejoice to hear it, and feel a double pleasure in being known to 
 you. Plague on him! I wish he was at Boston again, with all 
 my soul. [Aside.] 
 
 MANLY. Come, sir, will you go? 
 
 DIMPLE. I will follow you in a moment, sir. [Exit MANLY.] 
 Plague on it ! this is unlucky. A fighting brother is a cursed appen 
 dage to a fine girl. Egad! I just stopped in time; had he not dis 
 covered himself, in two minutes more I should have told him how 
 well I was with his sister. Indeed, I cannot see the satisfaction of 
 an intrigue, if one can t have the pleasure of communicating it 
 to our friends. [Exit. 
 
 End of the Third Act. 
 
482 Representative Plays 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. CHARLOTTE S Apartment. 
 CHARLOTTE leading in MARIA. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. This is so kind, my sweet friend, to come to see me 
 at this moment. I declare, if I were going to be married in a few 
 days, as you are, I should scarce have found time to visit my 
 friends. 
 
 MARIA. Do you think, then, that there is an impropriety in it? 
 How should you dispose of your time? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, I should be shut up in my chamber; and my 
 head would so run upon upon upon the solemn ceremony that 
 I was to pass through! I declare, it would take me above two 
 hours merely to learn that little monosyllable Yes. Ah! my 
 dear, your sentimental imagination does not conceive what that 
 little tiny word implies. 
 
 MARIA. Spare me your raillery, my sweet friend ; I should love 
 your agreeable vivacity at any other time. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, this is the very time to amuse you. You 
 grieve me to see you look so unhappy. 
 
 MARIA. Have I not reason to look so? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. [What new grief distresses you? 
 
 MARIA. Oh ! how sweet it is, when the heart is borne down with 
 misfortune, to recline and repose on the bosom of friendship! 
 Heaven knows that, although it is improper for a young lady 
 to praise a gentleman, yet I have ever concealed Mr. Dimple s 
 foibles, and spoke of him as of one whose reputation I expected 
 would be linked with mine: but his late conduct towards me has 
 turned my coolness into contempt. He behaves as if he meant 
 to insult and disgust me; whilst my father, in the last conver 
 sation on the subject of our marriage, spoke of it as a matter 
 which laid near his heart, and in which he would not bear contra 
 diction. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. This works well : oh ! the generous Dimple. I ll en 
 deavour to excite her to discharge him. [Aside.] But, my dear 
 friend, your happiness depends on yourself. Why don t you dis 
 card him? Though the match has been of long standing, I would 
 not be forced to make myself miserable: no parent in the world 
 should oblige me to marry the man I did not like. 
 
 MARIA. Oh ! my dear, you never lived with your parents, and do 
 not know what influence a father s frowns have upon a daughter s 
 
The Contrast 483 
 
 heart. Besides, what have I to allege against Mr. Dimple, to 
 justify myself to the world? He carries himself so smoothly, 
 that every one would impute the blame to me, and call me 
 capricious. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And call her capricious! Did ever such an objec 
 tion start into the heart of woman? for my part, I wish I had fifty 
 lovers to discard, for no other reason than because I did not fancy 
 them.] My dear Maria, you will forgive me; I know your can 
 dour and confidence in me; but I have at times, I confess, been 
 led to suppose that some other gentleman was the cause of your 
 aversion to Mr. Dimple. 
 
 MARIA. No, my sweet friend, you may be assured, that though 
 I have seen many gentlemen I could prefer to Mr. Dimple, yet I 
 never saw one that I thought I could give my hand to, until this 
 morning. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. This morning! 
 
 MARIA. Yes; one of the strangest accidents in the world. The 
 odious Dimple, after disgusting me with his conversation, had just 
 left me, when a gentleman, who, it seems, boards in the same 
 house with him, saw him coming out of our door, and, the 
 houses looking very much alike, he came into our house instead of 
 his lodgings; nor did he discover his mistake until he got into the 
 parlour, where I was: he then bowed so gracefully, made such 
 a genteel apology, and looked so manly and noble! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I see some folks, though it is so great an impropri 
 ety, can praise a gentleman, when he happens to be the man of 
 their fancy. [Aside.] 
 
 MARIA. I don t know how it was, I hope he did not think me 
 indelicate, but I asked him, I believe, to sit down, or pointed to 
 a chair. He sat down, and, instead of having recourse to obser- , 
 vations upon the weather, or hackneyed criticisms upon the , 
 theatre, he entered readily into a conversation worthy a man of 
 sense to speak, and a lady of delicacy and sentiment to hear. 
 He was not strictly handsome, but he spoke the language of 
 sentiment, and his eyes looked tenderness and honour. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh! [Eagerly.] you sentimental, grave girls, when 
 your hearts are once touched, beat us rattles a bar s length. And 
 so you are quite in love with this he-angel? 
 
 MARIA. In love with him! How can you rattle so, Charlotte? 
 Am I not going to be miserable? [Sighs.] In love with a gentleman 
 I never saw but one hour in my life, and don t know his name! 
 
484 Representative Plays 
 
 No; I only wished that the man I shall marry may look, and 
 talk, and act, just like him. Besides, my dear, he is a married 
 man. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, that was good-natured. He told you so, I 
 suppose, in mere charity, to prevent you falling in love with 
 him? 
 
 MARIA. He didn t tell me so; [Peevishly.] he looked as if he was 
 married. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. How, my dear; did he look sheepish? 
 
 MARIA. I am sure he has a susceptible heart, and the ladies of 
 his acquaintance must be very stupid not to 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Hush ! I hear some person coming. 
 
 [Enter LETITIA. 
 
 LETITIA. My dear Maria, I am happy to see you. Lud! what 
 a pity it is that you have purchased your wedding clothes. 
 
 MARIA. I think so. [Sighing.] 
 
 LETITIA. Why, my dear, there is the sweetest parcel of silks 
 come over you ever saw! Nancy Brilliant has a full suit come; she 
 sent over her measure, and it fits her to a hair; it is immensely 
 dressy, and made for a court- hoop. I thought they said the 
 large hoops were going out of fashion. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Did you see the hat? Is it a fact that the deep 
 laces round the border is still the fashion?] 
 
 DIMPLE [within]. Upon my honour, sir. 
 
 MARIA. Ha! Dimple s voice! My dear, I must take leave of you. 
 There are some things necessary to be done at our house. Can t 
 I go through the other room? 
 
 Enter DIMPLE and MANLY. 
 
 DIMPLE. Ladies, your most obedient. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Miss Van Rough, shall I present my brother 
 Henry to you? Colonel Manly, Maria Miss Van Rough, brother. 
 
 MARIA. Her brother! [Turns and sees MANLY.] Oh! my heart! 
 the very gentleman I have been praising. 
 
 MANLY. The same amiable girl I saw this morning! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, you look as if you were acquainted. 
 
 MANLY. I unintentionally intruded into this lady s presence 
 this morning, for which she was so good as to promise me her for 
 giveness. 
 
The Contrast 485 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Oh ! ho ! is that the case ! Have these two penso- 
 rosos been together? Were they Henry s eyes that looked so tender 
 ly? [Aside.] And so you promised to pardon him? and could you 
 be so good-natured? have you really forgiven him? I beg you 
 would do it for my sake [Whispering loud to MARIA.]. But, my 
 dear, as you are in such haste, it would be cruel to detain you; 
 I can show you the way through the other room. 
 
 MARIA. Spare me, my sprightly friend. 
 
 MANLY. The lady does not, I hope, intend to deprive us of the 
 pleasure of her company so soon. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. She has only a mantua-maker who waits for her at 
 home. But, as I am to give my opinion of the dress, I think she 
 cannot go yet. We were talking of the fashions when you came in, 
 but I suppose the subject must be changed to something of more 
 importance now. Mr. Dimple, will you favour us with an account 
 of the public entertainments? 
 
 DIMPLE. Why, really, Miss Manly, you could not have asked 
 me a question more mal-apropos. For my part, I must confess 
 that, to a man who has traveled, there is nothing that is worthy 
 the name of amusement to be found in this city. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Except visiting the ladies. 
 
 DIMPLE. Pardon me, madam ; that is the avocation of a man of 
 taste. But for amusement, I positively know of nothing that can 
 be called so, unless you dignify with that title the hopping once a 
 fortnight to the sound of two or three squeaking fiddles, and the 
 clattering of the old tavern windows, or sitting to see the miser 
 able mummers, whom you call actors, murder comedy and make 
 a farce of tragedy. 
 
 MANLY. Do you never attend the theatre, sir? 
 
 DIMPLE. I was tortured there once. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Pray, Mr. Dimple, was it a tragedy or a comedy? 
 
 DIMPLE. Faith, madam, I cannot tell ; for I sat with my back to 
 the stage all the time, admiring a much better actress than any 
 there a lady who played the fine woman to perfection; though, 
 by the laugh of the horrid creatures round me, I suppose it was 
 comedy. Yet, on second thoughts, it might be some hero in a 
 tragedy, dying so comically as to set the whole house in an 
 uproar. Colonel, I presume you have been in Europe? 
 
 MANLY. Indeed, sir, I was never ten leagues from the continent. 
 
 DIMPLE. Believe me, Colonel, you have an immense pleasure to 
 come; and when you shall have seen the brilliant exhibitions of 
 
486 Representative Plays 
 
 Europe, you will learn to despise the amusements of this country 
 as much as I do. 
 
 i MANLY. Therefore I do not wish to see them; for I can never 
 esteem that knowledge valuable which tends to give me a distaste 
 for my native country. 
 
 DIMPLE. Well, Colonel, though you have not travelled, you have 
 read. 
 
 MANLY. I have, a little, and by it have discovered that there is 
 a laudable partiality which ignorant, untravelled men entertain 
 for everything that belongs to their native country. I call it 
 laudable; it injures no one; adds to their own happiness; and, 
 when extended, becomes the noble principle of patriotism. 
 Travelled gentlemen rise superior, in their own opinion, to this: 
 but if the contempt which they contract for their country is 
 the most valuable acquisition of their travels, I am far from 
 thinking that their time and money are well spent. 
 
 MARIA. What noble sentiments! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Let my brother set out from where he will in the 
 fields of conversation, he is sure to end his tour in the temple of 
 gravity. 
 
 MANLY. Forgive me, my sister. I love my country; it has its 
 foibles undoubtedly; some foreigners will with pleasure remark 
 them but such remarks fall very ungracefully from the lips of her 
 citizens. 
 
 DIMPLE. You are perfectly in the right, Colonel America has 
 her faults. 
 
 MANLY. Yes, sir; and we, her children, should blush for them in 
 private, and endeavour, as individuals, to reform them. But, 
 if our country has its errors in common with other countries, I 
 am proud to say America I mean the United States have 
 displayed virtues and achievements which modern nations may 
 admire, but of which they have seldom set us the example. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. But, brother, we must introduce you to some of 
 our gay folks, and let you see the city, such as it is. Mr. Dimple 
 is known to almost every family in town; he will doubtless take 
 a pleasure in introducing you. 
 
 DIMPLE. I shall esteem every service I can render your brother 
 an honour. 
 
 MANLY. I fear the business I am upon will take up all my time, 
 and my family will be anxious to hear from me. 
 
The Contrast 487 
 
 MARIA. His family! But what is it to me that he is married! 
 [Aside.] Pray, how did you leave your lady, sir? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. My brother is not married [Observing her anxiety.] ; 
 it is only an odd way he has of expressing himself. Pray, brother, 
 is this business, which you make your continual excuse, a secret? 
 
 MANLY. No, sister; I came hither to solicit the honourable Con 
 gress, that a number of my brave old soldiers may be put upon the 
 pension-list, who were, at first, not judged to be so materially 
 wounded as to need the public assistance. My sister says true 
 [To MARIA.]: I call my late soldiers my family. Those who 
 were not in the field in the late glorious contest, and those who 
 were, have their respective merits; but, I confess, my old brother- 
 soldiers are dearer to me than the former description. Friend 
 ships made in adversity are lasting; our countrymen may forget 
 us, but that is no reason why we should forget one another. But 
 I must leave you ; my time of engagement approaches. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Well, but, brother, if you will go, will you please 
 to conduct my fair friend home? You live in the same street I 
 was to have gone with her myself [Aside.] A lucky thought. 
 
 MARIA. I am obliged to your sister, sir, and was just intending 
 to go. [Going. 
 
 MANLY. I shall attend her with pleasure. [Exit with MARIA, 
 followed by DIMPLE and CHARLOTTE.] 
 
 MARIA. Now, pray, don t betray me to your brother. 
 
 [CHARLOTTE. [Just as she sees him make a motion to take his 
 leave.] One word with you, brother, if you please. 
 
 [Follows them out. 
 
 Manent DIMPLE and LETITIA. 
 
 DIMPLE. You received the billet I sent you, I presume? 
 LETITIA. Hush! Yes. 
 
 DIMPLE. When shall I pay my respects to you? 
 LETITIA. At eight I shall be unengaged. 
 
 Re-enter CHARLOTTE. 
 
 DIMPLE. Did my lovely angel receive my billet? 
 
 [To CHARLOTTE. 
 CHARLOTTE. Yes. 
 
 DIMPLE. What hour shall I expect with impatience? 
 CHARLOTTE. At eight I shall be at home unengaged. 
 

 488 Representative Plays 
 
 DIMPLE. Unfortunately! I have a horrid engagement of busi 
 ness at that hour. Can t you finish your visit earlier, and let six 
 be the happy hour? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. You know your influence over me.] 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. VAN ROUGH S House. 
 VAN ROUGH [alone]. 
 
 It cannot possibly be true! The son of my old friend can t 
 have acted so unadvisedly. Seventeen thousand pounds! in 
 bills! Mr. Transfer must have been mistaken. He always 
 appeared so prudent, and talked so well upon money-matters, 
 and even assured me that he intended to change his dress for 
 a suit of clothes which would not cost so much, and look more 
 substantial, as soon as he married. No, no, no! it can t be; it 
 cannot be. But, however, I must look out sharp. I did not 
 care what his principles or his actions were, so long as he minded 
 the main chance. Seventeen thousand pounds ! If he had lost it 
 in trade, why the best men may have ill-luck; but to game it 
 away, as Transfer says why, at this rate, his whole estate may 
 go in one night, and, what is ten times worse, mine into the bar 
 gain. No, no; Mary is right. Leave women to look out in these 
 matters; for all they look as if they didn t know a journal from 
 a ledger, when their interest is concerned they know what s what ; 
 they mind the main chance as well as the best of us I wonder 
 Mary did not tell me she knew of his spending his money so 
 f foolishly. Seventeen thousand pounds! Why, if my daughter 
 ! was standing up to be married, I would forbid the banns, if I 
 found it was to a man who did not mind the main chance. 
 Hush! I hear somebody coming. Tis Mary s voice: a man 
 with her too! I shou dn t be surprised if this should be the other 
 string to her bow. Aye, aye, let them alone; women understand 
 the main chance. Though, i faith, I ll listen a little. 
 
 [Retires into a closet. 
 
 MANLY leading in MARIA. 
 
 MANLY. I hope you will excuse my speaking upon so important 
 a subject so abruptly; but, the moment I entered your room, you 
 struck me as the lady whom I had long loved in imagination, and 
 never hoped to see. 
 
The Contrast 489 
 
 MARIA. Indeed, sir, I have been led to hear more upon this 
 subject than I ought. 
 
 MANLY. Do you, then, disapprove my suit, madam, or the 
 abruptness of my introducing it? If the latter, my peculiar situ 
 ation, being obliged to leave the city in a few days, will, I hope, be 
 my excuse; if the former, I will retire, for I am sure I would not 
 give a moment s inquietude to her whom I could devote my life to 
 please. I am not so indelicate as to seek your immediate appro 
 bation; permit me only to be near you, and by a thousand 
 tender assiduities to endeavour to excite a grateful return. 
 
 MARIA. I have a father, whom I would die to make happy; 
 he will disapprove 
 
 MANLY. Do you think me so ungenerous as to seek a place 
 in your esteem without his consent? You must you ever 
 ought to consider that man as unworthy of you who seeks an 
 interest in your heart, contrary to a father s approbation. A 
 young lady should reflect that the loss of a lover may be supplied, 
 but nothing can compensate for the loss of a parent s affection. 
 Yet, why do you suppose your father would disapprove? In our 
 country, the affections are not sacrificed to riches or family- 
 aggrandizement: should you approve, my family is decent, and 
 my rank honourable. 
 
 MARIA. You distress me, sir. 
 
 MANLY. Then I will sincerely beg your excuse for obtrud 
 ing so disagreeable a subject, and retire. [Going. 
 
 MARIA. Stay, sir! your generosity and good opinion of me 
 deserve a return; but why must I declare what, for these few 
 hours, I have scarce suffered myself to think? I am 
 
 MANLY. What? 
 
 MARIA. Engaged, sir; and, in a few days, to be married to 
 the gentleman you saw at your sister s. 
 
 MANLY. Engaged to be married! And have I been basely 
 invading the rights of another? Why have you permitted this? 
 Is this the return for the partiality I declared for you? 
 
 MARIA. You distress me, sir. What would you have me say? 
 You are too generous to wish the truth. Ought I to say that I 
 dared not suffer myself to think of my engagement, and that I 
 am going to give my hand without my heart? Would you have 
 me confess a partiality for you? If so, your triumph is complete, 
 and can be only more so when days of misery with the man I 
 cannot love will make me think of him whom I prefer. 
 
490 Representative Plays 
 
 MANLY. [After a pause.]. We are both unhappy; but it is your 
 duty to obey your parent mine to obey my honour. Let us, 
 therefore, both follow the path of rectitude; and of this we 
 may be assured, that if we are not happy, we shall, at least, 
 deserve to be so. Adieu ! I dare not trust myself longer with 
 you. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 End of the Fourth Act. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. DIMPLE S Lodgings. 
 
 JESSAMY [meeting JONATHAN]. 
 
 Well, Mr. Jonathan, what success with the fair? 
 
 JONATHAN. Why, such a tarnal cross tike you never saw! 
 You would have counted she had lived upon crab-apples and 
 vinegar for a fortnight. But what the rattle makes you look 
 so tarnation glum? 
 
 JESSAMY. I was thinking, Mr. Jonathan, what could be the 
 reason of her carrying herself so coolly to you. 
 
 JONATHAN. Coolly, do you call it? Why, I vow, she was fire- 
 hot angry: may be it was because I buss d her. 
 JESSAMY. No, no, Mr. Jonathan; there must be some other 
 cause: I never yet knew a lady angry at being kissed. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, if it is not the young woman s bashfulness, 
 I vow I can t conceive why she shou dn t like me. 
 
 JESSAMY. May be it is because you have not the graces, 
 Mr. Jonathan. 
 
 JONATHAN. Grace! Why, does the young woman expect I 
 must be converted before I court her? 
 
 JESSAMY. I mean graces of person: for instance, my lord 
 tells us that we must cut off our nails even at top, in small seg 
 ments of circles though you won t understand that In the 
 next place, you must regulate your laugh. 
 
 JONATHAN. Maple-log seize it! don t I laugh natural? 
 
 JESSAMY. That s the very fault, Mr. Jonathan. Besides, you 
 absolutely misplace it. I was told by a friend of mine that you 
 laughed outright at the play the other night, when you ought 
 only to have tittered. 
 
The Contrast 491 
 
 JONATHAN. Gor ! I what does one go to see fun for if they 
 can t laugh? 
 
 JESSAMY. You may laugh; but you must laugh by rule. 
 
 JONATHAN. Swamp it laugh by rule! Well, I should like 
 that tarnally. 
 
 JESSAMY. Why, you know, Mr. Jonathan, that to dance, a 
 lady to play with her fan, or a gentleman with his cane, and all 
 other natural motions, are regulated by art. My master has 
 composed an immensely pretty gamut, by which any lady or 
 gentleman, with a few years close application, may learn to 
 laugh as gracefully as if they were born and bred to it. 
 
 JONATHAN. Mercy on my soul! A gamut for laughing just 
 like fa, la, sol? 
 
 JESSAMY. Yes. It comprises every possible display of jocu 
 larity, from an affettuoso smile to a piano titter, or full chorus 
 fortissimo ha, ha, ha! My master employs his leisure-hours in 
 marking out the plays, like a cathedral chanting-book, that the 
 ignorant may know where to laugh; and that pit, box, and 
 gallery may keep time together, and not have a snigger in one 
 
 part of the house, a broad grin in the other, and a d d grum 
 
 look in the third. How delightful to see the audience all smile 
 together, then look on their books, then twist their mouths into 
 an agreeable simper, then altogether shake the house withj a 
 general ha, ha, ha! loud as a full chorus of Handel s at an 
 Abbey-commemoration. 
 
 JONATHAN. Ha, ha, ha! that s dang d cute, I swear. 
 
 JESSAMY. The gentlemen, you see, will laugh the tenor; the 
 ladies will play the counter-tenor; the beaux will squeak the 
 treble; and our jolly friends in the gallery a thorough bass, ho, 
 ho, ho! 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, can t you let me see that gamut? 
 
 JESSAMY. Oh! yes, Mr. Jonathan; here it is. [Takes out a 
 book. ] Oh! no, this is only a titter with its variations. Ah, here 
 it is. [Takes out another.] Now, you must know, Mr. Jonathan, 
 this is a piece written by Ben Johnson [sic], which I have set to 
 my master s gamut. The places where you must smile, look 
 grave, or laugh outright, are marked below the line. Now look 
 over me. "There was a certain man" now you must smile. 
 
 JONATHAN. Well, read it again; I warrant I ll mind my eye. 
 
 JESSAMY. "There was a certain man, who had a sad scolding 
 wife," now you must laugh. 
 
 
492 Representative Plays 
 
 JONATHAN. Tarnation ! That s no laughing matter though. 
 
 JESSAMY. "And she lay sick a-dying;" now you must titter. 
 
 JONATHAN. What, snigger when the good woman s a-dying! 
 Gor, I 
 
 JESSAMY. Yes, the notes say you must "And she asked her 
 husband leave to make a will," now you must begin to look 
 grave; "and her husband said" 
 
 JONATHAN. Aye, what did her husband say? Something dang d 
 cute, I reckon. 
 
 JESSAMY. "And her husband said, you have had your will all 
 your life-time, and would you have it after you are dead, too?" 
 
 JONATHAN. Ho, ho, ho! There the old man was even with her; 
 he was up to the notch ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 JESSAMY. But, Mr. Jonathan, you must not laugh so. Why, 
 you ought to have tittered piano, and you have laughed fortissimo. 
 Look here; you see these marks, A, B, C, and so on; these are the 
 references to the other part of the book. Let us turn to it, and 
 you will see the directions how to manage the muscles. This 
 [Turns over.} was note D you blundered at. "You must purse 
 the mouth into a smile, then titter, discovering the lower part 
 of the three front upper teeth." 
 
 JONATHAN. How? read it again. 
 
 JESSAMY. "There was a certain man" very well! "who had 
 a sad scolding wife," why don t you laugh? 
 
 JONATHAN. Now, that scolding wife sticks in my gizzard so 
 pluckily that I can t laugh for the blood and nowns of me. Let 
 me look grave here, and I ll laugh your belly full, where the old 
 creature s a-dying. 
 
 JESSAMY. "And she asked her husband" [Bell rings.} My 
 master s bell! he s returned, I fear. Here, Mr. Jonathan, take 
 this gamut; and 1 make no doubt but with a few years close ap 
 plication, you may be able to smile gracefully. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. CHARLOTTE S Apartment. 
 Enter MANLY. 
 
 MANLY. What, no one at home? How unfortunate to meet the 
 only lady my heart was ever moved by, to -find her engaged to an 
 other, and confessing her partiality for me! Yet engaged to a man 
 who, by her intimation, and his libertine conversation with me, 
 
The Contrast 493 
 
 I fear, does not merit her. Aye! there s the sting; for, were I 
 assured that Maria was happy, my heart is not so selfish but 
 that it would dilate in knowing it, even though it were with 
 another. But to know she is unhappy! I must drive these 
 thoughts from me. Charlotte has some books; and this is what 
 I believe she calls her little library. [Enters a closet. 
 
 Enter DIMPLE leading LETITIA. 
 
 LETITIA. And will you pretend to say now, Mr. Dimple, that 
 you propose to break with Maria? Are not the banns published? 
 Are not the clothes purchased? Are not the friends invited? 
 In short, is it not a done affair? 
 
 DIMPLE. Believe me, my dear Letitia, I would not marry her. 
 
 LETITIA. Why have you not broke with her before this, as you 
 all along deluded me by saying you would? 
 
 DIMPLE. Because I was in hopes she would, ere this, have 
 broke with me. 
 
 LETITIA. You could not expect it. 
 
 DIMPLE. Nay, but be calm a moment; twas from my regard 
 to you that I did not discard her. 
 
 LETITIA. Regard to me ! 
 
 DIMPLE. Yes; I have done everything in my power to break 
 with her, but the foolish girl is so fond of me that nothing can ac 
 complish it. Besides, how can I offer her my hand when my heart 
 is indissolubly engaged to you? 
 
 LETITIA. There may be reason in this; but why so attentive to 
 Miss Manly? 
 
 DIMPLE. Attentive to Miss Manly! For heaven s sake, if you 
 have no better opinion of my constancy, pay not so ill a compli 
 ment to my taste. 
 
 [LETITIA. Did I not see you whisper to her to-day? 
 
 DIMPLE. Possibly I might but something of so very trifling a 
 nature that I have already forgot what it was. 
 
 LETITIA. I believe she has not forgot it. 
 
 DIMPLE. My dear creature,] how can you for a moment suppose 
 I should have any serious thoughts of that trifling, gay, flighty 
 coquette, that disagreeable 
 
 Enter CHARLOTTE. 
 
 DIMPLE. My dear Miss Manly, I rejoice to see you; there is 
 a charm in your conversation that always marks your entrance 
 into company as fortunate. 
 
494 Representative Plays 
 
 LETITIA. Where have you been, my dear? 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Why, I have been about to twenty shops, turning 
 over pretty things, and so have left twenty visits unpaid. I 
 wish you would step into the carriage and whisk round, make 
 my apology, and leave my cards where our friends are not at 
 home; that, you know, will serve as a visit. Come, do go. 
 
 LETITIA. So anxious to get me out! but I ll watch you. [Aside.] 
 Oh! yes, I ll go; I want a little exercise. Positively [DIMPLE offer 
 ing to accompany her.], Mr. Dimple, you shall not go; why, half 
 my visits are cake and caudle visits; it won t do, you know, 
 for you to go. [Exit, but returns to the door in the back scene and 
 listens. ] 
 
 DIMPLE. This attachment of your brother to Maria is fortunate. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. How did you come to the knowledge of it? 
 
 DIMPLE. I read it in their eyes. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And I had it from her mouth. It would have 
 amused you to have seen her! She, that thought it so great an 
 impropriety to praise a gentleman that she could not bring out 
 one word in your favour, found a redundancy to praise him. 
 
 DIMPLE. I have done everything in my power to assist his pas 
 sion there: your delicacy, my dearest girl, would be shocked at 
 half the instances of neglect and misbehaviour. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I don t know how I should bear neglect; but Mr. 
 Dimple must misbehave himself indeed, to forfeit my good 
 opinion. 
 
 DIMPLE. Your good opinion, my angel, is the pride and plea 
 sure of my heart; and if the most respectful tenderness for you, 
 and an utter indifference for all your sex besides, can make me 
 worthy of your esteem, I shall richly merit it. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. All my sex besides, Mr. Dimple! you forgot your 
 tete-a-tete with Letitia. 
 
 DIMPLE. How can you, my lovely angel, cast a thought on that 
 insipid, wry-mouthed, ugly creature ! 
 
 CHARLOTTE. But her fortune may have charms? 
 
 DIMPLE. Not to a heart like mine. The man, who has been 
 blessed with the good opinion of my Charlotte, must despise the 
 allurements of fortune. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. I am satisfied. 
 
 DIMPLE. Let us think no more on the odious subject, but de 
 vote the present hour to happiness. 
 
The Contrast 495 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Can I be happy when I see the man I prefer going 
 to be married to another? 
 
 DIMPLE. Have I not already satisfied my charming angel that 
 I can never think of marrying the puling Maria? But, even if it 
 were so, could that be any bar to our happiness? for, as the poet 
 .sings, 
 
 Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, 
 Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies. 
 
 Come, then, my charming angel! why delay our bliss? The 
 present moment is ours ; the next is in the hand of fate. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Begone, sir! By your delusions you had almost 
 lulled my honour asleep. 
 
 DIMPLE. Let me lull the demon to sleep again with kisses. [He 
 struggles with her; she screams.] 
 
 Enter MANLY. 
 MANLY. Turn, villain! and defend yourself. [Draws.] 
 
 VAN ROUGH enters and beats down their swords. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Is the devil in you? are you going to murder one 
 another? [Holding DIMPLE. 
 
 DIMPLE. Hold him, hold him, I can command my passion. 
 
 Enter JONATHAN. 
 
 JONATHAN. What the rattle ails you? Is the old one in you? 
 let the Colonel alone, can t you? I feel chock full of fight, do 
 you want to kill the Colonel? 
 
 MANLY. Be still, Jonathan; the gentleman does not want to 
 hurt me. 
 
 JONATHAN. Gor! I I wish he did; I d shew him yankee boys 
 play, pretty quick. Don t you see you have frightened the young 
 woman into the hy strikes ? 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Pray, some of you explain this; what has been the 
 occasion of all this racket? 
 
 MANLY. That gentleman can explain it to you; it will be a very 
 diverting story for an intended father-in-law to hear. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. How was this matter, Mr. Van Dumpling? 
 
 DIMPLE. Sir, upon my honour, all I know is, that I was talk 
 ing to this young lady, and this gentleman broke in on us in a very 
 extraordinary manner. 
 
496 Representative Plays 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Why, all this is nothing to the purpose; can you 
 explain it, Miss? [To CHARLOTTE.] 
 
 Enter LETITIA [through the back scene]. 
 
 LETITIA. I can explain it to that gentleman s confusion. Though 
 long betrothed to your daughter [To VAN ROUGH.], yet, allured by 
 my fortune, it seems (with shame do I speak it) he has privately 
 paid his addresses to me. I was drawn in to listen to him by 
 his assuring me that the match was made by his father without 
 his consent, and that he proposed to break with Maria, whether 
 he married me or not. But, whatever were his intentions 
 respecting your daughter, sir, even to me he was false; for he 
 has repeated the same story, with some cruel reflections upon my 
 person, to Miss Manly. 
 
 JONATHAN. What a tarnal curse ! 
 
 LETITIA. Nor is this all, Miss Manly. When he was with me 
 this very morning, he made the same ungenerous reflections upon 
 the weakness of your mind as he has so recently done upon the 
 defects of my person. 
 
 JONATHAN. What a tarnal curse and damn, too! 
 
 DIMPLE. Ha ! since I have lost Letitia, I believe I had as good 
 make it up with Maria. Mr. Van Rough, at present I cannot 
 enter into particulars; but, I believe, I can explain everything to 
 your satisfaction in private. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. There is another matter, Mr. Van Dumpling, 
 which I would have you explain: pray, sir, have Messrs. Van 
 Cash & Co. presented you those bills for acceptance? 
 
 DIMPLE. The deuce! Has he heard of those bills! Nay, then, 
 all s up with Maria, too; but an affair of this sort can never pre 
 judice me among the ladies; they will rather long to know what 
 the dear creature possesses to make him so agreeable. [Aside.] 
 Sir, you ll hear from me. [To MANLY.] 
 
 MANLY. And you from me, sir. 
 
 DIMPLE. Sir, you wear a sword. 
 
 MANLY. Yes, sir. This sword was presented to me by that 
 brave Gallic hero, the Marquis DE LA FAYETTE. I have drawn 
 it in the service of my country, and in private life, on the only 
 occasion where a man is justified in drawing his sword, in defence 
 of a lady s honour. I have fought too many battles in the 
 service of my country to dread the imputation of cowardice. 
 Death from a man of honour would be a glory you do not merit; 
 
The Contrast 497 
 
 you shall live to bear the insult of man and the contempt of 
 that sex whose general smiles afforded you all your happiness. 
 
 DIMPLE. You won t meet me, sir? Then I ll post you for a 
 coward. 
 
 MANLY. I ll venture that, sir. The reputation of my life does 
 not depend upon the breath of a Mr. Dimple. I would have you 
 to know, however, sir, that I have a cane to chastise the insolence 
 of a scoundrel, and a sword and the good laws of my country to 
 protect me from the attempts of an assassin. 
 
 DIMPLE. Mighty well! Very fine, indeed! Ladies and gentle 
 men, I take my leave; and you will please to observe, in the case of 
 my deportment, the contrast between a gentleman who has read 
 Chesterfield and received the polish of Europe, and an unpolished, 
 untravelled American. [Exit. 
 
 Enter MARIA. 
 
 MARIA. Is he indeed gone? 
 
 LETITIA. I hope, never to return. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. I am glad I heard of those bills; though it s 
 plaguy unlucky; I hoped to see Mary married before I died. 
 
 MANLY. Will you permit a gentteman, sir, to offer himself as a 
 suitor to your daughter? Though a stranger to you, he is not 
 altogether so to her, or unknown in the city. You may find a son- 
 in-law of more fortune, but you can never meet with one who is 
 richer in love for her, or respect for you. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Why, Mary, you have not let this gentleman 
 make love to you without my leave? 
 
 MANLY. I did not say, sir 
 
 MARIA. Say, sir! I the gentleman, to be sure, met me 
 accidentally. 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Ha, ha, ha! Mark me, Mary; young folks think 
 old folks to be fools; but old folks know young folks to be fools. 
 Why, I knew all about this affair: This was only a cunning way I 
 had to bring it about. Hark ye ! I was in the closet when you and 
 he were at our house. [Turns to the company.] I heard that 
 little baggage say she loved her old father, and would die to make 
 him happy! Oh! how I loved the little baggage! And you 
 talked very prudently, young man. I have inquired into your 
 character, and find you to be a man of punctuality and mind the 
 main chance. And so, as you love Mary, and Mary loves you, 
 you shall have my consent immediately to be married. I ll 
 
498 Representative Plays 
 
 settle my fortune on you, and go and live with you the remainder 
 of my life. 
 
 MANLY. Sir, I hope 
 
 VAN ROUGH. Come, come, no fine speeches; mind the main 
 chance, young man, and you and I shall always agree. 
 
 LETITIA. I sincerely wish you joy [Advancing to MARIA.]; and 
 hope your pardon for my conduct. 
 
 MARIA. I thank you for your congratulations, and hope we 
 shall at once forget the wretch who has given us so much disquiet, 
 and the trouble that he has occasioned. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. And I, my dear Maria, how shall I look up to 
 you for forgiveness? I, who, in the practice of the meanest arts, 
 have violated the most sacred rights of friendship? I can never 
 forgive myself, or hope charity from the world; but, I confess, 
 I have much to hope from such a brother; and I am happy that 
 I may soon say, such a sister. 
 
 MARIA. My dear, you distress me; you have all my love. 
 
 MANLY. And mine. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. If repentance can entitle me to forgiveness, I 
 have already much merit ; for I despise the littleness of my past 
 conduct. I now find that the heart of any worthy man cannot be 
 gained by invidious attacks upon the rights and characters o f 
 others; by countenancing the addresses of a thousand; or that 
 the finest assemblage of features, the greatest taste in dress, the 
 genteelest address, or the most brilliant wit, cannot eventually 
 secure a coquette from contempt and ridicule. 
 
 MANLY. And I have learned that probity, virtue, honour, 
 though they should not have received the polish of Europe, 
 will secure to an honest American the good graces of his fair 
 countrywomen, and, I hope, the applause of THE PUBLIC. 
 
 The End. 
 
ANDRE 
 
 By 
 WILLIAM DUNLAP 
 
 
WlLLIAM DUNLAP 
 
WILLIAM DUNLAP: 
 FATHER OF THE AMERICAN THEATRE 
 
 (1766-1839) 
 
 The life of William Dunlap is full of colour and variety. Upon 
 his shoulders very largely rests the responsibility for whatever 
 knowledge we have of the atmosphere of the early theatre in 
 America, and of the personalities of the players. For, as a boy, 
 his father being a Loyalist, there is no doubt that young William 
 used to frequent the play-house of the Red Coats, and we would 
 like to believe actually saw some of the performances with which 
 Major Andre was connected. 
 
 He was born at Perth Amboy, then the seat of government for 
 the Province of New Jersey, on February 10, 1766 (where he died 
 September 28, 1839), and, therefore, as an historian of the thea 
 tre, he was able to glean his information from first hand sources. 
 Yet, his monumental work on the "History of the American 
 Theatre" was written in late years, when memory was beginning 
 to be overclouded, and, in recent times, it has been shown that 
 Dunlap was not always careful in his dates or in his statements. 
 George Seilhamer, whose three volumes, dealing with the 
 American Theatre before the year 1800, are invaluable, is par 
 ticularly acrimonious in his strictures against Dunlap. Never 
 theless, he has to confess his indebtedness to the Father of the 
 American Theatre. 
 
 Dunlap was many-sided in his tastes and activities. There is 
 small reason to doubt that from his earliest years the theatre 
 proved his most attractive pleasure. But, when he was scarcely 
 in the flush of youth, he went to Europe, and studied art under 
 Benjamin West. Throughout his life he was ever producing can 
 vases, and designing, and his interest in the art activity of the 
 country, which connects his name with the establishment of the 
 New York Academy of Design, together with his writing on the 
 subject, make him an important figure in that line of work. 
 
 On his return from Europe, as we have already noted, he was 
 fired to write plays through the success of Royall Tyler, and he 
 began his long career as dramatist, which threw him upon his own 
 
5O2 Representative Plays 
 
 inventive resourcefulness, and so closely identified him with the 
 name of the German, Kotzebue, whose plays he used to translate 
 and adapt by the wholesale, as did also Charles Smith. 
 
 The pictures of William Dunlap are very careful to indicate in 
 realistic fashion the fact that he had but one eye. When a boy, 
 one of his playmates at school threw a stone, which hit his right 
 eye. But though he was thus early made single-visioned, he saw 
 more than his contemporaries; for he was a man who mingled 
 much in the social life of the time, and he had a variety of friends, 
 among them Charles Brockden Brown, the novelist, and George 
 Frederick Cooke, the tragedian. He was the biographer for both 
 of them, and these volumes are filled with anecdote, which throws 
 light, not only on the subjects, but upon the observational taste 
 of the writer. There are those who claim that he was unjust 
 to Cooke, making him more of a drunkard than he really was. 
 And the effect the book had on some of its readers may excel 
 lently well be seen by Lord Byron s exclamation, after having 
 finished it. As quoted by Miss Crawford, in her "Romance of the 
 American Theatre," he said: "Such a book! I believe, since 
 Drunken Barnaby s Journal, nothing like it has drenched the 
 press. All green-room and tap-room, drams and the drama. 
 Brandy, whiskey-punch, and, latterly, toddy, overflow every 
 page. Two things are rather marvelous; first, that a man should 
 live so long drunk, and next that he should have found a sober 
 biographer." 
 
 Dunlap s first play was called "The Modest Soldier; or, Love 
 in New York" (1787). We shall let him be his own chronicler: 
 
 As a medium of communication between the playwriter and 
 the manager, a man was pointed out, who had for a time been of 
 some consequence on the London boards, and now resided under 
 another name in New York. This was the Dubellamy of the English 
 stage, a first singer and walking-gentleman. He was now past his 
 meridian, but still a handsome man, and was found sufficiently easy 
 of access and full of the courtesy of the old school. A meeting was 
 arranged at the City Tavern, and a bottle of Madeira discussed with 
 the merits of this first-born of a would-be author. The wine was 
 praised, and the play was praised the first, perhaps, made the second 
 tolerable that must be good which can repay a man of the world for 
 listening to an author who reads his own play. 
 
 In due course of time, the youthful playwright reached the 
 presence of the then all-powerful actors, Hallam and Henry, and, 
 
Andre 503 
 
 after some conference with them, the play was accepted. But 
 though accepted, it was not produced, that auspicious occasion 
 being deferred whenever the subject was broached. At this time, 
 young Dunlap was introduced to the stony paths of playwriting. 
 He had to alter his manuscript in many ways, only to see it laid 
 upon the shelf until some future occasion. And, according to his 
 confession, the reason the piece did not receive immediate pro 
 duction was because there was no part which Henry, the six- 
 foot, handsome idol of the day, could see himself in to his own 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Dunlap s next play was "The Father; or, American Shandy- 
 ism, 1 which was produced on September 7, 1789. It was pub 
 lished almost immediately, and was later reprinted, under the 
 title of "The Father of an Only Child." 
 
 Most historians call attention to the fact that to Dunlap be 
 longs the credit of having first introduced to the American stage 
 the German dialect of the later Comedian. Even as we look to 
 Tyler s "The Contrast" for the first Yankee, to Samuel Low s 
 "Politician Out-witted" for an early example of Negro dialect, so 
 may we trace other veins of American characteristics as they 
 appeared in early American dramas. 
 
 But it is to "Darby s Return," 2 the musical piece, that our in 
 terest points, because it was produced for the benefit of Thomas 
 Wignell, at the New- York Theatre (November 24, 1789), and 
 probably boasted among its first-nighters George Washington. 
 Writes Dunlap: 
 
 The eyes of the audience were frequently bent on his countenance, 
 and to watch the emotions produced by any particular passage upon 
 him was the simultaneous employment of all. When Wignell, as 
 Darby, recounts what had befallen him in America, in New York, at 
 the adoption of the Federal Constitution, and the inauguration of the 
 President, the interest expressed by the audience in the looks and the 
 changes of countenance of this great man became intense. 
 
 And then there follows an indication by Dunlap of where 
 Washington smiled, and where he showed displeasure. And, 
 
 1 The/Father;/or,/American Shandy-ism. /A Comedy./As performed at the New- 
 York Theatre,/By the/Old American Company./Written in the year iy88./With 
 what fond hope, through many a blissful hour,/We give the soul to Fancy s pleasing 
 pow r./Conquest of Canaan./New-York:/Printed by Hodge, Allen & Campbell./ 
 M, DCC, LXXXIX./ 
 
 2 Darby s Return :/A Comic Sketch./As Performed at the New- York Theatre,/ 
 November 24, i78g,/For the Benefit of Mr. Wignell. Written by William Dunlap./ 
 New- York i/Printed by Hodge, Allen and Campbell./And Sold at their respective 
 Bookstores,/and by Berry and Rogers./M, DCC. LXXXIX./ 
 
 v 
 
 . 
 
504 Representative Plays 
 
 altogether, there was much perturbation of mind over every 
 quiver of his eye-lash. The fact of the matter is, as a playgoer, the 
 Father of our Country figured quite as constantly as the Father 
 of our Theatre. When the seat of Government changed from New 
 York to Philadelphia, President Washington s love of the theatre 
 prompted many theatrical enterprises to follow in his wake, and 
 we have an interesting picture, painted in words by Seilhamer 
 (ii, 316), of the scene at the old Southwark on such an occasion. 
 He says: 
 
 [The President] frequently occupied the east stage-box, which was 
 fitted up expressly for his reception. Over the front of the box was 
 the United States coat-of-arms and the interior was gracefully 
 festooned with red drapery. The front of the box and the seats were 
 cushioned. According to John [sic] Durang, Washington s reception 
 at the theatre was always exceedingly formal and ceremonious. A 
 soldier was generally posted at each stage-door; four soldiers were 
 placed in the gallery; a military guard attended. Mr. Wignell, in a 
 full dress of black, with his hair elaborately powdered in the fashion 
 of the time, and holding two wax candles in silver candle-sticks, was 
 accustomed to receive the President at the box-door and conduct 
 Washington and his party to their seats. Even the newspapers 
 began to take notice of the President s contemplated visits to the 
 theatre. 
 
 This is the atmosphere which must have attended the per 
 formance of Dunlap s "Darby s Return." 
 
 The play which probably is best known to-day, as by William 
 Dunlap, is his "Andre, 1 in which Washington figures as the 
 General, later to appear under his full name, when Dunlap util 
 ized the old drama in a manuscript libretto, entitled "The Glory 
 of Columbia Her Yeomanry" (1817). The play was produced on 
 March 30, 1798, after Dunlap had become manager of the New 
 Park Theatre, within whose proscenium it was given. Professor 
 Matthews, editing the piece for the Dunlap Society (No. 4, 1887), 
 claims that this was the first drama acted in the United States 
 during Washington s life, in which he was made to appear on 
 the stage of a theatre. But it must not be forgotten that in 
 "The Fall of British Tyranny," written in 1776, by Leacock, 
 Washington appears for the first time in any piece of American 
 
 1 Andr6;/A Tragedy, in Five Acts:/ As Performed by the Old American Company,/ 
 New- York, March 30, I7p8./To which are added./Authentic Documents/respecting/ 
 Major Andre i/Consisting of/Letters to Miss Seward, /The/Cow Chace./Proceedings 
 of the Court Martial, &c./Copy Right Secured./New-York:/Printed by T. & J. 
 Swords, No. 99 Pearl-street./i?98./ 
 
Andre 505 
 
 fiction. Dunlap writes of the performance (American Theatre, 
 ii, 20) : 
 
 The receipts were 817 dollars, a temporary relief. The play was 
 received with warm applause, until Mr. Cooper, in the character 
 of a young American officer, who had been treated as a brother 
 by Andre when a prisoner with the British, in his zeal and gratitude, 
 having pleaded for the life of the spy in vain, tears the American 
 cockade from his casque, and throws it from him. This was not, per 
 haps could not be, understood by a mixed assembly; they thought 
 the country and its defenders insulted, and a hiss ensued it was soon 
 quieted, and the play ended with applause. But the feeling excited 
 by the incident was propagated out of doors. Cooper s friends wished 
 the play withdrawn, on his account, fearing for his popularity. How 
 ever, the author made an alteration in the incident, and subsequently 
 all went on to the end with applause. 
 
 A scene from the last act of "Andre" 1 was produced at an 
 American Drama Matinee, under the auspices of the American 
 Drama Committee of the Drama League of America, New York 
 Centre, on January 22nd and 23rd, 1917. There are many 
 Arnold and Andre plays, some of which have been noted by Pro 
 fessor Matthews. 2 Another interesting historical study is the 
 stage popularity of Nathan Hale. 
 
 We might go on indefinitely, narrating incidents connected 
 with Dunlap as citizen, painter, playwright, author, and theat 
 rical manager, for within a very short time he managed the John 
 Street and New Park Theatres, retiring for a while in 1805. 
 
 But this is sufficient to illustrate the pioneer character of 
 his work and influence. Inaccurate he may have been in his 
 "History of the American Theatre," but the atmosphere is there, 
 and he never failed to recognize merit, and to give touches of 
 character to the actors, without which our impression of the early- 
 theatre in this country would be the poorer. The name of Will 
 iam Dunlap is intimately associated with the beginnings of 
 American painting, American literary life and the American 
 Theatre. It is for these he will ever remain distinguished. 
 
 As a playwright, he wrote so rapidly, and so constantly utilized 
 over and over again, not only his own material, but the materials 
 of others, that it is not surprising to find him often in dispute with 
 
 1 One of Dunlap s best-known tragedies w;is "Leicester," published by David 
 Longworth in 1807. 
 
 - Freneau began a play, "The Spy" (Pattee, "Poems of Philip Freneau"), in 
 which Andre was a character. 
 
506 Representative Plays 
 
 dramatic authors of the time. A typical disagreement occurred 
 in the case of the actor John Hodgkinson (1767-1805), whose 
 drama, "The Man of Fortitude; or, the Knight s Adventure," 
 given at the John Street Theatre, on June 7, 1797, was, according 
 to Dunlap, based on his own one-act verse play, "The Knight s 
 Adventure," submitted to the actor some years before. 
 
 Only the play, based on the 1798 edition, is here reproduced. 
 The authentic documents are omitted. 
 
ANDRE; 
 
 A TR4GEDY, IN FIVE ACTS: 
 
 AS PERFORMED BY THE OLD AMERICAN COMPANY* 
 NEW-YORK, MARCH 30, 1798. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED 
 
 AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS 
 
 fclSftCTINO 
 
 MAJOR JNDRE; 
 
 CONSISTING Of 
 
 LETTERS TO Miss SEWARD, 
 
 TM 
 
 COW CHACE, 
 
 PROCEEDINGS OF THE COURT MARTIAL, 
 
 COPT RIGHT SECURED. 
 
 NEW. YORK: 
 
 Printed by T. to* J. SWORDS, No. 99 Pearl-ftreej. 
 1798. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION 
 
PREFACE 
 
 More than nine years ago the Author made choice of the 
 death of Major Andre as the Subject of a Tragedy, and part 
 of what is now offered to the public was written at that time. 
 Many circumstances discouraged him from finishing his Play, 
 and among them must be reckoned a prevailing opinion that 
 recent events are unfit subjects for tragedy. These discourage 
 ments have at length all given way to his desire of bringing a 
 story on the Stage so eminently fitted, in his opinion, to excite 
 interest in the breasts of an American audience: 
 
 In exhibiting a stage representation of a real transaction, the 
 particulars of which are fresh in the minds of many of the audi 
 ence, an author has this peculiar difficulty to struggle with, that 
 those who know the events expect to see them all recorded ; and 
 any deviation from what they remember to be fact, appears to 
 them as a fault in the poet; they are disappointed, their expecta 
 tions are not fulfilled, and the writer is more or less condemned, 
 not considering the difference between the poet and the historian, 
 or not knowing that what is intended to be exhibited is a free 
 poetical picture, not an exact historical portrait. 
 
 Still further difficulties has the Tragedy of Andre to surmount, 
 difficulties independent of its own demerits, in its way to public 
 favour. The subject necessarily involves political questions; but 
 the Author presumes that he owes no apology to any one for 
 having shewn himself an American. The friends of Major 
 Andre (and it appears that all who knew him were his friends) 
 will look with a jealous eye on the Poem, whose principal incident 
 is the sad catastrophe which his misconduct, in submitting to 
 be an instrument in a transaction of treachery and deceit, justly 
 brought upon him: but these friends have no cause of offence; 
 the Author has adorned the poetical character of Andre with 
 every virtue; he has made him his Hero; to do which, he was 
 under the necessity of making him condemn his own conduct, in 
 the one dreadfully unfortunate action of his life. To shew the 
 effects which Major Andre s excellent qualities had upon the 
 minds of men, the Author has drawn a generous and amiable 
 
Andre 509 
 
 youth, so blinded by his love for the accomplished Briton, as to 
 consider his country, and the great commander of her armies, as 
 in the commission of such horrid injustice, that he, in the anguish 
 of his soul, disclaims the service. In this it appears, since the first 
 representation, that the Author has gone near to offend the veter 
 ans of the American army who were present on the first night, 
 and who not knowing the sequel of the action, felt much disposed 
 to condemn him: but surely they must remember the diversity 
 of opinion which agitated the minds of men at that time, on the 
 question of the propriety of putting Andre to death ; and when 
 they add the circumstances of Andre s having saved the life of 
 this youth, and gained his ardent friendship, they will be inclined 
 to mingle with their disapprobation, a sentiment of pity, and 
 excuse, perhaps commend the Poet, who has represented the 
 action without sanctioning it by his approbation. 
 
 As a sequel to the affair of the cockade, the Author has added 
 the following lines, which the reader is requested to insert, page 
 55, between the 5th and I5th lines, instead of the lines he will find 
 there, which were printed before the piece was represented. * 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Noble M Donald, truth and honour s champion! 
 
 Yet think not strange that my intemperance wrong d thee: 
 
 Good as thou art! for, would st thou, canst thou, think it? 
 
 My tongue, unbridled, hath the same offence, 
 
 With action violent, and boisterous tone, 
 
 Hurl d on that glorious man, whose pious labours 
 
 Shield from every ill his grateful country! 
 
 That man, whom friends to adoration love, 
 
 And enemies revere. Yes, M Donald, 
 
 Even in the presence of the first of men 
 
 Did I abjure the service of my country, 
 
 And reft my helmet of that glorious badge 
 
 Which graces even the brow of Washington. 
 
 How shall I see him more ! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Alive himself to every generous impulse, 
 
 He hath excus d the impetuous warmth of youth, 
 
 In expectation that thy fiery soul, 
 
 *See p. 557- 
 
 
5io Representative Plays 
 
 Chasten d by time and reason, will receive 
 
 The stamp indelible of godlike virtue. 
 
 To me, in trust, he gave this badge disclaim d, 
 
 With power, when thou shouldst see thy wrongful error, 
 
 From him, to reinstate it in thy helm, 
 
 And thee in his high favour. [Gives the cockade. 
 
 BLAND [takes the cockade and replaces it]. 
 
 Shall I speak my thoughts of thee and him? 
 
 No: let my actions henceforth shew what thou 
 
 And he have made me. Ne er shall my helmet 
 
 Lack again its proudest, noblest ornament, 
 
 Until my country knows the rest of peace, 
 
 Or Bland the peace of death ! [Exit. 
 
 This alteration, as well as the whole performance, on the second 
 night, met the warm approbation of the audience. 
 
 To the performers the Author takes this opportunity of return 
 ing his thanks for their exertions in his behalf; perfectly con 
 vinced, that on this, as on former occasions, the members of the 
 Old American Company have anxiously striven to oblige him. 
 
 If this Play is successful, it will be a proof that recent events 
 may be so managed in tragedy as to command popular attention ; 
 if it is unsuccessful, the question must remain undetermined until 
 some more powerful writer shall again make the experiment. The 
 Poem is now submitted to the ordeal of closet examination, with 
 the Author s respectful assurance to every reader, that as it is 
 not his interest, so it has not been his intention, to offend any; 
 but, on the contrary, to impress, through the medium of a pleas 
 ing stage exhibition, the sublime lessons of Truth and Justice 
 upon the minds of his countrymen. 
 
 W. DUNLAP. 
 
 New-York, April 4th, 1798. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. MARTIN. 
 
 A native Bard, a native scene displays, 
 And claims your candour for his daring lays: 
 Daring, so soon, in mimic scenes to shew, 
 What each remembers as a real woe. 
 Who has forgot when gallant ANDRE died? 
 A name by Fate to Sorrow s self allied. 
 Who has forgot, when o er the untimely bier, 
 Contending armies paus d, to drop a tear. 
 
 Our Poet builds upon a fact tonight; 
 Yet claims, in building, every Poet s right; 
 To choose, embellish, lop, or add, or blend, 
 Fiction with truth, as best may suit his end; 
 Which, he avows, is pleasure to impart, 
 And move the passions but to mend the heart. 
 
 Oh, may no party-spirit blast his views, 
 Or turn to ill the meanings of the Muse: 
 She sings of wrongs long past, Men as they were, 
 To instruct, without reproach, the Men that are; 
 Then judge the Story by the genius shewn, 
 And praise, or camn, it, for its worth alone. 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 GENERAL, dress, American staff uniform, 
 blue, faced with buff, large gold epaulets, 
 cocked hat, with the black and white cockade, 
 indicating the union with France, buff 
 waistcoat and breeches, boots, 
 
 M DONALD, a man of forty years of age, uni 
 form nearly the same of the first, 
 
 SEWARD, a man of thirty years of age, staff 
 uniform, 
 
 ANDRE, a man of twenty-nine years of age, 
 full British uniform after the first scene, 
 
 BLAND, a youthful but military figure, in the 
 uniform of a Captain of horse dress, a 
 short blue coat, faced with red, and trimmed 
 with gold lace, two small epaulets, a white 
 waistcoat, leather breeches, boots and spurs; 
 over the coat, crossing the chest from the right 
 shoulder, a broad buff belt, to which is sus 
 pended a manageable hussar sword; a 
 horseman s helmet on the head, decorated as 
 usual, and the union cockade affixed, 
 
 MELVILLE, a man of middle age, and grave 
 deportment; his dress a Captain s uniform 
 when on duty; a blue coat, with red facings, 
 gold epaulet, white waistcoat and breeches, 
 boots and cocked hat, with the union cockade, 
 
 BRITISH OFFICER, 
 
 AMERICAN OFFICER, 
 
 CHILDREN, 
 
 AMERICAN SERGEANT, 
 
 Mr. Hallam. 
 
 Mr. Tyler. 
 Mr. Martin. 
 Mr. Hodgkinson. 
 
 Mr. Cooper. 
 
 Mr. Williamson. 
 Mr. Hogg. 
 Mr. Miller. 
 
 Master Stockwell and Miss Hogg. 
 Mr. Seymour. 
 
 AMERICAN OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS, &c. 
 MRS. BLAND, Mrs. Melmoth. 
 
 HONORA, Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 SCENE, the Village of Tappan, Encampment, and adjoining 
 Country. Time, ten hours. 
 
ANDR 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A Wood seen by starlight; an Encampment at a dis 
 tance appearing between the trees. 
 
 Enter MELVILLE. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 The solemn hour, "when night and morning meet," 
 Mysterious time, to superstition dear, 
 And superstition s guides, now passes by; 
 Deathlike in sofitude. The sentinels, 
 In drowsy tones, from post to post, send on 
 The signal of the passing hour. "All s well," 
 Sounds through the camp. Alas ! all is not well ; 
 Else, why stand I, a man, the friend of man, 
 At midnight s depth, deck d in this murderous guise, 
 The habiliment of death, the badge of dire, 
 Necessitous coercion. T is not well. 
 In vain the enlighten d friends of suffering man 
 Point out, of war, the folly, guilt, and madness. 
 Still, age succeeds to age, and war to war; 
 And man, the murderer, marshalls out his hosts 
 In all the gaiety of festive pomp, 
 To spread around him death and desolation. 
 
 How long! how long! 
 
 Methinks I hear the tread of feet this way. 
 
 My meditating mood may work me woe. [Draws. 
 
 Stand, whoso er thou art. Answer. Who s there? 
 
 Enter BLAND. 
 
 BLAND. 
 A friend. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 Advance and give the countersign. 
 
514 Representative Plays 
 
 BLAND. 
 Hudson. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 What, Bland! 
 
 BLAND. 
 Melville, my friend, you here? 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 And well, my brave young friend. But why do you, 
 At this dead hour of night, approach the camp, 
 On foot, and thus alone? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 I have but now 
 
 Dismounted; and, from yon sequester d cot, 
 Whose lonely taper through the crannied wall 
 Sheds its faint beams, and twinkles midst the trees, 
 Have I, adventurous, grop d my darksome way. 
 My servant, and my horses, spent with toil, 
 There wait till morn. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 Why waited not yourself? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Anxious to know the truth of those reports 
 Which, from the many mouths of busy Fame, 
 Still, as I pass d, struck varying on my ear, 
 Each making th other void. Nor does delay 
 The colour of my hasteful business suit. 
 I bring dispatches for our great Commander; 
 And hasted hither with design to wait 
 His rising, or awake him with the sun. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 You will not need the last, for the blest sun 
 Ne er rises on his slumbers; by the dawn 
 We see him mounted gaily in the field, 
 Or find him wrapt in meditation deep, 
 Planning the welfare of our war-worn land. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Prosper, kind heaven ! and recompense his cares. 
 
 
Andre 515 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 You re from the South, if I presume aright? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 I am; and, Melville, I am fraught with news? 
 The South teems with events; convulsing ones: 
 The Briton, there, plays at no mimic war; 
 With gallant face he moves, and gallantly is met. 
 Brave spirits, rous d by glory, throng our camp; 
 The hardy hunter, skill d to fell the deer, 
 Or start the sluggish bear from covert rude ; 
 And not a clown that comes, but from his youth 
 Is trained to pour from far the leaden death, 
 To climb the steep, to struggle with the stream, 
 To labour firmly under scorching skies, 
 And bear, unshrinking, winter s roughest blast. 
 This, and thai heaven-inspir d enthusiasm 
 Which ever animates the patriot s breast, 
 Shall far outweigh the lack of discipline. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 Justice is ours; what shall prevail against her? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 But as I past along, many strange tales, 
 And monstrous rumours, have my ears assail d: 
 That Arnold had prov d false; but he was ta en, 
 And hung, or to be hung I know not what. 
 Another told, that all our army, with their 
 Much lov d Chief, sold and betray d, were captur d. 
 But, as I nearer drew, at yonder cot, 
 T was said, that Arnold, traitor like, had fled; 
 And that a Briton, tried and prov d a spy, 
 Was, on this day, as such, to suffer death. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 As you drew near, plain truth advanced to meet you. 
 T is even as you heard, my brave young friend. 
 Never had people on a single throw 
 More interest at stake; when he, who held 
 For us the die, prov d false, and play d us foul. 
 But for a circumstance of that nice kind, 
 
 
516 Representative Plays 
 
 Of cause so microscopic, that the tongues 
 
 Of inattentive men call it the effect 
 
 Of chance, we must have lost the glorious game. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Blest, blest be heaven! whatever was the cause! 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 The blow ere this had fallen that would have bruis d 
 The tender plant which we have striven to rear, 
 Crush d to the dust, no more to bless this soil. 
 
 BLAND. 
 What warded off the blow? 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 The brave young man, who this day dies, was seiz d 
 Within our bounds, in rustic garb disguis d. 
 He offer d bribes to tempt the band that seiz d him ; 
 But the rough farmer, for his country arm d, 
 That soil defending which his ploughshare turn d, 
 Those laws, his father chose, and he approv d, 
 Cannot, as mercenary soldiers may, 
 Be brib d to sell the public-weal for gold. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 T is well. Just heaven! O, grant that thus may fall 
 
 All those who seek to bring this land to woe ! 
 
 All those, who, or by open force, or dark 
 
 And secret machinations, seek to shake 
 
 The Tree of Liberty, or stop its growth, 
 
 In any soil where thou hast pleas d to plant it. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 Yet not a heart but pities and would save him; 
 For all confirm that he is brave and virtuous; 
 Known, but till now, the darling child of Honour. 
 
 BLAND [contemptuously]. 
 And how is call d this honourable spy? 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 Andre s his name. 
 
Andre 517 
 
 BLAND [much agitated]. 
 Andre! 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 Aye, Major Andre. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Andre! Oh no, my friend, you re sure deceiv d 
 I ll pawn my life, my ever sacred fame, 
 My General s favour, or a soldier s honour, 
 That gallant Andre never yet put on 
 The guise of falsehood. Oh, it cannot be! 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 How might I be deceiv d? I ve heard him, seen him, 
 And what I tell, I tell from well-prov d knowledge ; 
 No second tale-bearer, who heard the news. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Pardon me, Melville. Oh, that well-known name, 
 So link d with circumstances infamous! 
 My friend must pardon me. Thou wilt not blame 
 When I shall tell what cause I have to love him : 
 What cause to think him nothing more the pupil 
 Of Honour stern, than sweet Humanity. 
 Rememberest thou, when cover d o er with wounds, 
 And left upon the field, I fell the prey 
 Of Britain? To a loathsome prison-ship 
 Confin d, soon had I sunk, victim of death, 
 A death of aggravated miseries; 
 But, by benevolence urg d, this best of men, 
 This gallant youth, then favour d, high in power, 
 Sought out the pit obscene of foul disease, 
 Where I, and many a suffering soldier lay, 
 And, like an angel, seeking good for man, 
 Restor d us light, and partial liberty. 
 Me he mark d out his own. He nurst and cur d, 
 He lov d and made his friend. I liv d by him, 
 And in my heart he liv d, till, when exchang d, 
 Duty and honour call d me from my friend. 
 Judge how my heart is tortur d, Gracious heaven! 
 Thus, thus to meet him on the brink of death 
 
518 Representative Plays 
 
 A death so infamous! Heav n grant my prayer. [Kneels. 
 
 That I may save him, O, inspire my heart 
 
 With thoughts, my tongue with words that move to pity! 
 
 [Rises. 
 Quick, Melville, shew me where my Andre lies. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 Good wishes go with you. 
 
 BLAND. 
 I ll save my friend. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE, the Encampment, by starlight. 
 Enter the GENERAL, M DONALD and SEWARD. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 T is well. Each sentinel upon his post 
 Stands firm, and meets me at the bayonet s point; 
 While in his tent the weary soldier lies, 
 The sweet reward of wholesome toil enjoying; 
 Resting secure as erst within his cot 
 He careless slept, his rural labour o er; 
 Ere Britons dar d to violate those laws, 
 Those boasted laws by which themselves are govern d, 
 And strove to make their fellow-subjects slaves. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 They know to whom they owe their present safety. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 I hope they know that to themselves they owe it: 
 To that good discipline which they observe, 
 The discipline of men to order train d, 
 Who know its value, and in whom t is virtue: 
 To that prompt hardihood with which they meet 
 Or toil or danger, poverty or death. 
 Mankind who know not whence that spirit springs, 
 Which holds at bay all Britain s boasted power, 
 Gaze on their deeds astonish d. See the youth 
 Start from his plough, and straightway play the hero; 
 Unmurmuring bear such toils as veterans shun; 
 
Andre 519 
 
 Rest all content upon the dampsome earth; 
 
 Follow undaunted to the deathful charge; 
 
 Or, when occasion asks, lead to the breach, 
 
 Fearless of all the unusual din of war, 
 
 His former peaceful mates. O patriotism! ^ 
 
 Thou wond rous principle of god-like action! 
 
 Wherever liberty is found, there reigns 
 
 The love of country. Now the self-same spirit 
 
 Which fill d the breast of great Leonidas, 
 
 Swells in the hearts of thousands on these plains, 
 
 Thousands who never heard the hero s tale. 
 
 T is this alone which saves thee, O my country! 
 
 And, till that spirit flies these western shores, 
 
 No power on earth shall crush thee ! 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 T is wond rous! 
 
 The men of other climes from this shall see 
 How easy t is to shake oppression off; 
 How all resistless is an union d people : 
 And hence, from our success (which, by my soul, 
 I feel as much secur d, as though our foes 
 Were now within their floating prisons hous d, 
 And their proud prows all pointing to the east), 
 Shall other nations break their galling fetters, 
 And re-assume the dignity of man. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Are other nations in that happy state, 
 
 That, having broke Coercion s iron yoke, 
 
 They can submit to Order s gentle voice, 
 
 And walk on earth self-ruled? I much do fear it. 
 
 As to ourselves, in truth, I nothing see, 
 
 In all the wond rous deeds which we perform, 
 
 But plain effects from causes full as plain. 
 
 Rises not man for ever gainst oppression? 
 
 It is the law of life; he can t avoid it. 
 
 But when the love of property unites 
 
 With sense of injuries past, and dread of future. 
 
 Is it then wonderful, that he should brave 
 
 A lesser evil to avoid a greater? 
 
520 Representative Plays 
 
 GENERAL [sportively], 
 
 T is hard, quite hard, we may not please ourselves, 
 By our great deeds ascribing to our virtue. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 M Donald never spares to lash our pride. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 In truth I know of nought to make you proud. 
 I think there s none within the camp that draws 
 With better will his sword than does M Donald. 
 I have a home to guard. My son is butcher d 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Hast thou no nobler motives for thy arms 
 Than love of property and thirst of vengeance? 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Yes, my good Seward, and yet nothing wond rous. 
 I love this country for the sake of man. 
 My parents, and I thank them, cross d the seas, 
 And made me native of fair Nature s world, 
 vAVith room to grow and thrive in. I have thriven; 
 And feel my mind unshackled, free, expanding, 
 Grasping, with ken unbounded, mighty thoughts, 
 At which, if chance my mother had, good dame, 
 In Scotia, our revered parent soil, 
 Given me to see the day, I should have shrunk 
 Affrighted. Now, I see in this new world 
 A resting spot for man, if he can stand 
 Firm in his place, while Europe howls around him, 
 And all unsettled as the thoughts of vice, 
 Each nation in its turn threats him with feeble malice. 
 One trial, now, we prove; and I have met it. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 And met it like a man, my brave M Donald. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 I hope so; and I hope my every act 
 Has been the offspring of deliberate judgment; 
 Yet, feeling second s reason s cool resolves. 
 
Andre 521 
 
 Oh ! I could hate, if I did not more pity, 
 
 These bands of mercenary Europeans, 
 
 So wanting in the common sense of nature, 
 
 As, without shame, to sell themselves for pelf, 
 
 To aid the cause of darkness, murder man 
 
 Without inquiry murder, and yet call 
 
 Their trade the trade of honour high-soul d honour 
 
 Yet honour shall accord in act with falsehood. 
 
 Oh, that proud man should e er descend to play 
 
 The tempter s part, and lure men to their ruin ! 
 
 Deceit and honour badly pair together. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 LJ^ i/ 
 
 You have much shew of reason; yet, methinks 
 What you suggest of one, whom fickle Fortune, 
 In her changeling mood, hath hurl d, unpitying, 
 From her topmost height to lowest misery, 
 Tastes not of charity. Andre, I mean. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 I mean him, too; sunk by misdeed, not fortune. 
 Fortune and chance, Oh, most convenient words! 
 Man runs the wild career of blind ambition, 
 Plunges in vice, takes falsehood for his buoy, 
 And when he feels the waves of ruin o er him, 
 Curses, in "good set terms," poor Lady Fortune. 
 
 GENERAL [sportively to SEWARD]. 
 His mood is all untoward; let us leave him. 
 Tho he may think that he is bound to rail, 
 We are not bound to hear him. [To M DONALD. 
 
 Grant you that? 
 
 M DONALD. 
 Oh, freely, freely! you I never rail on. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 No thanks for that; you ve courtesy for office. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 You slander me. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Slander that would not wound. 
 Worthy M Donald, though it suits full well 
 
522 Representative Plays 
 
 The virtuous man to frown on all misdeeds; 
 
 Yet ever keep in mind that man is frail ; 
 
 His tide of passion struggling still with Reason s 
 
 Fair and favourable gale, and adverse 
 
 Driving his unstable Bark upon the 
 
 Rocks of error. Should he sink thus shipwreck d, 
 
 Sure it is not Virtue s voice that triumphs 
 
 In his ruin. I must seek rest. Adieu! 
 
 [Exeunt GENERAL and SEWARD. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Both good and great thou art: first among men: 
 By nature, or by early habit, grac d 
 With that blest quality which gives due force 
 To every faculty, and keeps the mind 
 In healthful equipoise, ready for action; 
 Invaluable temperance by all 
 To be acquired, yet scarcely known to any. [Exit. 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE, a Prison. 
 
 ANDRE, discovered in a pensive posture, sitting at a table; a book 
 by him and candles: his dress neglected, his hair dishevelled: 
 he rises and comes forward. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Kind heaven be thank d for that I stand alone 
 In this sad hour of life s brief pilgrimage! 
 Single in misery; no one else involving, 
 In grief, in shame, and ruin. T is my comfort. 
 Thou, my thrice honour d sire, in peace went st down 
 Unto the tomb, nor knew to blush, nor knew 
 A pang for me! And thou, revered matron, 
 Couldst bless thy child, and yield thy breath in peace! 
 No wife shall weep, no child lament, my loss. 
 Thus may I consolation find in what 
 Was once my woe. I little thought to joy 
 In not possessing, as I erst possest, 
 
Andre 523 
 
 Thy love, Honora! Andre s death, perhaps, 
 May cause a cloud pass o er thy lovely face; 
 The pearly tear may steal from either eye; 
 For thou mayest feel a transient pang, nor wrong 
 A husband s rights: more than a transient pang 
 
 mayest thou never feel ! The morn draws nigh 
 To light me to my shame. Frail nature shrinks. 
 And is death then so fearful? I have brav d 
 Him, fearless, in the field, and steel d my breast 
 Against his thousand horrors; but his cool, 
 
 His sure approach, requires a fortitude 
 
 Which nought but conscious rectitude can give. 
 
 [Retires, and sits leaning. 
 
 Enter BLAND unperceived by ANDRE. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 And is that Andre! Oh, how chang d! Alas! 
 Where" is that martial fire, that generous warmth, 
 Which glow d his manly countenance throughout, 
 And gave to every look, to every act, 
 The tone of high chivalrous animation? 
 Andre, my friend! look up. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Who calls me friend? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Young Arthur Bland. 
 
 ANDRE [rising]. 
 That name sounds like a friend s. [With emotion. 
 
 1 have inquir d for thee wish d much to see thee 
 I prithee take no note of these fool s tears 
 
 My heart was full and seeing thee 
 
 BLAND [embracing him]. 
 
 O Andre! 
 
 I have but now arrived from the south 
 Nor heard till now of this I cannot speak. 
 Is this a place? Oh, thus to find my friend! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Still dost thou call me friend? I, who dared act 
 Against my reason, my declared opinion; 
 
524 Representative Plays 
 
 Against my conscience, and a soldier s fame? 
 Oft in the generous heat of glowing youth, 
 Oft have I said how fully I despis d 
 All bribery base, all treacherous tricks in war: 
 Rather my blood should bathe these hostile shores, 
 And have it said, "he died a gallant soldier," 
 Than with my country s gold encourage treason, 
 And thereby purchase gratitude and fame. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Still mayest thou say it, for thy heart s the same. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Still is my heart the same: still may I say it: 
 But now my deeds will rise against my words; 
 And should I dare to talk of honest truth, 
 Frank undissembling probity and faith, 
 Memory would crimson o er my burning cheek, 
 And actions retrospected choke the tale. 
 Still is my heart the same. But there has past 
 A day, an hour which ne er can be recall d! 
 Unhappy man! tho all thy life pass pure; 
 Mark d by benevolence thy every deed; 
 The out-spread map, which shews the way thou st trod, 
 Without one devious track, or doubtful line; 
 It all avails thee nought, if in one hour, 
 One hapless hour, thy feet are led astray; 
 Thy happy deeds, all blotted from remembrance; 
 Cancel d the record of thy former good. 
 Is it not hard, my friend? Is t not unjust? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Not every record cancel d Oh, there are hearts, 
 Where Virtue s image, when t is once engrav d, 
 Can never know erasure. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Generous Bland! [Takes his hand. 
 
 The hour draws nigh which ends my life s sad story. 
 I should be firm 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 By heaven thou shalt not die! 
 Thou dost not sure deserve it. Betray d, perhaps 
 
Andre 525 
 
 Condemn d without due circumstance made known? 
 Thou didst not mean to tempt our officers? 
 Betray our yeoman soldiers to destruction? 
 Silent. Nay, then t was from a duteous wish 
 To serve the cause thou wast in honour bound 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Kind is my Bland, who to his generous heart, 
 Still finds excuses for his erring friend. 
 Attentive hear and judge me. 
 Pleas d with the honours daily shower d upon me, 
 I glow d with martial heat, my name to raise 
 Above the vulgar herd, who live to die, 
 And die to be forgotten. Thus I stood, 
 When, avarice or ambition Arnold tempted, 
 His country, fame, and honour to betray; 
 Linking his name to infamy eternal. 
 In confidence it was to be propos d, 
 To plan with him the means which should ensure 
 Thy country s downfall. Nothing then I saw 
 But confidential favour in the service, 
 My country s glory, and my mounting fame; 
 Forgot my former purity of thought, 
 And high-ton d honour s scruples disregarded. 
 
 BLAND. 
 It was thy duty so to serve thy country. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Nay, nay; be cautious ever to admit 
 That duty can beget dissimulation. 
 On ground, unoccupied by either part, 
 Neutral esteem d, I landed, and was met. 
 But ere my conference was with Arnold clos d, 
 The day began to dawn : I then was told 
 That till the night I must my safety seek 
 In close concealment. Within your posts convey d, 
 I found myself involv d in unthought dangers. 
 Night came. I sought the vessel which had borne 
 Me to the fatal spot; but she was gone. 
 Retreat that way cut off, again I sought 
 Concealment with the traitors of your army. 
 
526 Representative Plays 
 
 Arnold now granted passes, and I doff d 
 My martial garb, and put on curs d disguise! 
 Thus in a peasant s form I pass d your posts; 
 And when, as I conceiv d, my danger o er, 
 Was stopt and seiz d by some returning scouts. 
 So did ambition lead me, step by step, 
 To treat with traitors, and encourage treason; 
 And then, bewilder d in the guilty scene, 
 To quit my martial designating badges, 
 Deny my name, and sink into the spy. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Thou didst no more than was a soldier s duty, 
 To serve the part on which he drew his sword. 
 Thou shalt not die for this. Straight will I fly 
 I surely shall prevail 
 
 ANDRE. 
 It is in vain. 
 All has been tried. Each friendly argument 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 All has not yet been tried. The powerful voice 
 Of friendship in thy cause, has not been heard. 
 My General favours me, and loves my father 
 My gallant father! would that he were here! 
 But he, perhaps, now wants an Andre s care, 
 To cheer his hours perhaps, now languishes 
 Amidst those horrors whence thou sav d st his son! 
 The present moment claims my thought. Andre 
 I fly to save thee ! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Bland, it is in vain. 
 But, hold there is a service thou may st do me. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Speak it. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Oh, think, and as a soldier think, 
 How I must die The manner of my death 
 Like the base ruffian, or the midnight thief, 
 Ta en in the act of stealing from the poor, 
 
Andre 527 
 
 To be turn d off the felon s murderer s cart, 
 A mid-air spectacle to gaping clowns : 
 To run a short, an envied course of glory, 
 And end it on a gibbet. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Damnation ! ! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Such is my doom. Oh! have the manner changed, 
 And of mere death I ll think not. Dost thou think ? 
 Perhaps thou canst gain that ? 
 
 BLAND [almost in a frenzy]. 
 Thou shalt not die! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Let me, Oh ! let me die a soldier s death, 
 While friendly clouds of smoke shroud from all eyes 
 My last convulsive pangs, and I m content. 
 
 BLAND [with increasing emotion]. 
 Thou shalt not die! Curse on the laws of war! 
 If worth like thine must thus be sacrificed, 
 To policy so cruel and unjust, 
 I will forswear my country and her service: 
 I ll hie me to the Briton, and with fire, 
 And sword, and every instrument of death 
 Or devastation, join in the work of war! 
 What, shall worth weigh for nought? I will avenge thee! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Hold, hold, my friend; thy country s woes are full. 
 What! wouldst thou make me cause another traitor? 
 No more of this; and, if I die, believe me, 
 Thy country for my death incurs no blame. 
 Restrain thy ardour but ceaselessly intreat, 
 That Andre may at least die as he lived, 
 A soldier. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 By heaven thou shalt not die ! 
 
 [BLAND rushes off: ANDRE looks after him with an expression 
 of love and gratitude, then retires up the stage. Scene closes. ] 
 
 
528 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE, the GENERAL S Quarters. 
 Enter M DONALD and SEWARD, in conversation. 
 
 M DONALD [coining forward]. 
 
 Three thousand miles the Atlantic wave rolls on, 
 Which bathed Columbia s shores, ere, on the strand 
 Of Europe, or of Afric, their continents, 
 Or sea-girt isles, it chafes. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Oh ! would to heaven 
 
 That in mid-way between these sever d worlds, 
 Rose barriers, all impassable to man, 
 Cutting off intercourse, till either side 
 Had lost all memory of the other ! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 What spur now goads thy warm imagination? 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Then might, perhaps, one land on earth be found, 
 Free from th extremes of poverty and riches; 
 Where ne er a scepter d tyrant should be known, 
 Or tyrant lordling, curses of creation; 
 Where the faint shrieks of woe-exhausted age, 
 Raving, in feeble madness, o er the corse 
 Of a polluted daughter, stained by lust 
 Of viand-pamper d luxury, might ne er be heard; 
 Where the blasted form of much abused 
 Beauty, by villainy seduced, by knowledge 
 All unguarded, might ne er be view d, flitting 
 Obscene, tween lamp and lamp, i th midnight street 
 Of all defiling city; where the child 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Hold ! Shroud thy raven imagination ! 
 Torture not me with images so curst! 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Soon shall our foes, inglorious, fly these shores. 
 Peace shall again return. Then Europe s ports 
 Shall pour a herd upon us, far more fell 
 
Andre 529 
 
 Than those, her mercenary sons, who, now, 
 Threaten our sore chastisement. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Prophet of ill, 
 
 Prom Europe shall enriching commerce flow, 
 And many an ill attendant; but from thence 
 Shall likewise flow blest Science. Europe s knowledge, 
 By sharp experience bought, we should appropriate; 
 Striving thus to leap from that simplicity, 
 With ignorance curst, to that simplicity, 
 By knowledge blest; unknown the gulf between. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 Mere theoretic dreaming ! 
 
 M DONALD 
 
 Blest wisdom 
 
 Seems, from out the chaos of the social world, 
 Where good and ill, in strange commixture, float, 
 To rise, by strong necessity, impell d; 
 Starting, like Love divine, from womb of Night, 
 Illuming all, to order all reducing; 
 And shewing, by its bright and noontide blaze, 
 That happiness alone proceeds from justice. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 Dreams, dreams! Man can know nought but ill on earth 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 I ll to my bed, for I have watch d all night; 
 And may my sleep give pleasing repetition 
 Of these my waking dreams ! Virtue s incentives. [Exit. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 Folly s chimeras rather: guides to error. 
 
 Enter BLAND, preceded by a SERGEANT. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 Pacquets for the General. [Exit. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Seward, my friend! 
 
53 Representative Plays 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Captain! I m glad to see the hue of health 
 Sit on a visage from the sallow south. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 The lustihood of youth hath yet defied 
 The parching sun, and chilling dew of even. 
 The General Seward ? 
 
 SEWARD. 
 I will lead you to him. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Seward, I must make bold. Leave us together, 
 When occasion offers. T will be friendly. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 I will not cross your purpose. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE, A Chamber. 
 
 Enter MRS. BLAND. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 Yes, ever be this day a festival 
 In my domestic calendar. This morn 
 Will see my husband free. Even now, perhaps, 
 Ere yet Aurora flies the eastern hills, 
 Shunning the sultry sun, my Bland embarks. 
 Already, on the Hudson s dancing wave, 
 He chides the sluggish rowers, or supplicates 
 For gales propitious; that his eager arms 
 May clasp his wife, may bless his little ones. 
 Oh ! how the tide of joy makes my heart bound, 
 Glowing with high and ardent expectation ! 
 
 Enter two CHILDREN. 
 
 ist CHILD. 
 Here we are, Mama, up, and dress d already. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 And why were ye so early? 
 
 
Andre 531 
 
 ist CHILD. 
 Why, did not you tell us that Papa was to be home to-day? 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 I said, perhaps. 
 
 2nd CHILD [disappointed]. 
 Perhaps! 
 
 ist CHILD. 
 I don t like perhaps s. 
 
 2nd CHILD. 
 No, nor I neither; nor "may be so s." 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 We make not certainties, my pretty loves; 
 I do not like "perhaps s" more than you do. 
 
 2nd CHILD. 
 
 Oh! don t say so, Mama! for I m sure I hardly ever ask you 
 anything but you answer me with "may be so," "perhaps," 
 or "very likely." "Mama, shall I go to the camp to-morrow, 
 and see the General?" "May be so, my dear." Hang "may be 
 so," say I. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 Well said, Sir Pertness. 
 
 ist CHILD. 
 
 But I am sure, Mama, you said, that, to-day, Papa would have 
 his liberty. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 So, your dear father, by his letters, told me. 
 
 2nd CHILD. 
 
 Why, then, I am sure he will be here to-day. When he can come 
 to us, I m sure he will not stay among those strange Englishmen 
 and Hessians. I often wish d that I had wings to fly, for then I 
 would soon be with him. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 Dear boy! 
 
532 Representative Plays 
 
 Enter SERVANT and gives a letter to MRS. BLAND. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 An express, madam, from New- York to Headquarters, in 
 passing, delivered this. 
 
 2nd CHILD. 
 
 Papa s coming home to-day, John. 
 
 [Exeunt SERVANT and CHILDREN. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 What fears assail me ! Oh ! I did not want 
 
 A letter now ! [She reads in great agitation, exclaiming, while her 
 
 eyes are fixed on the paper. ] 
 My husband! doom d to die! Retaliation! 
 
 [She looks forward with wildness, consternation and horror. 
 To die, if Andre dies! He dies to-day! 
 My husband to be murdered ! And to-day ! 
 To-day, if Andre dies! Retaliation! 
 
 curst contrivance! Madness relieve me! 
 Burst, burst, my brain ! Yet Andre is not dead : 
 
 My husband lives. [Looks at the letter.] "One man has power." 
 
 1 fly to save the father of my children ! 
 
 [Rushes out. 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE, the GENERAL S Quarters. 
 The GENERAL and BLAND come forward. 
 
 GENERAL [papers in his hand]. 
 Captain, you are noted here with honourable 
 Praises. Depend upon that countenance 
 From me, which you have prov d yourself so richly 
 Meriting. Both for your father s virtues, 
 And your own, your country owes you honour 
 The sole return the poor can make for service. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 If from my country ought I ve merited, 
 Or gain d the approbation of her champion, 
 
Andre 533 
 
 At any other time, I should not dare, 
 Presumptuously, to shew my sense of it; 
 But now, my tongue, all shameless, dares to name 
 The boon, the precious recompense, I wish, 
 Which, granted, pays all service, past or future, 
 O erpays the utmost I can e er achieve. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 Brief, my young friend, briefly, your purpose. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 If I have done my duty as a soldier; 
 If I have brav d all dangers for my country; 
 If my brave father has deserved ought; 
 Call all to mind and cancel all but grant 
 My one request mine, and humanity s. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Be less profuse of words, and name your wish; 
 If fit, its fitness is the best assurance 
 That not in vain you sue; but, if unjust, 
 Thy merits, nor the merits of thy race, 
 Cannot its nature alter, nor my mind, 
 From its determined opposition change. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 You hold the fate of my most lov d of friends; 
 As gallant soldier as e er faced a foe, 
 Bless d with each polish d gift of social life, 
 And every virtue of humanity. 
 To me, a saviour from the pit of death, 
 To me, and many more my countrymen. 
 Oh! could my words portray him what he is; 
 Bring to your mind the blessings of his deeds, 
 While thro the fever-heated, loathsome holds, 
 Of floating hulks, dungeons obscene, where ne er 
 The dewy breeze of morn, or evening s coolness, 
 Breath d on our parching skins, he pass d along, 
 Diffusing blessings; still his power exerting, 
 To alleviate the woes which ruthless war, 
 Perhaps, thro dire necessity, heap d on us; 
 Surely, the scene would move you to forget 
 
\ 
 
 534 Representative Plays 
 
 
 His late intent (tho only serving then, 
 As duty prompted) and turn the rigour 
 Of War s iron law from him, the best of men, 
 Meant only for the worst. 
 
 i 
 
 GENERAL. 
 Captain, no more. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 If Andre lives, the prisoner finds a friend; 
 Else helpless and forlorn 
 All men will bless the act, and bless thee for it. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Think st thou thy country would not curse the man, 
 Who, by a clemency ill-tim d, ill-judg d, 
 Encourag d treason? That pride encourag d, 
 Which, by denying us the rights of nations, 
 Hath caus d those ills which thou hast now portray d? 
 Our prisoners, brave and generous peasantry, 
 As rebels have been treated, not as men. 
 T is mine, brave yeomen, to assert your rights; 
 T is mine to teach the foe, that, though array d 
 In rude simplicity, ye, yet, are men, 
 And rank among the foremost. Oft their scouts, 
 The very refuse of the English arms, 
 Unquestion d, have our countrymen consign d 
 To death, when captur d, mocking their agonies. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Curse them! [Checking himself.] Yet let not censure fall on 
 
 Andre. 
 
 Oh, there are Englishmen as brave, as good, 
 As ever land on earth might call its own; 
 And gallant Andre is among the best ! 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Since they have hurl d war on us, we must shew 
 That by the laws of war we will abide ; 
 And have the power to bring their acts for trial, 
 To that tribunal, eminent mongst men, 
 Erected by the policy of nations, 
 To stem the flood of ills, which else fell war 
 
Andre 535 
 
 Would pour, unchecked, upon the sickening world, 
 Sweeping away all trace of civil life. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 To pardon him would not encourage ill. 
 His case is singular : his station high ; 
 His qualities admired ; his virtues lov d. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 No more, my good young friend : it is in vain. 
 The men entrusted with thy country s rights 
 Have weigh d, attentive, every circumstance. 
 An individual s virtue is, by them, 
 As highly prized as it can be by thee. 
 I know the virtues of this man, and love them. 
 But the destiny of millions, millions 
 Yet unborn, depends upon the rigour 
 Of this moment. The haughty Briton laughs 
 To scorn our armies and our councils. Mercy, 
 Humanity, call loudly, that we make 
 Our now despised power be felt, vindictive. 
 Millions demand the death of this young man. 
 My injur d country, he his forfeit life 
 Must yield, to shield thy lacerated breast 
 From torture. [To BLAND.] Thy merits are not overlook d. 
 Promotion shall immediately attend thee. 
 
 BLAND [with contemptuous irony]. 
 Pardon me, sir, I never shall deserve it. 
 [With increasing heat.] The country that forgets to reverence 
 
 virtue; 
 
 That makes no difference twixt the sordid wretch, 
 Who, for reward, risks treason s penalty, 
 And him unfortunate, whose duteous service 
 Is, by mere accident, so chang d in form, 
 As to assume guilt s semblance, I serve not: 
 Scorn to serve. I have a soldier s honour, 
 But t is in union with a freeman s judgment, 
 And when I act, both prompt. Thus from my helm 
 I tear, what once I proudly thought, the badge 
 Of virtuous fellowship. [Tears the cockade from his helmet.] My 
 
 sword I keep. [Puts on his helmet. ] 
 
 
Representative Plays 
 
 Would, Andre, thou hadst never put thine off! 
 
 Then hadst thou through opposers hearts made way 
 
 To liberty, or bravely pierc d thine own ! [Exit. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Rash, headstrong, maddening boy! 
 Had not this action past without a witness, 
 Duty would ask that thou shouldst rue thy folly 
 But, for the motive, be the deed forgotten. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE, a Village. 
 
 At a distance some tents. In front muskets, drums, and other indi 
 cations of soldiers quarters. 
 
 Enter MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN, attended by MELVILLE. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 The General s doors to you are ever open. 
 But why, my worthy friend, this agitation? 
 Our Colonel, your husband 
 
 MRS. BLAND [in tears, gives him the letter}. 
 Read, Melville 
 
 ist CHILD. 
 
 Do not cry, Mama, for I m sure if Papa said he would come 
 home to-day he will come yet : for he always does what he says 
 he will. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 He cannot come, dear love; they will not let him. 
 
 2nd CHILD. 
 Why, then, they told him lies. Oh, fie upon them! 
 
 MELVILLE [returning the letter]. 
 Fear nothing, Madam, t is an empty threat: 
 A trick of policy. They dare not do it. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 Alas! alas! what dares not power to do? 
 What art of reasoning, or what magic words, 
 Can still the storm of fears these lines have rais d? 
 The wife s, the mother s fears? Ye innocents, 
 
Andre 537 
 
 Unconscious on the brink of what a perilous 
 
 Precipice ye stand, unknowing that to-day 
 
 Ye are cast down the gulf, poor babes, ye weep 
 
 From sympathy. Children of sorrow, nurst, 
 
 Nurtur d, midst camps and arms; unknowing man, 
 
 But as man s fell destroyer; must ye now, 
 
 To crown your piteous fate, be fatherless? 
 
 O, lead me, lead me to him! Let me kneel, 
 
 Let these, my children, kneel, till Andre, pardon d, 
 
 Ensures to me a husband, them a father. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 Madam, duty forbids further attendance. 
 I am on guard to-day. But see your son; 
 To him I leave your guidance. Good wishes 
 Prosper you ! [&& MELVILLE. 
 
 Enter BLAND. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 My Arthur, O my Arthur! 
 
 BLAND. 
 My mother! [Embracing her. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 My son, I have been wishing 
 For you [Bursts into tears, unable to proceed. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 But whence this grief, these tears, my mother? 
 Why are these little cheeks bedew d with sorrow? 
 
 [He kisses the children, who exclaim, Brother, brother! 
 Have I done ought to cause a mother s sadness? 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 No, my brave boy! I oft have fear d, but never 
 Sorrow d for thee. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 High praise! Then bless me, Madam; 
 
 For I have pass d through many a bustling scene 
 
 Since I have seen a father or a mother. 
 
 
538 Representative Plays 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 Bless thee, my boy! O bless him, bless him, Heaven! 
 Render him worthy to support these babes! 
 So soon, perhaps, all fatherless dependent. 
 
 BLAND. 
 What mean st thou, madam? Why these tears? 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 Thy father 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 A prisoner of war I long have known it 
 But made so without blemish to his honour, 
 And soon exchang d, returns unto his friends, 
 To guard these little ones, and point and lead, 
 To virtue and to glory. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 Never, never! 
 
 His life, a sacrifice to Andre s manes, 1 
 Must soon be offer d. Even now, endungeon d, 
 Like a vile felon, on the earth he lies, 
 His death expecting. Andre s execution 
 Gives signal for the murder of thy father 
 Andre now dies! 
 
 BLAND [despairingly]. 
 
 My father and my friend!! 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 There is but one on earth can save my husband 
 But one can pardon Andre. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Haste, my mother! 
 
 Thou wilt prevail. Take with thee in each hand 
 An unoffending child of him thou weep st. 
 Save save them both ! This way haste lean on me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 i Spirit of the dead; shade. 
 
Andre 539 
 
 SCENE, the GENERAL S Quarters. 
 Enter the GENERAL and M DONALD. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Here have I intimation from the foe, 
 That still they deem the spy we have condemn d, 
 Merely a captive ; by the laws of arms 
 From death protected; and retaliation, 
 As they term it, threaten, if we our purpose hold. 
 Bland is the victim they have singled out, 
 Hoping his threaten d death will Andre save. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 If I were Bland I boldly might advise 
 My General how to act. Free, and in safety, 
 I will now suppose my counsel needless. 
 
 Enter an AMERICAN OFFICER. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Another flag hath from the foe arriv d, 
 And craves admittance. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Conduct it hither. [Exit OFFICER. 
 
 Let us, unwearied hear, unbias d judge, 
 Whate er against our martial court s decision, 
 Our enemies can bring. 
 
 Enter BRITISH OFFICER, conducted by the AMERICAN OFFICER. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 You are welcome, sir. 
 What further says Sir Henry? 
 
 BRITISH OFFICER. 
 This from him. 
 
 He calls on you to think what weighty woes 
 You now are busy bringing on your country. 
 He bids me say, that, if your sentence reach 
 The prisoner s life (prisoner of arms he deems him, 
 And no spy), on him alone it falls not. 
 He bids me loud proclaim it, and declare, 
 
54 Representative Plays 
 
 If this brave officer, by cruel mockery 
 Of war s stern law, and justice s feign d pretence, 
 Be murder d ; the sequel of our strife, bloody, 
 Unsparing and remorseless, you will make. 
 Think of the many captives in our power. 
 Already one is mark d ; for Andre mark d ; 
 And when his death, unparallel d in war, 
 The signal gives, then Colonel Bland must die. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 T is well, sir; bear this message in return. 
 Sir Henry Clinton knows the laws of arms: 
 He is a soldier, and, I think, a brave one. 
 The prisoners he retains he must account for. 
 Perhaps the reckoning s near. I, likewise, am 
 A soldier; entrusted by my country. 
 What I shall judge most for that country s good, 
 That shall I do. When doubtful, I consult 
 My country s friends; never her enemies. 
 In Andre s case there are no doubts: t is clear: 
 Sir Henry Clinton knows it. 
 
 BRITISH OFFICER. 
 Weigh consequences. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 In strict regard to consequence I act; 
 And much should doubt to call that action right, 
 However specious, whose apparent end 
 Was misery to man. That brave officer 
 Whose death you threaten, for himself drew not 
 His sword his country s wrongs arous d his mind; 
 Her good alone his aim ; and if his fall 
 Can further fire that country to resistance, 
 He will, with smiles, yield up his glorious life, 
 And count his death a gain; and tho Columbians 
 Will lament his fall, they will lament in blood. 
 
 [GENERAL walks up the stage. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 Hear this! hear this, mankind! 
 
Andre 541 
 
 BRITISH OFFICER. 
 
 Thus am I answered? 
 Enter a SERGEANT with a letter. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 Express from Colonel Bland. [Delivers it and exit. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 With your permission. [Opens it. 
 
 BRITISH OFFICER. 
 Your pleasure, sir. It may my mission further. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 O, Bland! my countryman, surely I know thee! 
 
 GENERAL. 
 T is short: I will put form aside, and read it. 
 
 [Reads.] "Excuse me, my Commander, for having a moment 
 doubted your virtue: but you love me. If you waver, let this 
 confirm you. My wife and children, to you and my country. 
 Do your duty." Report this to your General. 
 
 BRITISH OFFICER. 
 
 I shall, sir/ 
 [Bows, and exit with AMERICAN OFFICER. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 O, Bland ! my countryman ! [Exit with emotion. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Triumph of virtue! 
 Like him and thee, still be Americans. 
 Then, tho all-powerful Europe league against us, 
 And pour in arms her legions on our shores; 
 Who is so dull would doubt their shameful flight? 
 Who doubt our safety, and our glorious triumph? 
 
 SCENE, the Prison. 
 Enter BLAND. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Lingering, I come to crush the bud of hope 
 My breath has, flattering, to existence warm d. 
 
54 2 Representative Plays 
 
 Hard is the task to friendship ! hard to say, 
 To the lov d object there remains no hope, 
 No consolation for thee; thou must die; 
 The worst of deaths; no circumstance abated. 
 
 Enter ANDRE in his uniform, and dress d. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Is there that state on earth which friendship cannot cheer? 
 
 BLAND. 
 Little / bring to cheer thee, Andre. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 I understand. T is well. T will soon be past. 
 Yet, t was not much I ask d. A soldier s death. 
 A trifling change of form. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Of that I spoke not. 
 By vehemence of passion hurried on, 
 I pleaded for thy precious life alone; 
 The which denied, my indignation barr d 
 All further parley. But strong solicitation 
 Now is urg d to gain the wish d-for favour. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 What is t o clock? 
 
 BLAND. 
 T is past the stroke of nine. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Why, then, t is almost o er. But to be hung 
 Is there no way to escape that infamy? 
 What then is infamy? no matter no matter. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Our General hath received another flag. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Soliciting for me? 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 On thy behalf. 
 
Andre 543 
 
 ANDRE. 
 I have been ever favour d. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Threat nings, now; 
 
 No more solicitations. Harsh, indeed, 
 The import of the message: harsh, indeed. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 I am sorry for it. Would that I were dead, 
 And all was well with those I leave behind. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Such a threat! Is it not enough, just heaven, 
 That I must lose this man? Yet there was left 
 One for my soul to rest on. But, to know 
 That the same blow deprives them both of life 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 What mean st thou, Bland? Surely my General 
 Threats not retaliation. In vengeance, 
 Dooms not some better man to die for me? 
 
 BLAND. 
 The best of men. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Thou hast a father, captive 
 I dare not ask 
 
 BLAND. 
 That father dies for thee. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Gracious heaven! how woes are heap d upon me! 
 What! cannot one, so trifling in life s scene, 
 Fall, without drawing such a ponderous ruin? 
 Leave me, my friend, awhile I yet have life 
 A little space of life let me exert it 
 To prevent injustice: From death to save 
 Thy father, thee to save from utter desolation. 
 
 BLAND. 
 What mean st thou, Andre? 
 
544 Representative Plays 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Seek thou the messenger 
 
 Who brought this threat. I will my last entreaty 
 Send by him. My General, sure, will grant it. 
 
 BLAND. 
 To the last thyself! [Exit. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 If, at this moment, 
 
 When the pangs of death already touch me, 
 Firmly my mind against injustice strives, 
 And the last impulse to my vital powers 
 Is given by anxious wishes to redeem 
 My fellowmen from pain; surely my end, 
 Howe er accomplish d, is not infamous. [Exit. 
 
 End of the Third Act. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE, the Encampment. 
 Enter M DONALD and BLAND. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 It doth in truth appear, that as a spy 
 Detested word! brave Andre must be view d. 
 His sentence he confesses strictly just. 
 Yet sure a deed of mercy, from thy hand, 
 Could never lead to ill. By such an act, 
 The stern and blood-stain d brow of War 
 Would be disarm d of half its gorgon horrors; 
 More humanized customs be induced ; 
 And all the race of civilized man 
 Be blest in the example. Be it thy suit: 
 T will well become thy character and station. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Trust me, young friend, I am alone the judge 
 Of what becomes my character and station : 
 And having judg d that this young Briton s death, 
 Even though attended by thy father s murder, 
 Is necessary, in these times accurs d, 
 
Andre 545 
 
 When every thought of man is ting d with blood, 
 I will not stir my finger to redeem them. 
 Nay, much I wonder, Bland, having so oft 
 The reasons for this necessary rigour 
 Enforced upon thee, thou wilt still persist 
 In vain solicitations. Imitate 
 Thy father! 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 My father knew not Andre. 
 I know his value; owe to him my life; 
 And, gratitude, that first, that best of virtues, 
 Without the which man sinks beneath the brute, 
 Binds me in ties indissoluble to him. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 That man-created virtue blinds thy reason. 
 
 Man owes to man all love; when exercised, 
 
 He does no more than duty. Gratitude, 
 
 That selfish rule of action, which commands 
 
 That we our preference make of men, 
 
 Not for their worth, but that they did us service, 
 
 Misleading reason, casting in the way 
 
 Of justice stumbling-blocks, cannot be virtue. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Detested sophistry! T was Andre sav d me! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 He sav d thy life, and thou art grateful for it. 
 How self intrudes, delusive, on man s thoughts! 
 He sav d thy life, yet strove to damn thy country; 
 Doom d millions to the haughty Briton s yoke; 
 The best, and foremost in the cause of virtue, 
 To death, by sword, by prison, or the halter: 
 His sacrifice now stands the only bar 
 Between the wanton cruelties of war, 
 And our much-suffering soldiers: yet, when weigh d 
 With gratitude, for that he sav d thy life, 
 These things prove gossamer, and balance air: 
 Perversion monstrous of man s moral sense! 
 
546 Representative Plays 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Rather perversion monstrous of all good, 
 Is thy accurs d, detestable opinion. 
 Cold-blooded reasoners, such as thee, would blast 
 All warm affection; asunder sever 
 Every social tie of humanized man. 
 Curst be thy sophisms! cunningly contriv d 
 The callous coldness of thy heart to cover, 
 And screen thee from the brave man s detestation. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 Boy, boy! 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Thou knowest that Andre s not a spy. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 I know him one. Thou hast acknowledg d it. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Thou liest! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Shame on thy ruffian tongue ! how passion 
 Mars thee! I pity thee! Thou canst not harm, 
 By words intemperate, a virtuous man. 
 I pity thee! for passion sometimes sways 
 My older frame, through former uncheck d habit: 
 But when I see the havoc which it makes 
 In others, I can shun the snare accurst, 
 And nothing feel but pity. 
 
 BLAND [indignantly]. 
 
 Pity me,! [Approaches him, and speaks in an under voice, 
 
 Thou canst be cool, yet, trust me, passion sw r ays thee. 
 Fear does not warm the blood, yet t is a passion. 
 Hast thou no feeling? I have call d thee liar! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 If thou could st make me one, I then might grieve. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Thy coolness goes to freezing: thou rt a coward. 
 
 JM DONALD. 
 Thou knowest thou tell st a falsehood. 
 
 
Andre 547 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Thou shalt know 
 
 None with impunity speaks thus of me. 
 That to rouse thy courage. [Touches him gently, with his open 
 
 hand, in crossing him. M DONALD looks at him unmoved.] 
 
 Dost thou not yet feel? 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 For thee I feel. And tho another s acts 
 Cast no dishonour on the worthy man, 
 I still feel for thy father. Yet, remember, 
 I may not, haply, ever be thus guarded ; 
 I may not always the distinction make. 
 However just, between the blow intended 
 To provoke, and one that s meant to injure. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Hast thou no sense of honour? 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Truly, yes: 
 
 For I am honour s votary. Honour, with me, 
 Is worth: t is truth; t is virtue; t is a thing, 
 So high pre-eminent, that a boy s breath, " 
 
 Or brute s, or madman s blow, can never reach it. 
 My honour is so much, so truly mine, 
 That none hath power to wound it, save myself. 
 
 BLAND. 
 I will proclaim thee through the camp a coward. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 Think better of it! Proclaim not thine own shame. 
 
 BLAND. 
 I ll brand thee Damnation! [Exit. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 O, passion, passion! 
 
 A man who values fame, far more than life; 
 A brave young man; in many things a good; 
 Utters vile falsehood; adds injury to insult; 
 Striving with blood to seal such foul injustice; 
 
548 Representative Plays 
 
 And all from impulse of unbridled feeling. [Pause. 
 
 Here comes the mother of this headstrong boy, 
 Severely rack d What shall allay her torture? 
 For common consolation, here, is insult. 
 
 Enter MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 my good friend! 
 
 M DONALD [taking her hand]. 
 
 I know thy cause of sorrow. 
 Art thou now from our Commander? 
 
 MRS. BLAND [drying her tears, and assuming dignity]. 
 
 I am. 
 
 But vain is my entreaty. All unmov d 
 He hears my words, he sees my desperate sorrow. 
 Fain would I blame his conduct but I cannot. 
 Strictly examin d, with intent to mark 
 The error which so fatal proves to me, 
 My scrutiny but ends in admiration. 
 Thus when the prophet from the Hills of Moab, 
 Look d down upon the chosen race of heaven, 
 With fell intent to curse; ere yet he spake, 
 Truth all resistless, emanation bright 
 From great Adonai, fill d his froward mind, 
 And chang d the curses of his heart to blessings. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 Thou payest high praise to virtue. Whither now? 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 1 still must hover round this spot until 
 My doom is known. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Then to my quarters, lady, 
 
 There shall my mate give comfort and refreshment: 
 One of your sex can best your sorrows soothe. [Exctint. 
 
Andre 549 
 
 SCENE, the Prison. 
 Enter BLAND. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Where er I look cold desolation meets me. 
 My father Andre and self-condemnation! 
 Why seek I Andre now? Am / a man, 
 To soothe the sorrows of a suffering friend? 
 The weather-cock of passion ! fool inebriate ! 
 Who could with ruffian hand strive to provoke 
 Hoar wisdom to intemperance! who could lie! 
 Aye, swagger, lie, and brag! Liar! Damnation!! 
 O, let me steal away and hide my head, 
 Nor view a man, condemn d to harshest death, 
 Whose words and actions, when by mine compar d, 
 Shew white as innocence, and bright as truth. 
 I now would shun him; but that his shorten d 
 Thread of life, gives me no line to play with. 
 He comes, with smiles, and all the air of triumph; 
 While I am sinking with remorse and shame: 
 Yet he is doom d to death, and / am free! 
 
 Enter ANDRE. 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Welcome, my Bland! Cheerly, a welcome hither! 
 I feel assurance that my last request 
 Will not be slighted. Safely thy father 
 
 Shall return to thee. [Holding out a paper. ] See what employ 
 ment 
 
 For a dying man. Take thou these verses; 
 And, after my decease, send them to her 
 Whose name is woven in them ; whose image 
 Hath controul d my destiny. Such tokens 
 Are rather out of date. Fashions 
 There are in love as in all else; they change 
 As variously. A gallant Knight, erewhile, 
 Of Cceur de Lion s day, would, dying, send 
 His heart home to its mistress; degenerate 
 Soldier I, send but some blotted paper. 
 
550 Representative Plays 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 If t would not damp thy present cheerfulness, 
 I would require the meaning of thy words. 
 I ne er till now did hear of Andre s mistress. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Mine is a story of that common kind, 
 So often told, with scanty variation, 
 That the pall d ear loaths the repeated tale. 
 Each young romancer chooses for his theme 
 The woes of youthful hearts, by the cold hand 
 Of frosty Age, arm d with parental power, 
 Asunder torn. But I long since have ceas d 
 To mourn; well satisfied that she I love, 
 Happy in holy union with another, 
 Shares not my wayward fortunes. Nor would I 
 Now these tokens send, remembrance to awaken, 
 But that I know her happy: and the happy 
 Can think on misery and share it not. 
 
 BLAND [agitated]. 
 
 Some one approaches. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Why, t is near the time. 
 But tell me, Bland, say is the manner chang d? 
 
 BLAND. 
 I hope it but I yet have no assurance. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Well, well! 
 
 HONORA [without]. 
 1 must see him. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Whose voice was that? 
 My senses! Do I dream ? [Leans on BLAND. 
 
 Enter HONORA. 
 
 HONORA. 
 Where is he? 
 
Andre 551 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 T is she ! ! [Starts from BLAND 
 
 and advances towards HONORA; she rushes into his arms.] 
 
 HONORA. 
 It is enough ! He lives, and / shall save him. 
 
 [She faints in the arms of ANDR. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 She sinks assist me, Bland! O, save her, save her! 
 
 [Places her in a chair, and looks tenderly on her. 
 Yet, why should she awake from that sweet sleep! 
 Why should she open her eyes [Wildly.] to see me hung! 
 What does she here? Stand off [Tenderly.] and let her die. 
 How pale she looks! how worn that tender frame! 
 She has known sorrow! Who could injure her? 
 
 BLAND. 
 She revives Andre soft, bend her forward. 
 
 [ANDR& kneels and supports her. 
 
 HONORA. 
 Andre! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Lov d excellence! 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 Yes, it is Andre! [Rises and looks at him. 
 
 No more deceived by visionary forms, 
 By him supported [Leans on him. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Why is this? 
 
 Thou dost look pale, Honora sick and wan 
 Languid thy fainting limbs 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 All will be well. 
 
 But was it kind to leave me as thou didst ? 
 So rashly to desert thy vow-link d wife? 
 
 ANDRE. 
 When made another s both by vows and laws 
 
55 2 Representative Plays 
 
 HONOR A [quitting his support]. 
 What meanest thou? 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Didst thou not marry him? 
 
 HONOR A. 
 Marry ! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Didst thou not give thy hand away 
 From me? 
 
 HONORA. 
 O, never, never! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Not married? 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 To none but thee, and but in will to thee. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 blind, blind wretch! Thy father told me 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 Thou wast deceived. They hurried me away, 
 Spreading false rumours to remove thy love 
 [Tenderly.] Thou didst too soon believe them. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Thy father 
 
 How could I but believe Honora s father? 
 And he did tell me so. I reverenced age, 
 Yet knew, age was not virtue. I believed 
 His snowy locks, and yet they did deceive me! 
 
 1 have destroy d myself and thee! Alas! 
 Ill-fated maid! why didst thou not forget me? 
 Hast thou rude seas and hostile shores explor d 
 For this? To see my death? Witness my shame? 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 I come to bless thee, Andre; and shall do it. 
 I bear such offers from thy kind Commander, 
 As must prevail to save thee. Thus the daughter 
 May repair the ills her cruel sire inflicted. 
 My father, dying, gave me cause to think 
 
Andre 553 
 
 That arts were us d to drive thee from thy home; 
 But what those arts I knew not. An heiress left, 
 Of years mature, with power and liberty, 
 I straight resolv d to seek thee o er the seas. 
 A long-known friend who came to join her lord, 
 Yielded protection and lov d fellowship. 
 Indeed, when I did hear of thy estate 
 It almost kill d me: I was weak before 
 
 ANDRE. 
 T is I have murder d thee! 
 
 HONORA. 
 All shall be well. 
 
 Thy General heard of me, and instant form d 
 The plan of this my visit. I am strong, 
 Compar d with what I was. Hope strengthens me; 
 Nay, even solicitude supports me now; 
 And when thou shalt be safe, Ihou wilt support me. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Support thee! O heaven! What! And must I die? 
 Die! and leave her thus suffering unprotected! 
 
 Enter MELVILLE and GUARD. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 I am sorry that my duty should require 
 Service, at which my heart revolts; but, sir, 
 Our soldiers wait in arms. All is prepar d 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 To death! Impossible! Has my delay, 
 Then, murder d him? A momentary respite 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 Lady, I have no power. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Melville, my friend, 
 
 This lady bears dispatches of high import, 
 Touching this business: should they arrive too late- 
 
554 Representative Plays 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 For pity s sake, and heaven s, conduct me to him; 
 And wait the issue of our conference. 
 Oh, t would be murder of the blackest dye, 
 Sin execrable, not to break thy orders 
 Inhuman, thou art not. 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 
 Lady, thou say st true; 
 For rather would I lose my rank in arms, 
 And stand cashier d for lack of discipline, 
 Than, gain mongst military men all praise, 
 Wanting the touch of sweet humanity. 
 
 HONORA. 
 Thou grantest my request? 
 
 MELVILLE. 
 Lady, I do. 
 
 Retire ! [SOLDIERS go out. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 I know not what excuse, to martial men, 
 Thou canst advance for this; but to thy heart 
 Thou wilt need none, good Melville. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 O, Honora! 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 Cheer up, I feel assur d. Hope wings my flight, 
 To bring thee tidings of much joy to come. 
 
 [Exit HONORA, with BLAND and MELVILLE. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Eternal blessings on thee, matchless woman ! 
 If death now comes, he finds the veriest coward 
 That e er he dealt withal. I cannot think 
 Of dying. Void of fortitude, each thought 
 Clings to the world the world that holds Honora ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 End of the Fourth Act. 
 
Andre 555 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE, the Encampment. 
 Enter BLAND. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Suspense uncertainty man s bane and solace! 
 How racking now to me! My mother comes. 
 Forgive me, O my father! if in this war, 
 This wasting conflict of my wildering passions, 
 Memory of thee holds here a second place! 
 M Donald comes with her. I would not meet him: 
 Yet I will do it. Summon up some courage 
 Confess my fault, and gain, if not his love, 
 At least the approbation of my judgment. 
 
 Enter MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN with M DONALD. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Say, madam, is there no change of counsel, 
 Or new determination? * 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 Nought new, my son. 
 The tale of misery is told unheard. 
 The widow s and the orphans sighs 
 Fly up, unnoted by the eye of man, 
 And mingle, undistinguish d, with the winds. 
 My friend [To M DoNALD.], attend thy duties. I must away. 
 
 2nd CHILD. 
 
 You need not cry, Mama, the General will do it, I am sure; 
 for I saw him cry. He turn d away his head from you, but I 
 saw it. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 Poor thing! come let us home and weep. Alas! 
 I can no more, for war hath made men rocks. 
 
 [Exeunt MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Colonel, I used thee ill this morning. 
 
 
556 Representative Plays 
 
 M DONALD. 
 No! 
 Thyself thou used st most vilely, I remember. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Myself sustained the injury, most true; 
 But the intent of what I said and did 
 Was ill to thee alone: I m sorry for it. 
 Seest thou these blushes? They proceed from warmth 
 As honest as the heart of man e er felt; 
 But not with shame unmingled, while I force 
 This tongue, debased, to own, it slander d thee, 
 And utter d I could curse it utter d falsehood. 
 Howe er misled by passion, still my mind 
 Retains that sense of honest rectitude 
 Which makes the memory of an evil deed 
 A troublesome companion. I was wrong. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Why, now this glads me; for thou now art right. 
 Oh, may thy tongue, henceforward, utter nought 
 But Truth s sweet precepts, in fair Virtue s cause! 
 Give me thy hand. [Takes his hand.] Ne er may it grasp a 
 
 sword 
 But in defense of justice. 
 
 BLAND. 
 Yet, erewhile, 
 
 A few short hours scarce past, when this vile hand 
 Attempted on thee insult; and was raised 
 Against thy honour; ready to be raised 
 Against thy life. If this my deep remorse 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 No more, no more. T is past. Remember it 
 But as thou would st the action of another, 
 By thy enlighten d judgment much condemn d; 
 And serving as a beacon in the storms 
 Thy passions yet may raise. Remorse is vice : 
 Guard thee against its influence debasing. 
 Say to thyself, "I am not what I was; 
 I am not now the instrument of vice; 
 
Andre 557 
 
 I m changed; I am a man; Virtue s firm friend; 
 Sever d for ever from my former self; 
 No link, but in remembrance salutary." 
 
 BLAND. 
 [How 1 all men tower above me! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Nay, not so. 
 
 Above what once thou wast, some few do rise; 
 None above what thou art. 
 
 BLAND. 
 It shall be so. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 It is so. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Then to prove it. 
 For I must yet a trial undergo, 
 That will require a consciousness of virtue. [Exit. 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Oh, what a temper doth in man reside! 
 How capable of yet unthought perfection!] [Exit. 
 
 SCENE, the GENERAL S Quarters. 
 
 Enter GENERAL and SEWARD. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 Ask her, my friend, to send by thee her pacquets. 
 
 [Exit SEWARD. 
 
 Oh, what keen struggles must I undergo! 
 Unbless d estate! to have the power to pardon; 
 The court s stern sentence to remit; give life; 
 Feel the strong wish to use such blessed power; 
 Yet know that circumstances strong as fate 
 Forbid to obey the impulse. Oh, I feel 
 That man should never shed the blood of man! 
 
 1 Insert the lines which were substituted after the first night for the lines here 
 put in brackets. They are given in the Preface, page 509. 
 
558 Representative Plays 
 
 Enter SEWARD. 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Nought can the lovely suitor satisfy, 
 But conference with thee, and much I fear 
 Refusal would cause madness. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 Yet to admit, 
 To hear, be tortur d, and refuse at last 
 
 SEWARD. 
 
 Sure never man such spectacle of sorrow 
 Saw before. Motionless the rough-hewn soldiers 
 Silent view her, or walk aside and weep. 
 
 GENERAL [after a pause]. 
 
 Admit her. [SEWARD goes out. ] Oh, for the art, the precious art, 
 To reconcile the sufferer to his sorrows! 
 
 [HONORA rushes in, and throws herself wildly on her knees before 
 him; he endeavours to raise her. 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 Nay, nay, here is my place, or here, or lower, 
 Unless thou grant st his life. All forms away ! 
 Thus will I clasp thy knees, thus cling to thee. 
 I am his wife tis I have ruin d him 
 Oh, save him ! Give him to me ! Let us cross 
 The mighty seas, far, far ne er to offend again. 
 
 [The GENERAL turns away, and hides his eyes with his hand. 
 
 Enter SEWARD and an OFFICER. 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Seward, support her my heart is torn in twain. 
 [HONORA as if exhausted, suffers herself to be raised, and leans on 
 SEWARD. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 This moment, sir, a messenger arrived 
 With well confirm d and mournful information, 
 That gallant Hastings, by the lawless scouts 
 Of Britain taken, after cruel mockery 
 With shew of trial and condemnation, 
 On the next tree was hung. 
 
Andre 559 
 
 HONORA [wildly], 
 Oh, it is false! 
 
 GENERAL. 
 
 Why, why, my country, did I hesitate? [Exit. 
 
 [HONORA sinks, faints, and is borne off by SEWARD and OFFICER. 
 
 SCENE, the Prison. 
 ANDRE meeting BLAND. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 How speeds Honora? [Pause.] Art thou silent, Bland? 
 Why, then I know my task. The mind of man, 
 If not by vice debas d, debilitated, 
 Or by disease of body quite unton d, 
 Hath o er its thoughts a power energy divine ! 
 Of fortitude the source and every virtue 
 A godlike power, which e en o er circumstance 
 Its sov reignty exerts. Now, from my thoughts, 
 Honora! Yet she is left alone expos d 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 O, Andr, spurn me, strike me to the earth; 
 For what a wretch am I, in Andre s mind, 
 That he can think he leaves his love alone, 
 And I retaining life! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Forgive me, Bland, 
 
 My thoughts glanc d not on thee. Imagination 
 Pictur d only, then, her orphan state, helpless; 
 Her weak and grief-exhausted frame. Alas ! 
 This blow will kill her! 
 
 BLAND [kneeling]. 
 
 Here do I myself 
 
 Devote, my fortune consecrate, to thee, 
 To thy remembrance, and Honora s service ! 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Enough ! Let me not see her more nor think of her 
 Farewell! farewell, sweet image! Now for death. 
 
 
560 Representative Plays 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Yet that you shouldst the felon s fate fulfill 
 Damnation! my blood boils. Indignation 
 Makes the current of my life course wildly 
 Through its round, and maddens each emotion. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Come, come, it matters not. 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 I do remember, 
 
 When a boy, at school, in our allotted tasks, 
 We, by our puny acts, strove to portray 
 The giant thoughts of Otway. I was Pierre. 
 O, thou art Pierre s reality! a soldier, 
 On whose manly brow sits fortitude enamour d ! 
 A Mars, abhorring vice, yet doom d to die 
 A death of infamy; thy corse expos d 
 To vulgar gaze halter d distorted Oh ! ! 
 
 [Pauses, and then adds in a low, hollow voice. 
 Pierre had a friend to save him from such shame 
 And so hast thou. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 No more, as thou dost love me. 
 
 BLAND. 
 I have a sword, and arm, that never fail d me. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 Bland, such an act would justly thee involve, 
 And leave that helpless one thou sworest to guard, 
 Expos d to every ill. Oh! think not of it. 
 
 BLAND. 
 If thou wilt not my aid take it thyself. 
 
 [Draws and offers his sword. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 No, men will say that cowardice did urge me. 
 In my mind s weakness, I did wish to shun 
 That mode of death which error represented 
 Infamous: Now let me rise superior; 
 And with a fortitude too true to start 
 From mere appearances, shew your country, 
 
Andre 561 
 
 That she, in me, destroys a man who might 
 Have liv d to virtue. 
 
 BLAND [sheathing his sword]. 
 
 I will not think more of it; 
 I was again the sport of erring passion. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Go thou and guide Honora from this spot. 
 
 HONORA [entering], 
 
 Who shall oppose his wife? I will have way! 
 They, cruel, would have kept me from thee, Andre. 
 Say, am I not thy wife? Wilt thou deny me? 
 Indeed I am not dress d in bridal trim. 
 But I have travel d far: rough was the road 
 Rugged and rough that must excuse my dress. 
 [Seeing ANDRE S distress. ] Thou art not glad to see me. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 Break my heart! 
 
 HONORA. 
 Indeed, I feel not much in spirits. I wept but now. 
 
 Enter MELVILLE and GUARD. 
 
 BLAND [to MELVILLE]. 
 Say nothing. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 I am ready. 
 
 HONORA [seeing the GUARD]. 
 
 Are they here? 
 
 Here again! The same but they shall not harm me 
 I am with thee, my Andre I am safe 
 And thou art safe with me. Is it not so? 
 
 [Clinging to him. 
 
 Enter MRS. BLAND. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 Where is this lovely victim? 
 
562 Representative Plays 
 
 BLAND. 
 Thanks, my mother. 
 
 MRS. BLAND. 
 
 M Donald sent me hither. My woes are past. 
 
 Thy father, by the foe releas d, already 
 
 Is in safety. This be forgotten now; 
 
 And every thought be turn d to this sad scene. 
 
 Come, lady, home with me. 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 Go home with thee? 
 
 Art thou my Andre s mother? We will home 
 And rest, for thou art weary very weary. 
 
 [Leans on MRS. BLAND. 
 
 [ANDRE retires to the GUARD, and goes off with them, looking on her 
 to the last, and with an action of extreme tenderness takes leave 
 of her. MELVILLE and BLAND accompany him. 
 
 HONORA. 
 
 Now we will go. Come, love! Where is he? 
 All gone! I do remember I awake 
 They have him. Murder! Help! Oh, save him! save him! 
 [HONORA attempts to follow, but falls. MRS. BLAND kneels to as 
 sist her. Scene closes. 
 
 SCENE, the Encampment. 
 
 Procession to the execution of ANDRE. First enter Pioneers 
 Detachment of Infantry Military Band of Music Infantry. 
 The Music having passed off, enter ANDRE between MELVILLE 
 and AMERICAN OFFICER; they sorrowful, he cheerfully convers 
 ing as he passes over the stage. 
 
 ANDRE. 
 
 It may in me be merely prejudice, 
 The effect of young-opinion deep engraved 
 Upon the tender mind by care parental ; 
 But I must think your country has mistook 
 Her interests. Believe me, but for this I should 
 
Andre 563 
 
 Not willingly have drawn a sword against her. 
 
 [They bow their heads in silence. 
 Opinion must, nay ought, to sway our actions; 
 Therefore 
 
 Having crossed the stage, he goes out as still conversing with them. 
 
 Another detachment of Infantry, with muffled and craped drums, 
 
 close the procession: as soon as they are off 
 
 Scene draws and discovers the distant view of the Encampment. 
 Procession enters in same order as before, proceeds up the stage, 
 
 and goes off on the opposite side. 
 
 Enter M DONALD, leading BLAND, who looks wildly back. 
 
 BLAND. 
 I dare not thee resist. Yet why, O, why 
 
 Thus hurry me away- 
 
 M DONALD. 
 Would st thou behold 
 
 BLAND. 
 Oh, name it not! 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Or would st thou, by thy looks 
 And gestures wild, o erthrow that manly calmness 
 Which, or assum d or felt, so well becomes thy friend? 
 
 BLAND. 
 What means that cannon s sound? 
 
 M DONALD [after a pause}. 
 
 Signal of death 
 Appointed. Andre, thy friend, is now no more! 
 
 BLAND. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, brave spirit! 0, let my countrymen, 
 Henceforward, when the cruelties of war 
 Arise in their remembrance; when their ready 
 Speech would pour forth torrents in their foe s dispraise, 
 Think on this act accurst, and lock complaint in silence. 
 
 [BLAND throws himself on the earth. 
 
564 Representative Plays 
 
 M DONALD. 
 
 Such are the dictates of the heart, not head. 
 Oh, may the children of Columbia still 
 Be taught by every teacher of mankind, 
 Each circumstance of calculative gain, 
 Or wounded pride, which prompted our oppressors: 
 May every child be taught to lisp the tale: 
 And may, in times to come, no foreign force, 
 No European influence, tempt to misstate, 
 Or awe the tongue of eloquence to silence. 
 Still may our children s children deep abhor 
 The motives, doubly deep detest the actors; 
 Ever remembering, that the race who plan d, 
 Who acquiesced, or did the deeds abhor d, 
 Has pass d from off the earth ; and, in its stead, 
 Stand men who challenge love or detestation 
 But from their proper, individual deeds. 
 Never let memory of the sire s offence 
 Descend upon the son. 
 
 Curtain drops. 
 
THE INDIAN PRINCESS 
 
 By J. N. BARKER 
 
JAMES NELSON BARKER 
 
 (1784-1858) 
 
 In a letter written to William Dunlap, from Philadelphia, on 
 June 10, 1832, James Nelson Barker very naively and very fully 
 outlined his career, inasmuch as he had been informed by 
 Manager Wood that Mr. Dunlap wished such an account for his 
 "History of the American Stage." 
 
 From this account, we learn that whatever dramatic ability 
 Mr. Barker possessed came from the enthusiasm created within 
 him as a reader of wide range. For example, in 1804, he became 
 the author of a one-act piece, entitled "Spanish Rover," fur 
 nished in plot by Cervantes. In 1805, he wrote what he describes 
 as a Masque, entitled "America," in which poetic dialogue 
 afforded America, Science and Liberty the opportunity of singing 
 in unison. He confesses that this Masque was "to close a drama 
 I had projected on the adventures of Smith in Virginia, in the 
 olden time." Then followed a tragedy suggested by Gibbon, 
 entitled "Attila," but Mr. Barker had advanced only two acts 
 when news came to him that John Augustus Stone was at work 
 on a play of the same kind. 
 
 In his letter to Dunlap, Mr. Barker deplored this coincidence, 
 which put a stop to "Attila." "But have you never yourself 
 been the victim of these odd coincidences, and, just as you had 
 fixed upon a subject or a title, found yourself superseded a 
 thing next in atrocity to the ancients stealing all one s fine 
 thoughts. My comedy of Tears and Smiles was to be called 
 Name it Yourself, when out comes a Name it Yourself, in 
 England, and out comes too a Smiles and Tears, with a widow, 
 an Irishman, and almost all mydramat. pers. I wrote the Indian 
 Princess, and an Indian Princess appears in England. Looking 
 over the old English dramatists, I am struck with the Damon 
 and Pythias of Edwards as a subject, but am scarcely set down 
 to it, when lo, the modern play in London; and what is worse, 
 with the fine part of Pythias absolutely transformed into a 
 snivelling fellow, who bellows like a calf at the prospect of dying 
 for his friend. Wallace was purloined from me in like manner, 
 
568 Representative Plays 
 
 and several other heroes: at length I fix upon Epaminondas , as 
 a learned Theban of so philosophical a cast of character, that 
 even the French had not thought of him for the boards. I form 
 my plot, and begin con amore, when I am told that Dr. Bird has 
 written a Pelopidas and an Epaminondas, comprehending the 
 whole life of the latter." 
 
 Then, having finished with his diatribe against coincidence 
 a diatribe which excellently well shows the channels in which 
 Barker s literary mind ran, and likewise the closeness with which 
 he followed the literary activity of the period among his asso 
 ciates, he continued in his narrative to Dunlap: 
 
 " Tears and Smiles was written between May I and June 
 12, of 1806, with the character of a Yankee intended for Jefferson. 
 By the way, such a Yankee as I drew!" he writes. "I wonder 
 what Hackett would say to it! The truth is, I had never even 
 seen a Yankee at the time." 
 
 Then, in view of Barker s political tastes which, in consider 
 ation of the dramatists of those days, one must always take into 
 account, he wrote a piece called "The Embargo; or, What 
 News?" borrowed from Murphy s "Upholsterer," and produced 
 on March 16, 1808. 
 
 Between this play and 1809, "The Indian Princess" was 
 written, and what Barker has to say about it will be quoted in 
 its proper place. 
 
 Right now, we are letting him enumerate his own literary 
 activities, which were many and continuous. 
 
 In 1809, he Americanized Cherry s "Travellers," a dramatic 
 method which has long been in vogue between America and 
 England, and has, in many respects, spoiled many American 
 comedies for English consumption. 
 
 In 1812, at the request of Manager Wood, Mr. Barker made a 
 dramatization of Scott s "Marmion," and, strange to say, it was 
 announced as being written by Thomas Morton, Esq. 
 
 "This was audacious enough in all conscience," says Mr. 
 Barker, "but the finesse was successful, and a play most probably 
 otherwise destined to neglect, ran like wild fire through all our 
 theatres." On March 24, 1817, there was acted in Philadelphia, 
 Barker s "The Armourer s Escape; or, Three Years at Nootka 
 Sound," described by Mr. Barker as a melodramatic sketch, 
 founded on the adventures of John Jewett, the armourer of the 
 ship Boston, in which Jewett himself assumed the hero s role. 
 
The Indian Princess 569 
 
 This same year he likewise wrote "How to Try a Lover," sug 
 gested by Le Brun s novel. Finally, in 1824, on March 12, there 
 was performed "Superstition," a five-act drama. This closed 
 the account that Barker sent to Dunlap. 
 
 We see from it a number of things relative to placing Barker 
 as a literary personage. First, his interest in literature made 
 him draw from all sources, combining Scott with Holinshed, 
 and turning, as was the wont of the cultivated American of that 
 day, to the romantic literatures of the past. Secondly, Barker s 
 interest in Colonial History was manifest by his return, time and 
 time again, to Colonial records for dramatic material. Further 
 more, as a participant in the political disputes of his day, it 
 would have been a surprise had Barker not directed his pen to 
 some reflection of the discussions of the period. 
 
 James Nelson Barker was the son of the Honourable John 
 Barker, one-time Mayor of Philadelphia, and ex-Revolutionary 
 soldier. He was born in that city on June 17, 1784. 
 
 His education was received in Philadelphia, and he must have 
 entered the literary and political arenas at an early age. After 
 the fashion of the day, he was trained in the old-time courtesy 
 and in the old-time manner of defending one s honour with the 
 sword, for it is recorded that he was once severely wounded in 
 a duel. 
 
 At the outbreak of the War of 1812, he received a commission, 
 fighting mostly on the Canadian frontier, and winning distinction 
 as a Captain of Artillery. After the close of the War, he was 
 supported by the Democratic Party, and elected Mayor of the 
 City of Philadelphia. Later, he upheld "Old Hickory" for the 
 Presidency, and, after filling the position of the Collector of the 
 Port of Philadelphia from 1829-1838, on the election of Van 
 Buren to the presidency, he was appointed First Controller of 
 the Treasury, and moved to Washington. From that time on, 
 he was connected with the highest offices in the department. 
 His pen was continually dedicated to the support of Democracy, 
 and, during the years from 1832-1836, he figured as a contributor 
 to many papers of the time on political topics. He lived until 
 March 9, 1858. 
 
 I have selected his play, "The Indian Princess," l as an example 
 
 1 The/Indian Princess ;/or,/La Belle Sauvage./An Operatic Melo-Drame./In Three 
 Acts./Performed at the Theatres Philadelphia and/Baltimore./By J. N. Barker./ j 
 First Acted April 6, i8o8./Philadelphia,/Printed by T. & G. Palmer,/For G. E. [ 
 Blake, No. r, South Third-Street./i8o8./ 
 
570 Representative Plays 
 
 of the numberless dramas that grew up around the character of 
 Pocahontas. The reader will find it particularly of interest to 
 contrast with this piece G. W. P. Custis s "Pocahontas; or, The 
 Settlers of Virginia" (1830), and John Brougham s burlesque, 
 "Po-ca-hon-tas; or, The Gentle Savage." 
 
 The Indian Drama, in America, is a subject well worth careful 
 attention. There are numberless plays mentioned by Laurence 
 Hutton in his "Curiosities of the American Stage" which, though 
 interesting as titles, have not been located as far as manuscripts 
 are concerned. 
 
 Barker s "The Indian Princess" is one of the earliest that deal 
 with the character of Pocahontas. The subject has been inter 
 estingly treated in an article by Mr. E. J. Streubel (The Colon 
 nade, New York University, September, 1915). 
 
 Barker had originally intended his play, "The Indian Princess," 
 to be a legitimate drama, instead of which, when it was first 
 produced, it formed the libretto for the music by a man named 
 John Bray, of the New Theatre. In his letter to Dunlap, he says: 
 
 " The Indian Princess, in three acts . . . begun some time 
 before, was taken up in 1808, at the request of Bray, and worked 
 up into an opera, the music to which he composed. It was first 
 performed for his benefit on the 6th of April, 1808, to a crowded 
 house; but Webster, particularly obnoxious, at that period, to 
 a large party, having a part in it, a tremendous tumult took 
 place, and it was scarcely heard. I was on the stage, and directed 
 the curtain to be dropped. It has since been frequently acted in, 
 I believe, all the theatres of the United States. A few years 
 since, I observed, in an English magazine, a critique on a drama 
 called Pocahontas; or, the Indian Princess, produced at Drury 
 Lane. From the sketch given, this piece differs essentially from 
 mine in the plan and arrangement; and yet, according to the 
 critic, they were indebted for this very stupid production to 
 America, where it is a great favourite, and is to be found in all 
 the printed collections of stock plays. The copyright of the 
 Indian Princess was also given to Blake, and transferred to 
 Longworth. It was printed in 1808 or 1809. George Washington 
 Custis, of Arlington, has, I am told, written a drama on the same 
 subject." 
 
 An account of the riot is to be found in Durang s "History of 
 the Philadelphia Stage," and the reader, in order to gain some 
 knowledge of the popularity of "The Indian Princess," may 
 
The Indian Princess 571 
 
 likewise obtain interesting material in Manager Wood s "Diary," 
 the manuscript of which is now in possession of the University 
 of Pennsylvania. When the play was given in Philadelphia, the 
 advertisement announced, "The principal materials forming this 
 dramatic trifle are extracted from the General History of Virginia, 
 written by Captain Smith, and printed London, folio, 1624; and 
 as close an adherence to historic truth has been preserved as 
 dramatic rules would allow of." 
 
 It was given its first New York production at the Park Theatre 
 on June 14, 1808. 
 
 1 
 
THE 
 
 INDIAN PRINCESS 
 
 OB, 
 
 LA BELLE SAUFAGE. 
 
 AN OPERATIC MELO-DRAME. 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES PHILADELPHIA. AND 
 BALTIMORE. 
 
 BY J. N. BARKER. 
 
 FIRST ACTED APRIL 6, 1808. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 PRINTED BY T. & G. PALMER, 
 FOR G. "E. BLAKE, KO. 1, SOUTH THIRD-STREET, 
 
 1808. 
 
 FAC -SIMILE TITLE-PAGE TO THE 1808 EDITION 
 
PREFACE 
 
 While I am proud to acknowledge my grateful sense of those 
 flattering marks of liberal kindness with which my dramatic 
 entree has been greeted by an indulgent audience, I feel so fully 
 conscious of the very humble merit of this little piece, that per 
 haps nothing but the peculiar circumstances under which it was 
 acted should have induced me to publish it. In sending it tcT| 
 the press I am perfectly apprized of the probability that it goes 
 only to add one more to the list of those unfortunate children 
 of the American drama, who, in the brief space that lies between 
 their birth and death, are doomed to wander, without house or 
 home, unknown and unregarded, or who, if heeded at all, are 
 only picked up by some critic beadle to receive the usual treat 
 ment of vagrants. Indeed, were I disposed to draw comfort 
 from the misfortunes of others, I might make myself happy 
 with the reflection, that however my vagabond might deserve 
 the lash, it would receive no more punishment than those who 
 deserved none at all; for the gentlemen castigators seldom take 
 the pains to distinguish Innocence from Guilt, but most liberally 
 bestow their stripes on all poor wanderers who are unhappily of 
 American parentage. Far, however, from rejoicing at this 
 circumstance, I sincerely deplore it. In all ages, and in every 
 country, even the sturdiest offspring of genius have felt the 
 necessity and received the aid of a protecting hand of favour to 
 support and guide their first trembling and devious footsteps; 
 it is not, therefore, wonderful, that here, where every art is yet 
 but in its infancy, the youthful exertions of dramatic poetry, 
 unaided and unsupported, should fail, and that its imbecile 
 efforts should for ever cease with the failure; that chilled by 
 total neglect, or chid with undeserved severity; depressed by 
 ridicule, starved by envy, and stricken to the earth by malevo 
 lence, the poor orphan, heartless and spirit-broken, should pine 
 away a short and sickly life. I am not, I believe, quite coxcomb 
 enough to advance the most distant hint that the child of my 
 brain deserves a better fate; that it may meet with it I might, 
 however, be indulged in hoping, under the profession that the 
 
Representative Plays 
 
 hope proceeds from considerations distinct from either it or 
 myself. Dramatic genius, with genius of every other kind, is 
 assuredly native of our soil, and there wants but the wholesome 
 and kindly breath of favour to invigourate its delicate frame, and 
 bid it rapidly arise from its cradle to blooming maturity. But 
 alas! poor weak ones! what a climate are ye doomed to draw 
 your first breath in! the teeming press has scarcely ceased 
 groaning at your delivery, ere you are suffocated with the stag 
 nant atmosphere of entire apathy, or swept out of existence by 
 
 [ the hurricane of unsparing, indiscriminating censure! 
 
 Good reader, I begin to suspect that I have held you long 
 
 enough by the button. Yet, maugre my terror of being tiresome, 
 and in despite of my clear anticipation of the severe puns which 
 will be made in this punning city, on my childish preface, I must 
 push my allusion a little further, to deprecate the wrath of 
 the critics, and arouse the sympathies of the ladies. Then, O 
 ye sage censors! ye goody gossips at poetic births! I vehemently 
 importune ye to be convinced, that for my bantling I desire 
 neither rattle nor bells; neither the lullaby of praise, nor the 
 pap of patronage, nor the hobby-horse of honour. Tis a plain- 
 palated, home-bred, and I may add independent urchin, who 
 laughs at sugar plums, and from its little heart disdains gilded 
 gingerbread. If you like it so; if not why so; yet, without 
 being mischievous, it would fain be amusing; therefore, if its 
 gambols be pleasant, and your gravities permit, laugh; if not, 
 e en turn aside your heads, and let the wanton youngling laugh 
 by itself. If it speak like a sensible child, prithee, pat its cheek, 
 and say so; but if it be ridiculous when it would be serious, 
 smile, and permit the foolish attempt to pass. But do not, O 
 goody critic, apply the birch, because its unpractised tongue 
 cannot lisp the language of Shakspeare, nor be very much 
 enraged, if you find it has to creep before it can possibly walk. 
 To your bosoms, ladies, sweet ladies! the little stranger flies 
 with confidence for protection; shield it, I pray you, from the 
 iron rod of rigour, and scold it yourselves, as much as you will, 
 for on your smooth and polished brows it can never read wrinkled 
 cruelty; the mild anger of your eyes will not blast it like the 
 fierce scowl of the critic; the chidings of your voice will be 
 soothing music to it, and it will discover the dimple of kindness 
 in your very frowns. Caresses it does not ask; its modesty 
 would shrink from that it thought it deserved not; but if its 
 
The Indian Princess 577 
 
 faults be infantile, its punishment should be gentle, and from 
 you, dear ladies, correction would be as thrillingly sweet as that 
 the little Jean Jacques received from the fair hand of 
 Mademoiselle Lambercier. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 The principal materials that form this dramatic trifle are 
 extracted from the General History of Virginia, written by 
 Captain Smith, and printed London, folio, 1624; and as close 
 an adherence to historic truth has been preserved as dramatic 
 rules would allow of. The music 1 was furnished by Mr. John 
 Bray, of the New Theatre. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 EUROPEANS. 
 
 DELAWAR, Mr. Warren. 
 
 CAPTAIN SMITH, Mr. Rutherford. 
 
 LIEUTENANT ROLFE, Mr. Wood. 
 
 PERCY, Mr. Charnock. 
 
 WALTER, Mr. Bray. 
 
 LARRY, Mr. Webster. 
 
 ROBIN, Mr. Jefferson. 
 
 TALMAN, Mr. Durang. 
 
 GERALDINE, Mrs. Francis. 
 
 KATE, Miss Hunt. 
 
 ALICE, Mrs. Mills. 
 
 SOLDIERS and ADVENTURERS. 
 
 VIRGINIANS. 
 
 POWHATAN, king, Mr. Serson. 
 
 NANTAQUAS, his son, Mr. Cone. 
 
 MIAMI, a prince, Mr. Mills. 
 
 GRIMOSCO, a priest, Mr. Cross. 
 
 POCAHONTAS, the princess, Mrs. Wilmot. 
 
 NIMA, her attendant, Miss Mullen. 
 
 WARRIORS and INDIAN GIRLS. 
 
 SCENE, Virginia. 
 
 i The music is now published and sold by Mr. G. E. Blake, No. i, South Third- 
 street, Philadelphia. 
 
THE INDIAN PRINCESS 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Powhatan River; wild and picturesque. Ships appear. 
 Barges approach the shore, from which land SMITH, ROLFE, 
 PERCY, WALTER, LARRY, ROBIN, ALICE, &c. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Jolly comrades, raise the glee, 
 Chorus it right cheerily; 
 For the tempest s roar is heard no more, 
 And gaily we tread the wish d-for shore: 
 
 Then raise the glee merrily, 
 
 Chorus it cheerily, 
 For past are the perils of the blustering sea. 
 
 SMITH. Once more, my bold associates, welcome. Mark 
 What cheery aspects look upon our landing: 
 The face of Nature dimples o er with smiles, 
 The heav ns are cloudless, whiles the princely sun, 
 As glad to greet us in his fair domain, 
 Gives us gay salutation 
 
 LARRY. [To WALTER.] By St. Patrick 
 
 His fiery majesty does give warm welcome. 
 Arrah ! his gracious smiles are melting 
 
 WALTER. Plague ! 
 
 He burthens us with favours till we sweat. 
 
 SMITH. What think ye, Percy, Rolfe, have we not found 
 Sir Walter Raleigh faithful in his tale? 
 Is t not a goodly land? Along the bay, 
 How gay and lovely lie its skirting shores, 
 Fring d with the summer s rich embroidery! 
 
 PERCY. Believe me, sir, I ne er beheld that spot 
 Where Nature holds more sweet varieties. 
 
 SMITH. The gale was kind that blew us hitherward. 
 This noble bay were undiscover d still, 
 Had not that storm arose propitious, 
 
580 Representative Plays 
 
 And, like the ever kindly breath of heav n, 
 Which sometimes rides upon the tempest s wing, 
 Driv n us to happiest destinies, e en then 
 When most we fear d destruction from the blast. 
 
 ROLFE. Let our dull, sluggish countrymen at home 
 Still creep around their little isle of fogs, 
 Drink its dank vapours, and then hang themselves. 
 In this free atmosphere and ample range 
 The bosom can dilate, the pulses play, 
 And man, erect, can walk a manly round. 
 
 ROBIN. [Aside. ] Aye, and be scalp d and roasted by the Indians. 
 
 SMITH. Now, gallant cavalier adventurers, 
 On this our landing spot we ll rear a town 
 Shall bear our good king s name to after-time, 
 And yours along with it; for ye are men 
 Well worth the handing down; whose paged names 
 Will not disgrace posterity to read: 
 Men born for acts of hardihood and valour, 
 Whose stirring spirits scorn d to lie inert, 
 Base atoms in the mass of population 
 That rots in stagnant Europe^ Ye are men 
 Who a high wealth and fame will bravely win, 
 And wear full worthily. I still shall be 
 The foremost in all troubles, toil, and danger, 
 Your leader and your captain, nought exacting 
 Save strict obedience to the watchful care 
 Which points to your own good : be wary then, 
 And let not any mutinous hand unravel 
 Our close knit compact. Union is its strength : 
 Be that remember d ever. Gallant gentlemen, 
 We have a noble stage, on which to act 
 A noble drama; let us then sustain 
 Our sev ral parts with credit and with honour. 
 Now, sturdy comrades, cheerly to our tasks! 
 
 [Exeunt SMITH, ROLFE, &c. 
 
 SCENE II. A grove. 
 
 Enter WALTER and LARRY. 
 
 LARRY. Now by the black eyes of my Katy, but that master 
 of yours and captain of mine is a prince! 
 
The Indian Princess 581 
 
 WALTER. Tut, you hav n t seen an inch yet of the whole hero. 
 Had you followed him as I have, from a knee-high urchin, you d 
 confess that there never was soldier fit to cry comrade to him. 
 O! twould have made your blood frisk in your veins to have 
 seen him in Turkey and Tartary, when he made the clumsy 
 infidels dance to the music of his broad sword ! 
 
 LARRY. Troth now, the mussulmans may have been mightily 
 amused by the caper; but for my part I should modestly prefer 
 skipping to the simple jig of an Irish bag-pipe. 
 
 WALTER. Then he had the prettiest mode of forming their 
 manners 
 
 LARRY. Arrah, how might that be? 
 
 WALTER. For example: whenever they were so ill-bred as to 
 appear with their turbans on before him, he uses me this keen 
 argument to convince them they shewed discourtesy. He whips 
 me out his sword, and knocks their turbans off 
 
 LARRY. Knocks their turbans off? 
 
 WALTER. Aye, egad, and their heads to boot. 
 
 LARRY. A dev lish cutting way of reasoning indeed; that 
 argument cou dn t be answered asily. 
 
 WALTER. Devil a tongue ever wagg d in replication, Larry. 
 Ah! my fairy of felicity my mouthful of melody my wife 
 
 Enter ALICE. 
 
 Well, Alice, we are now in the wilds of Virginia, and, tell me 
 truly, doesn t repent following me over the ocean, wench? wilt 
 be content in these wild woods, with only a little husband, and 
 a great deal of love, pretty Alice? 
 
 ALICE. Can you ask that? are not all places alike if you are 
 with me, Walter? 
 
 Song. ALICE. 
 
 In this wild wood will I range; 
 
 Listen, listen, dear! 
 Nor sigh for towns so fine, to change 
 
 This forest drear. 
 Toils and dangers I ll despise, 
 
 Never, never weary ; 
 And be, while love is in thine eyes, 
 
 Ever cheery. 
 
582 Representative Plays 
 
 Ah! what to me were cities gay; 
 
 Listen, listen, dear! 
 If from me thou wert away, 
 
 Alas! how drear! 
 Oh! still o er sea, o er land I ll rove, 
 
 Never, never weary; 
 And follow on where leads my love, 
 
 Ever cheery. 
 
 LARRY. Och ! the creature ! 
 
 WALTER. Let my lips tell thee what my tongue cannot. [Kiss. 
 
 LARRY. Aye, do, do stop her mellifluous mouth; for the little 
 nightingale warbles so like my Kate, she makes me sigh for Balli- 
 namone; ah! just so would the constant creature carol all day 
 about, roving through the seas and over the woods. 
 
 Enter ROBIN. 
 
 ROBIN. Master Walter, the captain is a going to explore the 
 country, and you must along. 
 
 WALTER. That s our fine captain, always stirring. 
 
 ROBIN. Plague on his industry! would you think it, we are 
 all incontinently to fall a chopping down trees, and building our 
 own houses, like the beavers. 
 
 LARRY. Well, sure, that s the fashionable mode of paying 
 rent in this country. 
 
 ALICE. O, Walter, these merciless savages! I sha n t be merry 
 till you return 
 
 ROBIN. I warrant ye, mistress Alice Lord love you I shall 
 be here. 
 
 WALTER. Cheerly, girl; our captain will make the red rogues 
 scamper like so many dun deer. Savages, quotha! at sight of 
 him, their copper skins will turn pale as silver, with the very 
 alchemy of fear. Come, a few kisses, en passant, and then away ! 
 cheerly, my dainty Alice. [Exeunt WALTER and ALICE. 
 
 ROBIN. Aye, go your ways, master Walter, and when you are 
 gone 
 
 LARRY. What then! I suppose you ll be after talking nonsense 
 to his wife. But if ever I catch you saying your silly things 
 
 ROBIN. Mum, Lord love you, how can you think it? But 
 hark ye, master Larry, in this same drama that our captain 
 spoke of, you and I act parts, do we not? 
 
The Indian Princess 583 
 
 LARRY. Arrah, to be sure, we are men of parts. 
 
 ROBIN. Shall I tell you in earnest what we play in this merry 
 comedy? 
 
 LARRY. Be doing it. 
 
 ROBIN. Then we play the parts of two fools, look you, to 
 part with all at home, and come to these savage parts, where, 
 Heaven shield us, our heads may be parted from our bodies. 
 Think what a catastrophe, master Larry ! 
 
 LARRY. So the merry comedy ends a doleful tragedy, and 
 exit fool in the character of a hero! That s glory, sirrah, a very 
 feather in our cap. 
 
 ROBIN. A light gain to weigh against the heavy loss of one s 
 head. Feather quotha! what use of a plumed hat without a 
 head to wear it withal? 
 
 LARRY. Tut, man, our captain will lead us through all dangers. 
 
 ROBIN. Will he? an he catch me following him through 
 these same dangers 
 
 LARRY. Och, you spalpeen! I mean he ll lead us out of peril. 
 
 ROBIN. Thank him for nothing; for I ve predetermined, look 
 you, not to be led into peril. Oh, master Larry, what a plague 
 had I to do to leave my snug cot and my brown lass, to follow 
 master Rolfe to this devil of a country, where there s never a 
 girl nor a house ! 
 
 LARRY. Out, you driveller! didn t I leave as neat a black-ey d 
 girl, and as pretty a prolific potato-patch all in tears 
 
 ROBIN Your potato-patch in tears! that s a bull, master 
 Larry 
 
 LARRY. You re a calf, master Robin. Wasn t it raining? 
 Och, I shall never forget it; the thunder rolling, and her tongue 
 a-going, and her tears and (the rain; och, bother, but it was a 
 dismal morning! 
 
 Song LARRY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Och ! dismal and dark was the day, to be sure, 
 When Larry took leave of sweet Katy Maclure; 
 And clouds dark as pitch hung just like a black lace 
 O er the sweet face of Heav n and my Katy s sweet face. 
 Then, while the wind blow d, and she sigh d might and main, 
 Drops from the black skies 
 Fell and from her black eyes; 
 Och! how I was soak d with her tears and the rain. 
 
584 Representative Plays 
 
 [Speaks.] And then she gave me this beautiful keep-sake 
 [Shows a pair of scissors. ], which if ever I part with, may a tailor 
 clip me in two with his big shears. Och ! when Katy took you 
 in hand, how nicely did you snip and snap my bushy, carroty 
 locks; and now you re cutting the hairs of my heart to pieces, 
 you tieves you 
 
 [Sings.] Och! Hubbaboo Gramachree Hone! 
 
 II. 
 
 When I went in the garden, each bush seem d to sigh 
 Because I was going and nod me good-bye ; 
 Each stem hung its head, drooping bent like a bow, 
 With the weight of the water or else of its woe; 
 And while sorrow, or wind, laid some flat on the ground, 
 Drops of rain, or of grief, 
 Fell from every leaf, 
 Till I thought in a big show r of tears I was drown d. 
 
 [Speaks.] And then each bush and leaf seem d to sigh, and say, 
 "don t forget us, Larry." I won t, said I. "But arrah, take 
 something for remembrance," said they; and then I dug up this 
 neat jewel [Shows a potato.]-, you re a little withered to be sure, 
 but if ever I forget your respectable family, or your delightful 
 dwelling place may I never again see any of your beautiful 
 brothers and plump sisters! Och! my darling, if you had come 
 hot from the hand of Katy, how my mouth would have watered 
 at ye; now, you divil, you bring the water into my eyes. 
 
 [Sings.] Och! Hubbaboo Gramachree Hone! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Werocomoco, the royal village of POWHATAN. INDIAN 
 GIRLS arranging ornaments for a bridal dress. Music. 
 
 NIMA. Let us make haste, my companions, to finish the dress 
 of the bride; to-day the prince Miami returns with our hunters 
 from the chase; to-morrow he will bear away our princess to 
 his own nation. 
 
 Enter POCAHONTAS from the wood, with bow and arrow, and a 
 flamingo (red bird). Music as she enters. 
 PRINCESS. See, Nima, a flamingo. 
 
The Indian Princess 585 
 
 INDIAN GIRLS crowd around, and admire the bird. 
 PRINCESS. O Nima! I will use my bow no longer; I go out 
 to the wood, and my heart is light; but while my arrow flies, I 
 sorrow; and when the bird drops through the branches, tears 
 come into mine eyes. I will no longer use my bow. 
 
 Distant hunting-horn. Music. They place themselves in attitudes 
 
 of listening. Hunting-horn nearer. 
 
 NIMA. Tis Miami and our hunters. Princess, why are your 
 looks sad? 
 
 PRINCESS. O Nima! the prince comes to bear me far from 
 my father and my brother. I must quit for ever the companions 
 and the woods that are dear to me. Nima, the Susquehannocks"! 
 are a powerful nation, and my father would have them for his 
 friends. He gives his daughter to their prince, but his daughter! 
 trembles to look upon the fierce Miami. 
 
 Music. HUNTERS seen winding down the hills; they are met by the 
 women of the village; MIAMI approaches POCAHONTAS, and his 
 attendants lay skins at her feet. 
 
 MIAMI. Princess, behold the spoils I bring thee. Our hunters 
 are laden with the deer and the soft furred beaver. But Miami 
 scorned such prey: I watched for the mighty buffalo and the 
 shaggy bear; my club felled them to the ground, and I tore their 
 skins from their backs. The fierce carcajou had wound himself 
 around the tree, ready to dart upon the hunter; but the hunter s 
 eyes were not closed, and the carcajou quivered on the point 
 of my spear. I heard the wolf howl as he looked at the moon, 
 and the beams that feel upon his upturned face shewed my 
 tomahawk the spot it was to enter. I marked where the panther 
 had crouched, and, before he could spring, my arrow went into 
 his heart. Behold the spoil the Susquehannock brings thee! 
 
 PRINCESS. Susquehannock, thou rt a mighty hunter. Pow- 
 hatan shall praise thee for his daughter. But why returns not 
 my brother with thee? 
 
 MIAMI. Nantaquas still finds pleasure in the hunt, but the 
 soul of Miami grew weary of being away from Werocomoco, for 
 there dwelt the daughter of Powhatan. 
 
 PRINCESS. Let us go to my father. 
 
 Music. Exeunt PRINCESS and MIAMI into palace, folloiea by 
 NIMA and train; the others into their several cabins. 
 
5 86 
 
 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE IV. A Forest. SMITH enters, bewildered in its mazes. 
 Music, expressive of his situation. 
 
 SMITH. Tis all in vain ! no clue to guide my steps. 
 By this the explorers have return d despairing, 
 And left their forward leader to his fate. 
 The rashness is well punish d, that, alone, 
 Would brave the entangling mazes of these wilds. 
 The night comes on, and soon these gloomy woods 
 Will echo to the yell of savage beasts, 
 And savage men more merciless. Alas! 
 And am I, after all my golden dreams 
 Of laurel d glory, doom d in wilds to fall, 
 Ignobly and obscure, the prey of brutes? 
 Fie on these coward thoughts! this trusty sword, 
 That made the Turk and Tartar crouch beneath me, 
 Will stead me well, e en in this wilderness. 
 
 [Music. 
 
 [Music. 
 
 \Music. 
 
 O glory! thou who led st me fearless on, 
 
 W T here death stalk d grimly over slapghter d heaps, 
 
 Or drank the drowning shrieks of shipwreck d wretches, 
 
 Swell high the bosom of thy votary ! [Music. Exit SMITH 
 
 Music. A party of INDIANS enter, as following SMITH, and steal 
 cautiously after him. The Indian yell within. Music, hurried. 
 Re-enter SMITH, engaged with the INDIANS; several fall. Exeunt, 
 fighting, and enter from the opposite side the Prince NANTAQUAS, 
 who views with wonder the prowess of SMITH; when the music 
 has ceased he speaks. 
 
 Sure tis our war-god, Aresqui himself, who lays our chiefs low! 
 Now they stop; he fights no longer; he stands terrible as the 
 panther, which the fearful hunter dares not approach. Stranger, 
 brave stranger, Nantaquas must know thee! [Music. 
 
 He rushes out, and re-enters with SMITH. 
 
 PRINCE. Art thou not then a God? 
 
 SMITH. As thou art, warrior, but a man. 
 
 PRINCE. Then art thou a man like a God; thou shalt be the 
 brother of Nantaquas. Stranger, my father is king of the coun 
 try, and many nations obey him : will thou be the friend of the 
 great Powhatan? 
 
The Indian Princess 587 
 
 SMITH. Freely, prince; I left my own country to be the red 
 man s friend. 
 
 PRINCE. Wonderful man, where is thy country? 
 
 SMITH. It lies far beyond the wide water. 
 
 PRINCE. Is there then a world beyond the wide water? I 
 thought only the sun had been there: thou comest then from 
 behind the sun? 
 
 SMITH. Not so, prince. 
 
 PRINCE. Listen to me. Thy country lies beyond the wide 
 water, and from it do mine eyes behold the sun rise each morning. 
 
 SMITH. Prince, to your sight he seems to rise from thence, 
 but your eyes are deceived, they reach not over the wilderness of 
 waters. 
 
 PRINCE. Where sleeps the sun then? 
 
 SMITH. The sun never sleeps. When you see him sink behind 
 the mountains, he goes to give light to other countries, where 
 darkness flies before him, as it does here, when you behold him 
 rise in the east: thus he chases Night for ever round the world. 
 
 PRINCE. Tell me, wise stranger, how came you from your 
 country across the wide water? when our canoes venture but 
 a little from the shore, the waves never fail to swallow them up. 
 
 SMITH. Prince, the Great Spirit is the friend of the white men, 
 and they have arts which the red men know not. 
 
 PRINCE. My brother, will you teach the red men? 
 
 SMITH. I come to do it. My king is a king of a mighty nation ; 
 he is great and good : go, said he, go and make the red men wise 
 and happy. 
 
 During the latter part of the dialogue, the INDIANS had crept in, 
 still approaching till they had almost surrounded SMITH. A 
 burst of savage music. They seize and bear him off, the PRINCE 
 in vain endeavouring to prevent it. 
 
 PRINCE. Hold! the white man is the brother of your prince; 
 hold, coward warriors! [He rushes out. 
 
 SCENE V. Powhatan River, as the first scene. 
 
 Enter LARRY. 
 
 Now do I begin to suspect, what, to be sure, I ve been certain 
 of a long time, that master Robin s a little bit of a big rogue. I 
 
588 Representative Plays 
 
 just now observed him with my friend Walter s wife. Arrah! 
 here they come. By your leave, fair dealing, I ll play the eaves 
 dropper behind this tree. [Retires behind a tree. 
 
 Enter ALICE, followed by ROBIN. 
 
 ROBIN. But, mistress Alice, pretty Alice. 
 ALICE. Ugly Robin, I ll not hear a syllable. 
 ROBIN. But plague, prithee, Alice, why so coy? 
 
 Enter WALTER [observing them, stops]. 
 
 ALICE. Master Robin, if you follow me about any longer with 
 your fooleries, my Walter shall know of it. 
 
 ROBIN. A fig for Walter! is he to be mentioned the same day 
 with the dapper Robin? can Walter make sonnets and madrigals, 
 and set them, and sing them? besides, the Indians have eat him 
 by this, I hope. 
 
 WALTER. Oh, the rascal ! 
 
 ROBIN. Come, pretty one, quite alone, no one near, even that 
 blundering Irishman away. 
 
 LARRY. O you spalpeen! I ll blunder on you anon. 
 
 ROBIN. Shall we, Alice, shall we? 
 
 Quarteito. 
 
 ROBIN. Mistress Alice, say, 
 
 Walter s far away, 
 
 Pretty Alice! 
 Nay, now prithee, pray, 
 Shall we, Alice? hey! 
 Mistress Alice? 
 
 ALICE. Master Robin, nay 
 
 Prithee, go your way, 
 
 Saucy Robin! 
 If you longer stay, 
 You may rue the day, 
 Master Robin. 
 
 WALTER. [A side.] True my Alice is. 
 LARRY. [Aside.] Wat shall know of this. 
 ROBIN. [Struggling.] Pretty Alice! 
 WALTER. [Aside.] What a rascal tis! 
 LARRY. [Aside.] He ll kill poor Rob, I wis! 
 
The Indian Princess 589 
 
 ROBIN. [Struggling.] Mistress Alice, 
 
 Let me taste the bliss 
 
 [Attempts to kiss her. 
 
 ALICE. Taste the bliss of this, [Slaps his face. 
 
 Saucy Robin! 
 
 WALTER. [Advancing.] Oh, -vhat wond rous bliss! 
 
 LARRY. [Advancing.] How d ye like the kiss? 
 
 ALICE. ) 
 
 WALTER, j- Master Robin? 
 
 LARRY. J 
 
 [ROBIN steals off. 
 
 WALTER. Jackanapes ! 
 
 LARRY. Aye, hop off, cock robin! Blood and thunder now, 
 that such a sparrow should try to turn hawk, and pounce on 
 your little pullet here. 
 
 ALICE. Welcome, my bonny Walter. 
 
 WALTER. A sweet kiss, Alice, to season my bitter tidings. 
 Our captain s lost. 
 
 LARRY. \ , . 
 
 ALICE. | Lost! 
 
 WALTER. You shall hear. A league or two below this, we 
 entered a charming stream, that seemed to glide through a fairy 
 land of fertility. I must know more of this, said our captain. 
 Await my return here. So bidding us moor the pinnace in a 
 broad basin, where the Indian s arrows could reach us from 
 neither side, away he went, alone in his boat, to explore the river 
 to its head. 
 
 LARRY. Gallant soul ! 
 
 WALTER. What devil prompted us to disobey his command 
 I know not, but scarce was he out of sight, when we landed ; and 
 mark the end on t: up from their ambuscado started full three 
 hundred black fiends, with a yell that might have appalled 
 Lucifer, and whiz came a cloud of arrows about our ears. Three 
 tall fellows of ours fell: Cassen, Emery, and Robinson. Our 
 lieutenant, with Percy and myself, fought our way to the water 
 side, where, leaving our canoe as a trophy to the victors, we 
 plunged in, ducks, and, after swimming, dodging, and diving 
 like regained the pinnace that we had left like geese. 
 
 ALICE. Heaven be praised, you are safe; but our poor 
 captain 
 
590 Representative Plays 
 
 WALTER. Aye; the day passed and he returned not; we came 
 back for a reinforcement, and to-morrow we find him, or perish. 
 
 ALICE. Perish! 
 
 WALTER. Aye; shame seize the poltroon who wou dn t perish 
 in such a cause; wou dn t you, Larry? 
 
 LARRY. By Saint Patrick, it s the thing I would do, and hould 
 my head the higher for it all the days of my life after. 
 
 WALTER. But see, our lieutenant and master Percy. 
 
 Enter ROLFE and PERCY. 
 
 ROLFE. Good Walter look to the barge, see it be ready 
 By earliest dawn. 
 
 WALTER. I shall, sir. 
 
 ROLFE. And be careful, 
 
 This misadventure be not buzz d abroad, 
 Where t may breed mutiny and mischief. Say 
 We ve left the captain waiting our return, 
 Safe with the other three; meantime, choose out 
 Some certain trusty fellows, who will swear 
 Bravely to find their captain or their death. 
 
 WALTER. I ll hasten, sir, about it. 
 
 LARRY. Good lieutenant, 
 
 Shall I along? 
 
 ROLFE. In truth, brave Irishman, 
 
 We cannot have a better. Pretty Alice, 
 Will you again lose Walter for a time? 
 
 ALICE. I would I were a man, sir, then, most willingly I d lose 
 myself to do our captain service. 
 
 ROLFE. An Amazon ! 
 
 WALTER. Oh, tis a valiant dove. 
 
 LARRY. But come; Heaven and St. Patrick prosper us. 
 
 [Exeunt WALTER, LARRY, ALICE. 
 
 ROLFE. Now, my sad friend, cannot e en this arouse you? 
 Still bending with the weight of shoulder d Cupid? 
 Fie ! throw away that bauble, love, my friend : 
 That glist ning toy of listless laziness, 
 Fit only for green girls and growing boys 
 T amuse themselves withal. Can an inconstant, 
 A fickle changeling, move a man like Percy? 
 
 PERCY. Cold youth, how can you speak of that you feel not? 
 You never lov d. 
 
The Indian Princess 591 
 
 ROLFE. Hum! yes, in mine own way; 
 
 Marry, twas not with sighs and folded arms; 
 For mirth I sought in it, not misery. 
 Sir, I have ambled through all love s gradations 
 Most jollily, and seriously the whilst. 
 I have sworn oaths of love on my knee, yet laugh d not; 
 Complaints and chidings heard, but heeded not; 
 Kiss d the cheek clear from tear-drops, and yet wept not; 
 Listen d to vows of truth, which I believed not; 
 And after have been jilted 
 
 PERCY. Well! 
 
 ROLFE. And car d not. 
 
 PERCY. Call you this loving? 
 
 ROLFE. Aye, and wisely loving. 
 
 Not, sir, to have the current of one s blood 
 Froz n with a frown, and molten with a smile; 
 Make ebb and flood under a lady Luna, 
 Liker the moon in changing than in chasteness. 
 Tis not to be a courier, posting up 
 To the seventh heav n, or down to the gloomy centre, 
 On the fool s errand of a wanton pshaw! 
 Women ! they re made of whimsies and caprice, I 
 So variant and so wild, that, ty d to a God, I 
 
 They d dally with the devil for a change. I 
 
 Rather than wed a European dame, 
 I d take a squaw o the woods, and get papooses. 
 
 PERCY. If Cupid burn thee not for heresy, 
 Love is no longer catholic religion. 
 
 ROLFE. An if he do, I ll die a sturdy martyr. 
 And to the last preach to thee, pagan Percy, 
 Till I have made a convert. Answer me, 
 Is not this idol of thy heathen worship 
 That sent thee hither a despairing pilgrim ; 
 Thy goddess, Geraldine, is she not false? 
 
 PERCY. Most false! 
 
 ROLFE. For shame, then ; cease adoring her; 
 
 Untwine the twisted cable of your arms, 
 Heave from your freighted bosom all its charge, 
 In one full sigh, and puff it strongly from you; 
 Then, raising your earth-reading eyes to Heaven, 
 
59 2 Representative Plays 
 
 Laud your kind stars you were not married to her, 
 And so forget her. 
 
 PERCY. Ah ! my worthy Rolfe, 
 Tis not the hand of infant Resolution 
 Can pluck this rooted passion from my heart: 
 Yet what I can I will ; by heaven ! I will. 
 
 ROLFE. Why, cheerly said ; the baby Resolution 
 Will grow apace; time will work wonders in him. 
 
 PERCY. Did she not, after interchange of vows 
 But let the false one go, I will forget her. 
 Your hand, my friend ; now will I act the man. 
 
 ROLFE. Faith, I have seen thee do t, and burn d with shame, 
 That he who so could fight should ever sigh. 
 
 PERCY. Think st thou our captain lives? 
 
 ROLFE. Tush! he must live; 
 
 He was not born to perish so. Believe t, 
 He ll hold these dingy devils at the bay, 
 Till we come up and succour him. 
 
 PERCY. And yet 
 
 A single arm against a host alas! 
 I fear me he has fallen. 
 
 ROLFE. * Then never fell 
 
 A nobler soul, more valiant, or more worthy, 
 Or fit to govern men. If he be gone, 
 Heaven save our tottering colony from falling! 
 But see, th adventurers from their daily toil. 
 
 Enter adventurers, WALTER, LARRY, ROBIN, ALICE, &c. 
 
 WALTER. Now, gentlemen labourers, a lusty roundelay after 
 the toils of the day; and then to a sound sleep, in houses of our 
 own building. 
 
 Roundelay Chorus. 
 
 Now crimson sinks the setting sun, 
 And our tasks are fairly done. 
 Jolly comrades, home to bed, 
 Taste the sweets by labour shed; 
 Let his poppy seal your eyes, 
 Till another day arise, 
 For our tasks are fairly done, 
 As crimson sinks the setting sun. 
 
The Indian Princess 593 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Inside the palace at Werocomoco. POWHATAN in state, 
 GRIMOSCO, &c., his wives, and warriors, ranged on each side. 
 Music. 
 
 POWHATAN. My people, strange beings have appeared among 
 us; they come from the bosom of the waters, amid fire and 
 thunder; one of them has our war-god delivered into our hands: 
 behold the white being! 
 
 Music. SMITH is brought in; his appearance excites universal 
 wonder; POCAHONTAS expresses peculiar admiration. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. O Nima ! is it not a God ! 
 
 POWHATAN. Miami, though thy years are few, thou art ex 
 perienced as age; give us thy voice of counsel. 
 
 MIAMI. Brothers, this stranger is of a fearful race of beings; 
 their barren hunting grounds lie beneath the world, and they 
 have risen, in monstrous canoes, through the great water, to 
 spoil and ravish from us our fruitful inheritance. Brothers, this 
 stranger must die; six of our brethren have fall n by his hand. 
 Before we lay their bones in the narrow house, we must avenge 
 them: their unappeased spirits will not go to rest beyond the 
 mountains; they cry out for the stranger s blood. 
 
 N ANT AQUAS. Warriors, listen to my words; listen, my father, 
 while your son tells the deeds of the brave white man. I saw 
 him when 300 of our fiercest chiefs formed the warring around 
 him. But he defied their arms; he held lightning in his hand. 
 Wherever his arm fell, there sunk a warrior: as the tall tree falls, 
 blasted and riven, to the earth, when the angry Spirit darts his 
 fires through the forest. I thought him a God ; my feet grew to 
 the ground; I could not move! 
 
 POCAHONTAS. Nima, dost thou hear the words of my brother. 
 
 NANTAQUAS. The battle ceased, for courage left the bosom 
 of our warriors; their arrows rested in their quivers; their bow 
 strings no longer sounded; the tired chieftains leaned on their 
 war-clubs, and gazed at the terrible stranger, whom they dared 
 not approach. Give an ear to me, king: t was then I held out 
 the hand of peace to him, and he became my brother; he forgot 
 his arms, for he trusted to his brother; he was discoursing won 
 ders to his friend, when our chiefs rushed upon him, and bore him 
 away. But oh! my father, he must not die; for he is not a war 
 
594 Representative Plays 
 
 captive; I promised that the chain of friendship should be bright 
 between us. Chieftains, your prince must not falsify his word; 
 father, your son must not be a liar! 
 
 POCAHONTAS. Listen, warriors; listen, father; the white man 
 is my brother s brother! 
 
 GRIMOSCO. King! when last night our village shook with the 
 loud noise, it was the Great Spirit who talk d to his priest; my 
 mouth shall speak his commands: King, we must destroy the 
 strangers, for they are not our God s children; we must take 
 their scalps, and wash our hands in the white man s blood, for 
 he is an enemy to the Great Spirit. 
 
 NANT AQUAS. O priest, thou hast dreamed a false dream; 
 Miami, thou tellest the tale that is not. Hearken, my father, to 
 my true words! the white man is beloved by the Great Spirit; 
 his king is like you, my father, good and great; and he comes 
 from a land beyond the wide water, to make us wise and happy ! 
 
 POWHATAN deliberates. Music. 
 
 POWHATAN. Stranger, thou must prepare for death. Six of 
 our brethren fell by thy hand. Thou must die. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. Father, O father! 
 
 SMITH. Had not your people first beset me, king, 
 I would have prov d a friend and brother to them; 
 Arts I d have taught, that should have made them gods, 
 And gifts would I have given to your people, 
 Richer than red men ever yet beheld. 
 Think not I fear to die. Lead to the block. 
 The soul of the white warrior shall shrink not. 
 Prepare the stake ! amidst your fiercest tortures, 
 You ll find its fiery pains as nobly scorned, 
 As when the red man sings aloud his death-song. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. Oh! shall that brave man die! 
 
 Music. The KING motions with his hand, and SMITH is led to the 
 
 block. 
 
 MIAMI. [To executioners.] Warriors, when the third signal 
 strikes, sink your tomahawks in his head. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. Oh, do not, warriors, do not! Father, incline 
 your heart to mercy; he will win your battles, he will vanquish 
 your enemies! [First signal.} Brother, speak! save your brother! 
 Warriors, are you brave? preserve the brave man ! [Second signal. } 
 
The Indian Princess 595 
 
 Miami, priest, sing the song of peace; ah! strike not, hold! 
 
 mercy ! 
 
 The third signal is struck, the hatchets are lifted up: when 
 the PRINCESS, shrieking, runs distractedly to the block, and 
 presses SMITH S head to her bosom. 
 
 White man, thou shalt not die; or I will die with thee! 
 
 Music. She leads SMITH to the throne, and kneels. 
 
 My father, dost thou love thy daughter? listen to her voice; 
 look upon her tears: they ask for mercy to the captive. Is thy 
 child dear to thee, my father? Thy child will die with the white 
 man. 
 
 Plaintive music. She bows her head to his feet. POWHATAN, 
 after some deliberation, looking on his daughter with tenderness, 
 presents her with a string of white wampum. POCAHONTAS, 
 with the wildest expression of joy, rushes forward with SMITH, 
 presenting the beads of peace. 
 
 Captive ! thou art free ! 
 
 Music. General joy is diffused MIAMI and GRIMOSCO only 
 appear discontented. The prince NANTAQUAS congratulates 
 SMITH. The PRINCESS shows the most extravagant emotions 
 of rapture. 
 
 SMITH. O woman ! angel sex ! where er thou art, 
 Still art thou heavenly. The rudest clime 
 Robs not thy glowing bosom of its nature. 
 Thrice blessed lady, take a captive s thanks ! 
 
 [He bows upon her hand. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. My brother ! 
 
 [Music. SMITH expresses his gratitude. 
 
 NANTAQUAS. Father, hear the design that fills my breast. 
 I will go among the white men; I will learn their arts; and my 
 people shall be made wise and happy. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. I too will accompany my brother. 
 
 MIAMI. Princess! 
 
 POCAHONTAS. Away, cruel Miami; you would have murdered 
 my brother! 
 
596 Representative Plays 
 
 POWHATAN. Go, my son; take thy warriors, and go with 
 the white men. Daughter, I cannot lose thee from mine eyes; 
 accompany thy brother but a little on his way. Stranger, depart 
 in peace; I entrust my son to thy friendship. 
 
 SMITH. Gracious sir, 
 
 He shall return with honours and with wonders; 
 My beauteous sister! noble brother, come! 
 
 Music. Exeunt, on one side, SMITH, PRINCESS, NANTAQUAS, 
 NIMA, and train. On the other, KING, PRIEST, MIAMI, &c. The 
 two latter express angry discontent. 
 
 SCENE II. A forest. 
 
 Enter PERCY, ROLFE. 
 
 ROLFE. So far indeed tis fruitless, yet we ll on. 
 
 PERCY. Aye, to the death. 
 
 ROLFE. Brave Percy, come, confess 
 
 You have forgot your love. 
 
 PERCY. Why, faith, not quite; 
 
 Despite of me, it sometimes through my mind 
 Flits like a dark cloud o er a summer sky; 
 But passes off like that, and leaves me cloudless. 
 I can t forget that she was sweet as spring; 
 Fair as the day. 
 
 ROLFE. Aye, aye, like April weather; 
 
 Sweet, fair, and faithless. 
 
 PERCY. True alas! like April! 
 
 Song PERCY. 
 
 Fair Geraldine each charm of spring possest, 
 Her cheek glow d with the rose and lily s strife; 
 
 Her breath was perfume, and each winter d breast 
 Felt that her sunny eyes beam d light and life. 
 
 Alas! that in a form of blooming May, 
 
 The mind should April s changeful liv ry wear! 
 
 Yet ah! like April, smiling to betray, 
 Is Geraldine, as false as she is fair! 
 
The Indian Princess 597 
 
 ROLFE. Beshrew the little gipsy! let us on. 
 
 [Exeunt PERCY, ROLFE. 
 
 Enter LARRY, WALTER, ROBIN, &c. 
 
 LARRY. Go no further? Och! you hen-hearted cock robin! 
 
 ROBIN. But, master Larry 
 
 WALTER. Prithee, thou evergreen aspen leaf, thou non- 
 intermittent ague! why didst along with us? 
 
 ROBIN. Why, you know, my master Rolfe desired it; and 
 then you were always railing out on me for chicken-heartedness. 
 I came to shew ye I had valour. 
 
 WALTER. But forgetting to bring it with thee, thou wouldst 
 now back for it; well, in the name of Mars, go; return for thy 
 valour, Robin. 
 
 ROBIN. What! alone? 
 
 LARRY. Arrah! then stay here till it comes to you, and then 
 follow us. 
 
 ROBIN. Stay here! O Lord, methinks I feel an arrow sticking 
 in my gizzard already ! Hark ye, my sweet master, let us sing. 
 
 LARRY. Sing? 
 
 ROBIN. Sing; I m always valiant when I sing. Beseech you, 
 let us chaunt the glee that I dish d up for us three. 
 
 LARRY. It has a spice of your cowardly cookery in it. 
 
 WALTER. But since tis a provocative to Robin s valour 
 
 LARRY. Go to: give a lusty hem, and fall on. 
 
 Glee. 
 
 We three, adventurers be, 
 Just come from our own country; 
 We have cross d thrice a thousand ma, 
 Without a penny of money. 
 
 We three, good fellows be, 
 
 Who wou d run like the devil from Indians three; 
 
 We never admir d their bowmandry; 
 
 Oh, give us whole skins for our money. 
 
 We three, merry men be, 
 Who gaily will chaunt our ancient glee, 
 Though a lass or a glass, in this wild country, 
 Can t be had, or for love, or for money. 
 
598 Representative Plays 
 
 LARRY. Well, how do you feel? 
 
 ROBIN. As courageous as, as a 
 
 LARRY. As a wren, little Robin. Are you sure, now, you 
 won t be after fancying every deer that skips by you a divil, 
 and every bush a bear? 
 
 ROBIN. I defy the devil; but hav n t you heard, my masters, 
 how the savages go a hunting, drest out in deer-skin? How 
 could you put one in mind, master Larry? O Lord ! that I should 
 come a captain-hunting! the only game we put up is deer that 
 carry scalping knives! or if we beat the bush to start a bold 
 commander, up bolts a bloody bear! 
 
 [WALTER and LARRY exchange significant nods. 
 
 LARRY. To be sure we re in a parlous case. The forest laws 
 are dev lish severe here: an they catch us trespassing upon their 
 hunting ground, we shall pay a neat poll-tax: nothing less than 
 our heads will serve. 
 
 ROBIN. Our heads? 
 
 WALTER. Yes, faith ! they ll soon collect their capitation. 
 They wear men s heads, sir, hanging at the breast, 
 Instead of jewels; and at either ear, 
 Most commonly, a child s, by way of ear-drop. 
 
 ROBIN. Oh! curse their finery! jewels, heads, O Lord! 
 
 LARRY. Pshaw man! don t fear. Perhaps they ll only burn us. 
 What a delicate roasted Robin you wou d make! 
 Troth! they d so lick their lips! 
 
 ROBIN. A roasted robin! 
 
 WALTER. Tut! if they only burn us, twill be brave. 
 Robin shall make our death-songs. 
 
 ROBIN. Death-songs, oh! 
 
 [ROBIN stands motionless with fear. 
 
 LARRY. By the good looking right eye of Saint Patrick, 
 There s Rolfe and Percy, with a tribe of Indians. [Looking out. 
 
 ROBIN. Indians! they re pris ners, and we we re dead men! 
 
 [While WALTER and LARRY exeunt, ROBIN gets up into a tree.] 
 
 O Walter, Larry! ha! what gone, all gone! 
 Poor Robin, what is to become of thee? 
 
The Indian Princess 599 
 
 Enter SMITH, POCAHONTAS, NANTAQUAS, PERCY, ROLFE, NIMA 
 and INDIANS, LARRY and WALTER. 
 
 SMITH. At hazard of her own dear life she saved me. 
 E en the warm friendship of the prince had fail d, 
 And death, inevitable death, hung over me. 
 Oh, had you seen her fly, like Pity s herald, 
 To stay the uplifted hatchet in its flight; 
 Or heard her, as with cherub voice she pled, 
 Like Heav n s own angel-advocate, for mercy. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. My brother, speak not so. [Bashfully. 
 
 ROLFE. What gentleness! 
 
 What sweet simplicity! what angel softness! 
 
 ROLFE goes to her. She, timidly, but with evident pleasure, receives 
 his attentions. During, this scene the PRINCESS discovers~ihe 
 first advances of love in a heart of perfect simplicity. SMITH, &c., 
 converse apart. 
 
 ROBIN. [In the tree.] Egad! there s never a head hanging to 
 their ears; and their ears hang to their heads, for all the world 
 as if they were Christians; I ll venture down among them. 
 
 [Getting down. 
 
 NIMA. Ah! [Bends her bow, and is about to shoot at him. 
 
 LARRY. Arrah! my little dark Diana, choose noble game, 
 that s only little Robin. 
 
 ROBIN. Aye, bless you, I m only little Robin. [Jumps down. 
 
 NIMA examines him curiously, but fearfully. 
 
 ROBIN. Gad, she s taken with my figure; ah! there it is now; 
 a personable fellow shall have his wench any where. Yes, she s 
 admiring my figure. Well, my dusky dear, how could you like 
 such a man as I am? 
 
 NIMA. Are you a man? 
 
 ROBIN. I ll convince you of it some day. Hark ye, my dear. 
 
 [Attempts to whisper. 
 
 NIMA. Ah! don t bite. 
 
 ROBIN. Bite! what do you take me for? 
 
 NIMA. A racoon. 
 
 ROBIN. A racoon! Why so? 
 
 NIMA. You run up the tree. [Motions as if climbing. 
 
 LARRY. Well said, my little pagan Pythagoras! 
 Ha! ha! 
 
6oo Representative Plays 
 
 ROBIN. Hum! [Retires disconcerted. 
 
 ROLFE and PERCY come forward. 
 
 ROLFE. Tell me, in sooth, didst ever mark such sweetness! 
 Such winning such bewitching gentleness! 
 
 PERCY. What, caught, my flighty friend, love-lim d at last? 
 O Cupid, Cupid! thou rt a skilful birder. 
 Although thou spread thy net, i the wilderness, 
 Or shoot thy bird-bolt from an Indian bow, 
 Or place thy light in savage ladies eyes, 
 Or pipe thy call in savage ladies voices, 
 Alas! each tow ring tenant of the air 
 Must fall heart pierc d or stoop, at thy command, 
 To sigh his sad notes in thy cage, O Cupid ! 
 
 ROLFE. A truce; a truce! O friend, her guiltless breast 
 Seems Love s pavilion, where, in gentle sleep, 
 The unrous d boy has rested. O my Percy! 
 Could I but wake the slumb rer 
 
 PERCY. Nay, i faith, 
 
 Take courage; thou hast given the alarm: 
 Methinks the drowsy god gets up apace. 
 
 ROLFE. Say st thou? 
 
 SMITH. Come, gentlemen, we ll toward the town. 
 
 NANTAQUAS. My sister, you will now return to our father. 
 
 PRINCESS. Return, my brother? 
 
 NANTAQUAS. Our father lives but while you are near him. 
 Go, my sister, make him happy with the knowledge of his 
 son s happiness. Farewell, my sister! 
 
 [The PRINCESS appears dejected. 
 
 SMITH. Once more, my guardian angel, let me thank thee. 
 
 [Kissing her hand. 
 
 Ere long we will return to thee, with presents 
 Well worth a princess and a king s acceptance. 
 Meantime, dear lady, tell the good Powhatan 
 We ll show the prince such grace and entertainment, 
 As shall befit our brother and his son. 
 Adieu, sweet sister. 
 
 Music. They take leave of the PRINCESS; she remains silently 
 dejected; her eyes anxiously follow ROLFE, who lingers behind, 
 and is the last to take leave. 
 PRINCESS. Stranger, wilt thou too come to Werocomoco? 
 
 
The Indian Princess 60 1 
 
 ROLFE. Dost thou wish it, lady? 
 
 PRINCESS. [Eagerly.] O yes! 
 
 ROLFE. And why, lovely lady? 
 
 PRINCESS. My eyes are pleased to see thee, and my ears to 
 hear thee, stranger. 
 
 ROLFE. And did not the others who were here also please thy 
 sight and hearing? 
 
 PRINCESS. Oh! they were all goodly; but their eyes looked 
 not like thine; their voices sounded not like thine; and their 
 speeches were not like thy speeches, stranger. 
 
 ROLFE. Enchanting simplicity! But why call me stranger? 
 Captain Smith thou callest brother. Call me so too. 
 
 PRINCESS. Ah, no! 
 
 ROLFE. Then thou thinkest not of me as thou dost of him? 
 [She shakes her head and sighs.] Is Captain Smith dear to thee? 
 
 PRINCESS. Oh yes! very dear; [ROLFE is uneasy.] and Nanta- 
 quas too: they are my brothers; but that name is not thine 
 thou art 
 
 ROLFE. What, lovely lady? 
 
 PRINCESS. I know not; I feel the name thou art, but I cannot 
 speak it. 
 
 ROLFE. I am thy lover, dear princess. 
 
 PRINCESS. Yes, thou art my lover. But why call me princess? 
 
 ROLFE. Dear lady, thou art a king s daughter. 
 
 PRINCESS. And if I were not, what wouldst thou call me? 
 
 ROLFE. Oh ! if thou wert a beggar s, I would call thee love ! 
 
 PRINCESS. I know not what a beggar is; but oh! I would I 
 were a beggar s daughter, so thou wouldst call me love. Ah ! 
 do not longer call me king s daughter. If thou feelest the 
 name as I do, call me as I call thee: thou shalt be my lover; I 
 will be thy lover. 
 
 ROLFE. Enchanting, lovely creature ! [Kisses her ardently. 
 
 PRINCESS. Lover, thou hast made my cheek to burn, and ftiy 
 heart to beat! Mark it. 
 
 ROLFE. Dear innocence ! [Putting his hand to her heart. 
 
 PRINCESS. Lover, why is it so? To-day before my heart beat, 
 and mine eyes were full of tears; but then my white brother was 
 in danger. Thou art not in danger, and yet behold [Wipes a 
 tear from her eye.} Besides, then, my heart hurt me, but now! 
 Oh, now! Lover, why is it so? 
 
 [Leaning on him with innocent confidence. 
 
602 Representative Plays 
 
 ROLFE. Angel of purity! thou didst to-day feel pity ; and now 
 Oh, rapturous task to teach thee the difference! now, thou 
 dost feel love. 
 
 PRINCESS. Love! 
 
 ROLFE. Love: the noblest, the sweetest passion that could 
 swell thy angel bosom. 
 
 PRINCESS. Oh! I feel that tis very sweet. Lover, with thy lips 
 thou didst make me feel it. My lips shall teach thee sweet love. 
 [Kisses him, and artlessly looks up in his face; placing her .hand 
 upon his heart. ] Does thy heart beat? 
 
 ROLFE. Beat! O heaven! 
 
 [ROBIN, who had been with NIMA, comes forward. 
 
 ROBIN. Gad! we must end our amours, or we shall be left. 
 Sir, my master, hadn t we better 
 
 ROLFE. Booby! idiot! 
 
 Enter WALTER. 
 
 WALTER. Sir, lieutenant, the captain awaits your coming up. 
 
 ROLFE. I ll follow on the instant. 
 
 PRINCESS. Thou wilt not go? 
 
 ROLFE. But for a time, love. 
 
 PRINCESS. I do not wish thee to leave me. 
 
 ROLFE. I must, love; but I will return. 
 
 PRINCESS. Soon very soon? 
 
 ROLFE. Very very soon. 
 
 PRINCESS. I am not pleased now and yet my heart beats. 
 Oh, lover! 
 
 ROLFE. My angel! there shall not a sun rise and set, ere I 
 am with thee. Adieu ! thy own heavenly innocence be thy safe 
 guard. Farewell, sweet love! 
 
 Music. He embraces her and exit, followed by ROBIN and WALTER. 
 PRINCESS looks after him. A pause. 
 
 PRINCESS. O Nima! 
 
 NIMA. Princess, white men are pow-wows. The white man 
 put his lips here, and I felt something here 
 
 [Putting her hand to her heart. 
 PRINCESS. O lover! 
 
The Indian Princess 603 
 
 She runs to the place whence ROLFE went out, and gazes after him. 
 Music. Enter from opposite side, MIAMI. 
 
 MIAMI. [Sternly.] Princess! 
 
 PRINCESS. [Turning.] Ah! 
 
 MIAMI. Miami has followed thy steps. Thou art the friend 
 of the white men. 
 
 PRINCESS. Yes, for they are good and godlike. 
 
 MIAMI. Mine eyes beheld the pale youth part from you; 
 your arms were entwined, your lips were together! 
 
 [Struggling with jealousy. 
 
 PRINCESS. He is my lover; I am his lover. 
 
 [Still looking after ROLFE. 
 
 MIAMI. [Stamps with anger.] Hear me! In what do the red 
 yield to the white men? and who among the red men is like 
 Miami? While I was yet a child, did the dart which my breath 
 blew through my sarbacan ever fail to pierce the eye of the bird? 
 What youth dared, like Miami, to leap from the precipice, and 
 drag the struggling bear from the foaming torrent? Is there a 
 hunter is there a warrior skilful and brave as Miami? Come 
 to my cabin, and see the scalps and the skins that adorn it. They 
 are the trophies of the Susquehannock! 
 
 PRINCESS. Man, mine eyes will never behold thy trophies. 
 They are not pleased to look on thee. 
 
 [Averting her eyes with disgust. 
 
 MIAMI. Ha! [Pause he resumes in a softened tone.] Princess, 
 I have crossed many woods and waters, that I might bear the 
 daughter of Powhatan to my nation. Shall my people cry 
 out, with scorn, "behold! our prince returns without his bride?" 
 In what is the pale youth above the red Miami? 
 
 PRINCESS. Thine eyes are as the panther s; thy voice like the 
 voice of the wolf. Thou shouldst make my heart beat with joy; 
 and I tremble before thee. Oh no ! Powhatan shall give me to my 
 lover. I will be my lover s bride! 
 
 Music. MIAMI stamps furiously; his actions betray the most 
 savage rage of jealousy; he rushes to seize the PRINCESS, but, 
 recollecting that her attendants are by, he goes out in an agony, 
 by his gestures menacing revenge. The PRINCESS exit on the 
 opposite side, followed by train. 
 
604 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE III. Werocomoco. 
 
 Music. Enter from the palace POWHATAN and GRIMOSCO; met 
 by the PRINCESS, who runs to her father. 
 
 POWHATAN. My daughter! 
 
 PRINCESS. O father! the furious Miami! 
 
 POWHATAN. What of the prince? 
 
 PRINCESS. Father, my father! do not let the fierce prince bear 
 me to his cruel nation! 
 
 POWHATAN. How! 
 
 PRINCESS. By the spirit of my mother, I implore my father. 
 Oh! if thou deliver me to the Susquehannock, think not thine 
 eyes shall ever again behold me ; the first kind stream that crosses 
 our path shall be the end of my journey; my soul shall seek the 
 soul of the mother that loved me, far beyond the mountains. 
 
 POWHATAN. Daughter, mention not thy mother! 
 
 PRINCESS. Her shade will pity her unhappy child, and I 
 shall be at rest in her bosom. [Weeping. 
 
 POWHATAN. Rest in my bosom, my child! [She starts with 
 joyful emotion. ] Thou shalt not go from thy father. 
 
 PRINCESS. Father; dear father! [Seizing his hand. 
 
 Music. An INDIAN enters, bearing a red hatchet. 
 
 INDIAN. King! 
 
 POWHATAN. Thou art of the train of the Susquehannock: 
 speak. 
 
 INDIAN. My prince demands his bride. 
 
 [The PRINCESS clings fearfully to the KING. 
 
 POWHATAN. Tell thy prince, my daughter will not leave her 
 father. 
 
 INDIAN. Will Powhatan forget his promise to Miami? 
 
 POWHATAN. Powhatan will not forget his promise to her 
 mother; and he vowed, while the angel of death hovered over 
 her, that the eye of tender care should never be averted from her 
 darling daughter. 
 
 INDIAN. Shall not then my prince receive his bride? 
 
 POWHATAN. The daughter of Powhatan never. 
 
 INDIAN. Take then his defiance. 
 
 [Music. He presents the red hatchet. 
 
The Indian Princess 605 
 
 POWHATAN. The red hatchet! Tis well. Grimosco, summon 
 our warriors. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. king! might I 
 
 POWHATAN. Speak not. Tell our chiefs to assemble; and 
 show them the war-signal [Exit GRIMOSCO.]. Go, tell your master, 
 the great Powhatan will soon meet him, terrible as the minister 
 of vengeance. [Exit INDIAN. ] The chiefs approach. My child, 
 retire from this war scene. 
 
 PRINCESS. O dear parent! thine age should have been passed 
 in the shade of peace; and do I bring my father to the bloody 
 war-path? 
 
 POWHATAN. Not so; the young prince has often dared my 
 power, and merited my vengeance; he shall now feel both. 
 
 PRINCESS. Alas! his nation is numerous and warlike. 
 
 POWHATAN. Fear not, my child; we will call the valiant 
 Nantaquas from his brothers; the brave English too will join us. 
 
 PRINCESS. Ah ! then is thy safety and success certain. 
 
 [Exit into palace, followed by NIMA, &c. 
 
 Music. Enter GRIMOSCO and WARRIORS. 
 
 POWHATAN. Brave chieftains ! need I remind you of the vic 
 tories you have gained; the scalps you have borne from your 
 enemies? Chieftains, another victory must be won; more 
 trophies from your foes must deck your cabins; the insolent 
 Miami has braved your king, and defied him with the crimson 
 tomahawk. Warriors! we will not bury it till his nation is 
 extinct. Ere we tread the war-path, raise to our god Aresqui the 
 song of battle, then march to triumph and to glory. 
 
 SONG TO ARESQUI. 
 
 Aresqui! Aresqui! 
 Lo! thy sons for war prepare! 
 Snakes adorn each painted head, 
 While the cheek of flaming red 
 Gives the eye its ghastly glare. 
 
 Aresqui! Aresqui! 
 Through the war-path lead aright, 
 Lo! we re ready for the fight. 
 
6o6 Representative Plays 
 
 War Song. 
 
 FIRST INDIAN. See the cautious warrior creeping! 
 SECOND INDIAN. See the tree-hid warrior peeping! 
 FIRST INDIAN. Mark! Mark! 
 
 Their track is here; now breathless go! 
 SECOND INDIAN. Hark! Hark! 
 
 The branches rustle tis the foe! 
 CHORUS. Now we bid the arrow fly 
 
 Now we raise the hatchet high. 
 
 Where is urg d the deadly dart, 
 
 There is pierced a chieftain s heart; 
 
 Where the war-club swift descends, 
 
 A hero s race of glory ends ! 
 FIRST INDIAN. In vain the warrior flies 
 
 From his brow the scalp we tear. 
 SECOND INDIAN. Or home the captiv d prize, 
 
 A stake-devoted victim, bear. 
 FIRST AND SECOND INDIAN. The victors advance 
 
 And while amidst the curling blaze, 
 
 Our foe his death-song tries to raise 
 Dance the warriors dance. 
 
 [War-dance. 
 GRAND CHORUS. Aresqui ! Aresqui ! 
 
 Through the war-path lead aright 
 
 Lo! we re ready for the fight. 
 
 [March to battle. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Jamestown built. 
 
 WALTER and ALICE. 
 
 WALTER. One mouthful more. [Kiss. ] Oh ! after a long lent 
 of absence, what a charming relish is a kiss, served from the lips 
 of a pretty wife, to a hungry husband. 
 
 ALICE. And, believe me, I banquet at the high festival of 
 return with equal pleasure. But what has made your absence 
 so tedious, prithee? 
 
 WALTER. Marry, girl, thus it was: when we had given the 
 enemies of our ally, Powhatan, defeature, and sent the rough 
 
The Indian Princess 607 
 
 Miami in chains to Werocomoco, our captain dispatches his 
 lieutenant, Rolfe, to supply his place, here, in the town; and 
 leading us to the water s edge, and leaping into the pinnace, 
 away went we on a voyage of discovery. Some thousand miles 
 we sailed, and many strange nations discovered; and for our 
 exploits, if posterity reward us not, there is no faith in history. 
 
 ALICE. And what were your exploits? 
 
 WALTER. Rare ones, egad ! 
 
 We took the devil, Okee, prisoner. 
 
 ALICE. And have you brought him hither? 
 
 WALTER. No: his vot ries 
 
 Redeem d him with some score or two of deer-skins. 
 Then we ve made thirty kings our tributaries: 
 Such sturdy rogues, that each could easily 
 Fillip a buffalo to death with s finger. 
 
 ALICE. But have you got their treasures? 
 
 WALTER. . All, my girl. 
 
 Imperial robes of raccoon, crowns of feather; 
 Besides the riches of their sev ral kingdoms 
 A full boat load of corn. 
 
 ALICE. Oh, wonderful! 
 
 WALTER. Aye, is it not? But, best of all, I ve kiss d 
 The little finger of a mighty queen. 
 Sweet soul ! among the court sies of her court, 
 She gave us a Virginian mascarado. 
 
 ALICE. Dost recollect the fashion of it? 
 
 WALTER. Oh! 
 
 Were I to live till Time were in his dotage, 
 Twould never from mine eyes. Imagine first, 
 The scene, a gloomy wood; the time, midnight; 
 Her squawship s maids of honour were the masquers; 
 Their masks were wolves heads curiously set on, 
 And, bating a small difference of hue, 
 Their dress e en such as madam Eve had on 
 Or ere she eat the apple. 
 
 ALICE. Pshaw ! 
 
 WALTER. These dresses, 
 
 All o er perfum d with the self-same pomado 
 Which our fine dames at home buy of old Bruin, 
 Glisten d most gorgeously unto the moon. 
 Thus, each a firebrand brandishing aloft, 
 
608 Representative Plays 
 
 Rush d they all forth, with shouts and frantic yells, 
 In dance grotesque and diabolical, 
 Madder than mad Bacchantes. 
 
 ALICE. O the powers! 
 
 WALTER. When they had finished the divertisement 
 A beauteous Wolf-head came to me 
 
 ALICE. To you? 
 
 WALTER. And lit me with her pine-knot torch to bedward, 
 Where, as the custom of the court it was, 
 The beauteous Wolf-head blew the flambeau out, 
 And then 
 
 ALICE. Well! 
 
 WALTER. Then, the light being out, you know, 
 To all that follow d I was in the dark. 
 Now you look grave. In faith I went to sleep. 
 Could a grim wolf rival my gentle lamb? 
 No, truly, girl : though in this wilderness 
 The trees hang full of divers colour d fruit, 
 From orange- tawny to sloe-black, egad, 
 They ll hang until they rot or ere I pluck them, 
 While I ve my melting, rosy nonpareil. [Kiss. 
 
 ALICE. Oh! you re a Judas! 
 
 WALTER. Then am I a Jew! 
 
 Enter SMITH, PERCY, NANTAQUAS, LARRY, &c. 
 
 SMITH. Yet, prince, accept at least my ardent thanks: 
 A thousand times told over, they would fail 
 To pay what you and your dear sister claim. 
 Through my long absence from my people here, 
 You have sustain d their feebleness. 
 
 NANTAQUAS. O brother, 
 
 To you, the conqueror of our father s foes; 
 To you, the sun which from our darken d minds 
 Has chas d the clouds of error, what can we 
 Not to remain your debtors? 
 
 SMITH. Gen rous soul! 
 
 Your friendship is my pride. But who knows aught 
 Of our young Rolfe? 
 
 PERCY. This morning, sir, I hear, 
 An hour ere our arrival, the lieutenant 
 Accompanied the princess to her father s. 
 
The Indian Princess 609 
 
 SMITH. Methinks our laughing friend has found at last 
 The power of sparkling eyes. What say you, prince, 
 To a brave, worthy soldier for your brother? 
 
 N ANT AQUAS. Were I to choose, I d put all other by 
 To make his path- way clear unto my sister. 
 But come, sir, shall we to my father s banquet? 
 One of my train I ve sent to give him tidings 
 Of your long-wish d for coming. 
 
 SMITH. Gentle prince, 
 
 You greet my fresh return w r ith welcome summons, 
 And I obey it cheerfully. Good Walter, 
 And, worthy sir [To LARRY.], be it your care 
 To play the queen bee here, and keep the swarm 
 Still gathering busily. Look to it well : 
 Our new-raised hive must hold no drones within it. 
 Now, forward, sirs, to Werocomoco. 
 
 [Exeunt SMITH, PRINCE, PERCY, &c. 
 
 Manent WALTER and LARRY. 
 
 WALTER. So, my compeer in honour, we must hold 
 The staff of sway between us. 
 
 LARRY. Arrah, man, 
 
 If we hould it between us, any rogue 
 Shall run clean off before it knocks him down, 
 While at each end we tug for mastery. 
 
 WALTER. Tush, man! we ll strike in unison. 
 
 LARRY. Go to 
 
 WALTER. And first, let s to the forest the young sparks 
 In silken doublets there are felling trees, 
 Poor, gentle masters, with their soft palms blister d; 
 And, while they chop and chop, they swear and swear, 
 Drowning with oaths the echo of their axe. 
 
 LARRY. Are they so hot in choler? 
 
 WALTER. Aye. 
 
 LARRY. We ll cool em; 
 
 And pour cold patience down their silken sleeves. 
 
 WALTER. Cold patience! 
 
 LARRY. In the shape of water, honey. 
 
 WALTER. A notable discovery; come away! 
 
 LARRY. Ha! isn t that a sail? 
 
 WALTER. A sail ! a fleet ! [Looking toward the river. 
 
6io Representative Plays 
 
 Enter TALMAN. 
 
 TALMAN. We have discovered nine tall ships. 
 
 LARRY. Discovered ! 
 
 Away, you rogue, we have discovered them, 
 With nature s telescopes. Run scud begone 
 Down to the river! Och, St. Pat, I thank you! 
 
 Go toward river. Huzza within. Music expresses joyful bustle. 
 Scene closes. 
 
 SCENE II. A grove. 
 Enter ROBIN and NIMA. 
 
 ROBIN. Aye, bless you, I knew I should creep into your heart 
 at last, my little dusky divinity. 
 
 NIMA. Divinity! what s that? 
 
 ROBIN. Divinity it s a Oh, it s a pretty title that we lords of 
 the creation bestow upon our playthings. But hist! here they 
 come. Now is it a knotty point to be argued, whether this 
 parting doth most affect the mistress and master, or the maid 
 and man. Let Cupid be umpire, and steal the scales of Justice to 
 weigh our heavy sighs. [Retire. 
 
 Enter ROLFE and POCAHONTAS. 
 
 PRINCESS. Nay, let me on 
 
 ROLFE. No further, gentle love ; 
 
 The rugged way has wearied you already. 
 
 PRINCESS. Feels the wood pigeon weariness, who flies, 
 Mated with her beloved? Ah! lover, no. 
 
 ROLFE. Sweet! in this grove we will exchange adieus; 
 My steps should point straight onward; were thou with me, 
 Thy voice would bid me quit the forward path 
 At every pace, or fix my side-long look, 
 Spell-bound, upon thy beauties. 
 
 PRINCESS. Ah! you love not 
 
 The wild-wood prattle of the Indian maid, 
 As once you did. 
 
 ROLFE. By heaven ! my thirsty ear, 
 
 Could ever drink its liquid melody. 
 
The Indian Princess 61 1 
 
 Oh! I could talk with thee, till hasty night, 
 Ere yet the sentinel day had done his watch ; 
 Veil d like a spy, should steal on printles s feet, 
 To listen to our parley ! Dearest love ! 
 My captain has arrived, and I do know, 
 When honour and when duty call upon me, 
 Thou wouldst not have me chid for tardiness. 
 But, ere the matin of to-morrow s lark, 
 Do echo from the roof of nature s temple, 
 Sweetest, expect me. 
 
 PRINCESS. Wilt thou surely come? 
 
 ROLFE. To win thee from thy father will I come; 
 And my commander s voice shall join with mine, 
 To woo Powhatan to resign his treasure. 
 
 PRINCESS. Go then, but ah! forget not 
 
 ROLFE. I ll forget 
 
 All else, to think on thee ! 
 
 PRINCESS. Thou art my life! 
 
 I lived not till I saw thee, love; and now, 
 I live not in thine absence. Long, Oh! long 
 I was the savage child of savage Nature; 
 And when her flowers sprang up, while each green bough 
 Sang with the passing west wind s rustling breath; 
 When her warm visitor, flush d Summer, came, 
 Or Autumn strew d her yellow leaves around, 
 Or the shrill north wind pip d his mournful music, 
 I saw the changing brow of my wild mother 
 With neither love nor dread. But now, Oh ! now, 
 I could entreat her for eternal smiles, 
 So thou might st range through groves of loveliest flowers, 
 Where never Winter, with his icy lip, 
 Should dare to press thy cheek. 
 
 ROLFE. My sweet enthusiast! 
 
 PRINCESS. O! tis from thee that I have drawn my being: 
 Thou st ta en me from the path of savage error, 
 Blood-stain d and rude, where rove my countrymen, 
 And taught me heavenly truths, and fill d my heart 
 With sentiments sublime, and sweet, and social. 
 Oft has my winged spirit, following thine, 
 Cours d the bright day-beam, and the star of night, 
 And every rolling planet of the sky, 
 
612 Representative Plays 
 
 Around their circling orbits. O my love! 
 
 Guided by thee, has not my daring soul, 
 
 O ertopt the far-off mountains of the east, 
 
 Where, as our fathers fable, shad wy hunters 
 
 Pursue the deer, or clasp the melting maid, 
 
 Mid ever blooming spring? Thence, soaring high 
 
 From the deep vale of legendary fiction, 
 
 Hast thou not heaven-ward turn d my dazzled sight, 
 
 Where sing the spirits of the blessed good 
 
 Around the bright throne of the Holy One? 
 
 This thou hast done; and ah! what couldst thou more, 
 
 Belov d preceptor, but direct that ray, 
 
 Which beams from Heaven to animate existence, 
 
 And bid my swelling bosom beat with love! 
 
 ROLFE. O, my dear scholar! 
 
 PRINCESS. Prithee, chide me, love: 
 
 My idle prattle holds thee from thy purpose. 
 
 ROLFE. O! speak more music! and I ll listen to it, 
 Like stilly midnight to sweet Philomel. 
 
 PRINCESS. Nay, now begone; for thou must go: ah! fly, 
 The sooner to return 
 
 ROLFE. Thus, then, adieu! [Embrace. 
 
 But, ere the face of morn blush rosy red, 
 To see the dew-besprent, cold virgin ground 
 Stain d by licentious step; Oh, long before 
 The foot of th earliest furred forrester, 
 Do mark its imprint on morn s misty sheet, 
 With sweet good morrow will I wake my love. 
 
 PRINCESS. To bliss thou lt wake me, for I sleep till then 
 Only with sorrow s poppy on my lids. 
 
 Music. Embrace; and exit ROLFE, followed by ROBIN ; PRINCESS 
 looks around despondingly. 
 
 But now, how gay and beauteous was this grove! 
 Sure ev ning s shadows have enshrouded it, 
 And tis the screaming bird of night I hear, 
 Not the melodious mock-bird. Ah! fond girl! 
 Tis o er thy soul the gloomy curtain hangs; 
 Tis in thy heart the rough-toned raven sings. 
 O lover! haste to my benighted breast; 
 Come like the glorious sun, and bring me day ! 
 
The Indian Princess 613 
 
 Song. 
 
 When the midnight of absence the day-scene pervading 
 Distils its chill dew o er the bosom of love, 
 
 Oh, how fast then the gay tints of nature are fading! 
 How harsh seems the music of joy in the grove! 
 
 While the tender flow r droops till return of the light, 
 
 Steep d in tear drops that fall from the eye of the night. 
 
 But Oh ! when the lov d-one appears, 
 
 Like the sun a bright day to impart, 
 To kiss off those envious tears, 
 
 To give a new warmth to the heart; 
 Soon the flow ret seeming dead 
 Raises up its blushing head, 
 Glows again the breast of love, 
 Laughs again the joyful grove; 
 While once more the mock-bird s throat 
 Trolls the sweetly various note. 
 But ah ! when dark absence the day-scene pervading 
 
 Distils its chill dew o er the bosom of love, 
 Oh! fast then the gay tints of nature are fading! 
 
 Oh! harsh seems the music of joy in the grove! 
 And the tender flow r droops till return of the light, 
 Steep d in tear drops that fall from the eye of the night. 
 
 PRINCESS. Look, Nima, surely I behold our captive, 
 The prince Miami, and our cruel priest. 
 
 NIMA. Lady, tis they; and now they move this way. 
 
 PRINCESS. How earnest are their gestures; ah! my Nima, 
 When souls like theirs mingle in secret council, 
 Stern murder s voice alone is listen d to. 
 Miami too at large O trembling heart, 
 Most sad are thy forebodings; they are here 
 Haste, Nima; let us veil us from their view. 
 
 [They retire. 
 
 Enter MIAMI and GRIMOSCO. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Be satisfied; I cannot fail hither the king will 
 soon come. This deep shade have I chosen for our place of 
 meeting. Hush! he comes. Retire, and judge if Grimosco have 
 vainly boasted away! [MIAMI retires. 
 
614 Representative Plays 
 
 Enter POWHATAN. 
 
 POWHATAN. Now, priest, I attend the summons of thy voice. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. So you consult your safety, for tis the voice of 
 warning. 
 
 POWHATAN. Of what would you warn me? 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Danger. 
 
 POWHATAN. From whom? 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Your enemies. 
 
 POWHATAN. Old man, these have I conquered. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. The English still exist. 
 
 POWHATAN. The English! 
 
 GRIMOSCO. The nobler beast of the forest issues boldly from 
 his den, and the spear of the powerful pierces his heart. The 
 deadly adder lurks in his covert till the unwary footstep approach 
 him. 
 
 POWHATAN. I see no adder near me. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. No, for thine eyes rest only on the flowers under 
 which he glides. 
 
 POWHATAN. Away, thy sight is dimmed by the shadows of age. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. King, for forty winters hast thou heard the voice 
 of counsel from my lips, and never did its sound deceive thee; 
 never did my tongue raise the war cry, and the foe appeared not. 
 Be warned then to beware the white man. He has fixed his 
 serpent eye upon you, and, like the charmed bird, you flutter 
 each moment nearer to the jaw of death. 
 
 POWHATAN. How, Grimosco? 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Do you want proof of the white man s hatred to 
 the red? Follow him along the bay; count the kings he has 
 conquered, and the nations that his sword has made extinct. 
 
 POWHATAN. Like a warrior he subdued them, for the chain 
 of friendship bound them not to each other. The white man is 
 brave as Aresqui; and can the brave be treacherous? 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Like the red feathers of the flamingo is craft, the 
 brightest plume that graces the warrior s brow. Are not your 
 people brave? Yet does the friendly tree shield them while the 
 hatchet is thrown. Who doubts the courage of Powhatan? Yet 
 has the eye of darkness seen Powhatan steal to the surprise of 
 the foe. 
 
 POWHATAN. Ha! priest, thy words are true. I will be satis 
 fied. Even now I received a swift messenger from my son: 
 
The Indian Princess 615 
 
 to-day he will conduct the English to my banquet. I will demand 
 of him if he be the friend of Powhatan. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Yes; but demand it of him as thou drawest thy 
 reeking hatchet from his cleft head. [KiNG starts.] The de- 
 spoilers of our land must die ! 
 
 POWHATAN. What red man can give his eye-ball the glare of 
 defiance when the white chief is nigh? He who stood alone 
 amidst seven hundred foes, and, while he spurned their king to 
 the ground, dared them to shoot their arrows; who will say to 
 him, "White man, I am thine enemy?" No one. My chiefs 
 would be children before him. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. The valour of thy chiefs may slumber, but the 
 craft of thy priest shall watch. When the English sit at that 
 banquet from which they shall never rise; when their eyes 
 read nothing but friendship in thy looks, there shall hang a 
 hatchet over each victim head, w.hich, at the silent signal of 
 Grimosco 
 
 POWHATAN. Forbear, counsellor of death! Powhatan cannot 
 betray those who have vanquished his enemies; who are his 
 friends, his brothers. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Impious! Can the enemies of your God be your 
 friends? Can the children of another parent be your brethren? 
 You are deaf to the counsellor: tis your priest now speaks. 
 I have heard the angry voice of the Spirit you have offended; 
 offended by your mercy to his enemies. Dreadful was his voice; 
 fearful were his words. Avert his wrath, or thou art condemned; 
 and the white men are the ministers of his vengeance. 
 
 POWHATAN. Priest! 
 
 GRIMOSCO. From the face of the waters will he send them, 1 
 in mighty tribes, and our shores will scarce give space for their 
 footsteps. Powhatan will fly before them; his beloved child, his 
 wives, all that is dear to him, he will leave behind. Powhatan 
 will fly; but whither? which of his tributary kings will shelter 
 him? Not one. Already they cry, "Powhatan is ruled by the 
 white; we will no longer be the slaves of a slave!" J 
 
 POWHATAN. Ha! 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Despoiled of his crown, Powhatan will be hunted 
 from the land of his ancestors. To strange woods will the fugi 
 tive be pursued by the Spirit whom he has angered 
 
 POWHATAN. Oh, dreadful! 
 
6i6 Representative Plays 
 
 GRIMOSCO. And at last, when the angel of death obeys his 
 call of anguish, whither will go his condemned soul? Not to the 
 fair forests, where his brave fathers are. Oh ! never will Powhatan 
 clasp the dear ones who have gone before him. His exiled, soli 
 tary spirit will forever houl on the barren heath where the wings 
 of darkness rest. No ray of hope shall visit him ; eternal will be 
 his night of despair. 
 
 POWHATAN. Forbear, forbear! O priest, teach me to avert 
 the dreadful doom. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Let the white men be slaughtered. 
 
 POWHATAN. The angry Spirit shall be appeased. Come. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Thy priest will follow thee. 
 
 Enter MIAMI. 
 
 MIAMI. Excellent Grimosco! Thy breath, priest, is a 
 deadly pestilence, and hosts fall before it. Yet still is Miami 
 a captive. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Fear not. Before Powhatan reach Werocomoco 
 thou shalt be free. Come. 
 
 MIAMI. Oh, my soul hungers for the banquet; for then shall 
 Miami feast on the heart of his rival! 
 
 [Exeunt with savage triumph. 
 
 Music. The PRINCESS rushes forward, terror depicted in her face. 
 After running alternately to each side, and stopping undetermined 
 and bewildered, speaks. 
 
 PRINCESS. O whither shall I fly? what course pursue? 
 At Werocomoco, my frenzied looks 
 Would sure betray me. What if hence I haste? 
 I may o ertake my lover, or encounter 
 My brother and his friends. Away, my Nima! 
 
 [Exit NIMA. 
 
 O holy Spirit! thou whom my dear lover 
 
 Has taught me to adore and think most merciful, 
 
 Wing with thy lightning s speed my flying feet ! 
 
 [Music. Exit PRINCESS. 
 
The Indian Princess 617 
 
 SCENE III. Near Jamestown. 
 Enter LARRY, and KATE as a page. 
 
 LARRY. Nine ships, five hundred men, and a lord governor! 
 Och! St. Patrick s blessing be upon them; they ll make this land 
 flow with buttermilk like green Erin. What say you, master 
 page, isn t this a nice neat patch to plant potatoes I mean, 
 to plant a nation in? 
 
 KATE. There s but one better. 
 
 LARRY. And which might that be? 
 
 KATE. E en little green Erin that you spoke of. 
 
 LARRY. And were you ever och, give me your fist were you 
 ever in Ireland? 
 
 KATE. It s there I was born 
 
 LARRY. I saw its bloom on your cheek. 
 
 KATE. And bred. 
 
 LARRY. I saw it in your manners. 
 
 KATE. Oh, your servant, sir. [Bows.] And there, too, I fell in 
 love. 
 
 LARRY. And, by the powers, so did I ; and if a man don t fall 
 into one of the beautiful bogs that Cupid has digged there, faith 
 he may stand without tumbling, though he runs over all the 
 world beside. Och, the creatures, I can see them now 
 
 KATE. Such sparkling eyes 
 
 LARRY. Rosy cheeks 
 
 KATE. Pouting lips 
 
 LARRY. Tinder hearts! Och, sweet Ireland! 
 
 KATE. Aye, it was there that I fixed my affections after all 
 my wanderings. 
 
 Song. KATE. 
 
 Young Edward, through many a distant place, 
 Had wandering pass d, a thoughtless ranger; 
 And, cheer d by a smile from beauty s face, 
 Had laugh d at the frowning face of danger. 
 
 Fearless Ned, 
 
 Careless Ned, 
 Never with foreign dames was a stranger; 
 
 And huff, 
 
 Bluff, 
 He laugh d at the frowning face of danger. 
 
6i8 Representative Plays 
 
 But journeying on to his native place, 
 
 Through Ballinamone pass d the stranger; 
 Where, fix d by the charms of Katy s face, 
 He swore he d no longer be a ranger, 
 
 Pretty Kate, 
 
 Witty Kate, 
 Vow d that no time could ever change her; 
 
 And kiss, 
 
 Bliss 
 O, she hugg d to her heart the welcome stranger. 
 
 LARRY. How s that? Ballinamone, Kate, did you say, Kate? 
 
 KATE. Aye, Katy Maclure; as neat a little wanton tit 
 
 LARRY. My wife a wanton tit! Hark ye, master Whipper- 
 snapper, do you pretend 
 
 KATE. Pretend! no, faith, sir, I scorn to pretend, sir; I am 
 above boasting of ladies favours, unless I receive em. Pretend, 
 quotha! 
 
 LARRY. Fire and faggots! Favours! 
 
 KATE. You seem to know the girl, mister a 
 
 LARRY. Know her! she s my wife. 
 
 KATE. Your wife! Ridiculous! I thought, by your pother, 
 that she had been your friend s wife, or your mistress. Hark 
 ye, mister a cuckoo 
 
 LARRY. Cuckoo ! 
 
 KATE. Your ear. Your wife loved me as she did herself. 
 
 LARRY. She did? 
 
 KATE. Couldn t live without me; all day we were together. 
 
 LARRY. You were! 
 
 KATE. As I m a cavalier; and all night we lay 
 
 LARRY. How? 
 
 KATE. How! why, close as two twin potatoes; in the same 
 bed, egad! 
 
 LARRY. Tunder and turf! I ll split you from the coxcomb to 
 the 
 
 KATE. Ay, do split the twin potato asunder, do. 
 
 [Discovers herself. 
 
 LARRY. It is no what! Och, is it nobody but yourself? 
 O my darling! [Catches her in his arms.] And so But how 
 did you? And where and what boderation! [Kisses.] 
 
The Indian Princess 619 
 
 And how d ye do? and how s your mother? and the pigs and 
 praties, and kiss me, Kate. [Kiss. 
 
 KATE. So; now may I speak? 
 
 LARRY. Aye, do be telling me but stop every now and then, 
 that I may point your story with a grammatical kiss. 
 
 KATE. Oh, hang it ! you ll be for putting nothing but periods to 
 my discourse. 
 
 LARRY. Faith, and I should be for counting [Kisses.] four. 
 Arrah! there, then; I ve done with that sentence. 
 
 KATE. You remember what caused me to stay behind, when 
 you embarked for America? 
 
 LARRY. Aye, twas because of your old sick mother. And how 
 does the good lady? [KATE weeps. ] Ah! well, Heaven rest her 
 soul. Cheerly, cheerly. To be sure, I can t give you a mother; 
 but I tell you what I ll do, I ll give your children one; and that s 
 the same thing, you know. So, kiss me, Kate. Cheerly. 
 
 KATE. One day, as I sat desolate in my cottage, a carriage 
 broke down near it, from which a young lady was thrown with 
 great violence. My humble cabin received her, and I attended 
 her till she was able to resume her journey. 
 
 LARRY. My kind Kate! 
 
 KATE. The sweet young lady promised me her protection, 
 and pressed me to go with her. So, having no mother nor 
 Larry to take care of 
 
 LARRY. You let the pigs and praties take care of themselves. 
 
 KATE. I placed an honest, poor neighbour in my cottage, and 
 followed the fortunes of my mistress and O Larry, such an 
 angel ! 
 
 LARRY. But where is she? 
 
 KATE. Here, in Virginia. 
 
 LARRY. Here? 
 
 KATE. Aye, but that s a secret. 
 
 LARRY. Oh ! is it so? that s the reason then you won t tell it me. 
 
 GERALDINE, as a page, and WALTER appear behind. 
 
 KATE. That s she. 
 LARRY. Where? 
 KATE. There. 
 
 LARRY. Bother ! I see no one but a silken cloaked spark, and 
 our Wat; devil a petticoat ! 
 
62O Representative Plays 
 
 KATE. That spark is my mistress. 
 
 LARRY. Be asy. Are you sure you ar n t his mistress? 
 
 KATE. Tut, now you ve got the twin potatoes in your head. 
 
 LARRY. Twins they must be, if any, for faith I hav n t had a 
 single potato in my head this many a long day. But come, my 
 Kate, tell me how you and your mistress happened to jump into 
 
 KATE. Step aside then. 
 
 LARRY. Have with you, my dapper page. [They retire. 
 
 GERALDINE and WALTER advance. 
 
 GERALDINE. You know this Percy, then? 
 
 WALTER. Know him! Oh, yes! 
 
 He makes this wild wood, here, a past ral grove. 
 He is a love-lorn shepherd ; an Orlando, 
 Carving love-rhymes and ciphers on the trees, 
 And warbling dying ditties of a lady 
 He calls false Geraldine. 
 
 GERALDINE. O my dear Percy! 
 
 How has one sad mistake marr d both our joys! [Aside. 
 
 WALTER. Yet though a shepherd, he can wield a sword 
 As easy as a crook. 
 
 GERALDINE. Oh ! he is brave. 
 
 WALTER. As Julius Caesar, sir, or Hercules; 
 Or any other hero that you will, 
 Except our captain. 
 
 GERALDINE. Is your captain, then, 
 
 Without his peer? 
 
 WALTER. Aye, marry is he, sir, 
 
 Sans equal in this world. I ve follow d him 
 Half o er the globe, and seen him do such deeds! 
 His shield is blazon d with three Turkish heads. 
 
 GERALDINE. Well, sir. 
 
 WALTER. And I, boy, saw him win the arms; 
 
 Oh, twas the bravest act! 
 
 GERALDINE. Prithee, recount it. 
 
 WALTER. It was at Regal, close beleaguer d then 
 
 By the duke Sigismund of Transylvania, 
 Our captain s general. One day, from the gate 
 There issued a gigantic mussulman, 
 And threw his gauntlet down upon the ground, 
 
The Indian Princess 621 
 
 Daring our Christian knights to single combat. 
 It was our captain, sir, pick d up the glove, 
 And scarce the trump had sounded to the onset, 
 When the Turk Turbisha had lost his head. 
 His brother, fierce Grualdo, enter d next, 
 But left the lists sans life or turban too. 
 Last came black Bonamolgro, and he paid 
 The same dear forfeit for the same attempt. 
 And now my master, like a gallant knight, 
 His sabre studied o er with ruby gems, 
 Prick d on his prancing courser round the field, 
 In vain inviting fresh assailants; while 
 The beauteous dames of Regal, who, in throngs 
 Lean d o er the rampart to behold the tourney, 
 Threw show rs of scarfs and favours from the wall, 
 And wav d their hands, and bid swift Mercuries 
 Post from their eyes with messages of love; 
 While manly modesty and graceful duty 
 Wav d on his snowy plume, and, as he rode, 
 Bow d down his casque unto the saddle bow. 
 
 GERALDINE. It was a deed of valour, and you ve dress d it 
 In well-beseeming terms. And yet, methinks, 
 I wonder at the ladies strange delight; 
 And think the spectacle might better suit 
 An audience of warriors than of women. 
 I m sure I should have shudder d that is, sir, 
 If I were woman. 
 
 WALTER. Cry your mercy, page ; 
 
 Were you a woman, you would love the brave. 
 You re yet but boy; you ll know the truth of this, 
 When father Time writes man upon your chin. 
 
 GERALDINE. No doubt I shall, sir, when I get a beard. 
 
 WALTER. My master, boy, has made it crystal clear: 
 Be but a Mars, and you shall have your Venus. 
 
 Song WALTER. 
 
 Captain Smith is a man of might, 
 In Venus soft wars or in Mars bloody fight: 
 For of widow, or wife, or of damsel bright, 
 A bold blade, you know, is all the dandy. 
 
622 Representative Plays 
 
 One day his sword he drew, 
 And a score of Turks he slew; 
 
 When done his toil, 
 
 He snatch d the spoil, 
 
 And, as a part, 
 
 The gentle heart 
 Of the lovely lady Tragabizandy. 
 
 Captain Smith trod the Tartar land ; 
 While before him, in terror, fled the turban d band, 
 With his good broad-sword, that he whirl d in his hand, 
 To a three-tail d bashaw he gave a pat-a. 
 
 The bashaw, in alarm, 
 Turn d tails, and fled his arm. 
 
 But face to face, 
 
 With lovely grace, 
 
 In all her charms, 
 
 Rush d to his arms 
 The beautiful lady Calamata. 
 
 Captain Smith, from the foaming seas, 
 From pirates, and shipwreck, and miseries, 
 In a French lady s arms found a haven of ease; 
 Her name pshaw! from memory quite gone t has. 
 
 And on this savage shore, 
 
 Where his faulchion stream d with gore, 
 
 His noble heart 
 
 The savage dart 
 
 Had quiver d through; 
 
 But swifter flew 
 To his heart the pretty princess Pocahontas. [Exit WALTER. 
 
 Enter KATE. 
 GERALDINE. Now, brother page 
 
 KATE. Dear mistress, I have found 
 
 My faithful Larry. 
 
 GERALDINE. Happy girl! and I 
 
 Hope soon to meet my heart s dear lord, my Percy. 
 Hist! the lord governor 
 
The Indian Princess 623 
 
 KATE. He little thinks 
 
 Who is the page he loves so 
 GERALDINE. Silence. 
 
 KATE. Mum. 
 
 Enter DELAWAR, WALTER, LARRY, &c. 
 
 DELAWAR. Each noble act of his that you recite 
 Challenge all my wonder and applause. 
 Your captain is a brave one; and I long 
 To press the hero s hand. But look, my friends, 
 What female s this, who, like the swift Camilla, 
 On airy step flies hitherward? 
 
 WALTER. My lord, 
 
 This is the lovely princess you have heard of; 
 Our infant colony s best patroness; 
 Nay, sir, its foster-mother. 
 
 DELAWAR. Mark how wild 
 
 Music. The PRINCESS enters, with wild anxiety in her looks; 
 searches eagerly around for SMITH and ROLFE. 
 
 DELAWAR. Whom do you look for, lady? 
 
 PRINCESS. They are gone! 
 
 Gone to be slaughter d ! 
 
 WALTER. If you seek our captain, 
 
 He has departed for your father s banquet. 
 
 PRINCESS. Then they have met, and they will both be lost, 
 My lover and my friend. O! faithless path, 
 That led me from my lover! Strangers, fly! 
 If you re the white man s friends 
 
 DELAWAR. Lady, we are. 
 
 PRINCESS. Then fly to save them from destruction! 
 
 DELAWAR. How? 
 
 PRINCESS. Inquire not; speak not; treachery and death 
 Await them at the banquet. 
 
 DELAWAR. Haste, my friends, 
 
 Give order for immediate departure. 
 
 PRINCESS. E en now, perhaps, they bleed! O lover! brother! 
 Fly, strangers, fly! 
 
 Music. Drum beats; a bustle; scene closes. 
 
624 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE IV. At Werocomoco; banquet. SMITH, ROLFE, PERCY, 
 N ANT AQUAS, POWHATAN, &c., seated. GRIMOSCO, MIAMI and a 
 number of INDIANS attending. 
 
 POWHATAN. White warriors, this is the feast of peace, and yet 
 you wear your arms. Will not my friends lay by their warlike 
 weapons? They fright our fearful people. 
 
 SMITH. Our swords are part of our apparel, king; 
 Nor need your people fear them. They shall rest 
 Peaceful within their scabbards, if Powhatan 
 Call them not forth, with voice of enmity. 
 
 POWHATAN. Oh, that can never be ! feast then in peace, 
 Children and friends 
 
 Leaves his place and comes forward to GRIMOSCO. 
 
 O priest! my soul is afraid it will be stained with dishonour. 
 
 GRIMOSCO. Away! the Great Spirit commands you. Resume 
 your seat ; hold the white men in discourse ; I will but thrice wave 
 my hand, and your foes are dead. [KiNG resumes his seat.} [To 
 MIAMI.] Now, prince, has the hour of vengeance arrived. 
 
 POWHATAN. [With a faltering voice.] Think not, white men, 
 that Powhatan wants the knowledge to prize your friendship. 
 Powhatan has seen three generations pass away; and his locks 
 of age do not float upon the temples of folly. 
 
 GRIMOSCO waves his hand: the INDIANS steal behind the ENGLISH, 
 MIAMI behind ROLFE. KING proceeds. 
 
 If a leaf but fall in the forest, my people cry out with terror, 
 "hark! the white warrior comes!" Chief, thou art terrible as an 
 enemy, and Powhatan knows the value of thy friendship. 
 
 GRIMOSCO waves his ftand again; the INDIANS seize their tomahawks, 
 and. prepare to strike. KING goes on. 
 
 Think not, therefore, Powhatan can attempt to deceive thee 
 
 The KING S voice trembles; he stops, unable to proceed. The IN 
 DIANS eyes are fixed on GRIMOSCO, waiting for the last signal. 
 At this moment the PRINCESS rushes in. 
 
 PRINCESS. Treachery to the white men! 
 
The Indian Princess 625 
 
 At the same instant, drum and trumpet without. Music. The 
 ENGLISH seize the uplifted arms of the INDIANS, and form a tableau, 
 as enter DELAWAR and his party. After the music, the SOLDIERS 
 take charge of the INDIANS. POCAHONTAS flies to the arms of 
 
 ROLFE. 
 
 NANTAQUAS. O father! 
 
 [POWHATAN is transfixed with confusion. 
 
 SMITH. Wretched king! what fiend could urge you? 
 
 POWHATAN. Shame ties the tongue of Powhatan. Ask of that 
 fiend-like priest, how, to please the angry Spirit, I was to massa 
 cre my friends. 
 
 SMITH. Holy Religion ! still beneath the veil 
 Of sacred piety what crimes lie hid ! 
 Bear hence that monster. Thou ferocious prince 
 
 MIAMI. Miami s tortures shall not feast your eyes! 
 
 {Stabbing himself. 
 
 SMITH. Rash youth, thou mightst have liv d 
 
 MIAMI. Liv d! man, look there! 
 
 [Pointing to ROLFE and PRINCESS. He is borne off. 
 
 POWHATAN. Oh, if the false Powhatan might 
 
 SMITH. No more. 
 
 Wiser than thou have been the dupes of priesthood. 
 Your hand. The father of this gen rous pair 
 I cannot choose but love. My noble lord, 
 I pray you pardon my scant courtesy 
 And sluggish duty, which so tardy-paced 
 Do greet your new arrival 
 
 DELAWAR. Valiant captain ! 
 
 Virtue-ennobled sir, a hero s heart 
 Will make mine proud by its most near acquaintance. 
 
 [Embrace. 
 
 SMITH. Your coming was most opportune, my lord. 
 One moment more 
 
 DELAWAR. Nay, not to us the praise. 
 
 Behold the brilliant star that led us on. 
 
 SMITH. Oh! blest is still its kindly influence! 
 Could a rough soldier play the courtier, lady, 
 His practis d tongue might grace thy various goodness, 
 With proper phrase of thanks; but oh! reward thee! 
 Heaven only can 
 
626 Representative Plays 
 
 PRINCESS. And has, my brother. See! 
 
 I have its richest gift. [Turning to ROLFE. 
 
 ROLFE. My dearest love! 
 
 SMITH. Her brother, sir, and worthy of that name. 
 
 Introduces NANTAQUAS to DELAWAR; PERCY and GERALDINE, 
 who had been conversing, advance. 
 
 PERCY. You tell me wonders. 
 
 GERALDINE. But not miracles. 
 
 Being near the uncle, sir, I knew the lady. 
 
 PERCY. And was I then deceived? 
 
 GERALDINE. What, gentle Percy! 
 
 Young man, twas not well done, in idle pique, 
 To wound the heart that lov d you. 
 
 PERCY. O sir! speak! 
 
 My Geraldine, your niece, is she not married? 
 
 DELAWAR. Nor like to be, poor wench, but to her grave, 
 If mourning for false lovers break maids hearts. 
 
 PERCY. Was she then true? O madman! idiot! 
 To let the feeble breath of empty rumour 
 Drive me from heavenly happiness! 
 
 DELAWAR. Poor girl ! 
 
 She fain would have embark d with me. 
 
 PERCY. Ah, sir! 
 
 Why did she not? 
 
 DELAWAR. Marry, sir, I forbade her: 
 
 The rough voyage would have shook her slender health 
 To dissolution. 
 
 GERALDINE. Pardon, sir; not so 
 
 DELAWAR. How now, pert page? 
 
 GERALDINE. For here she is, my lord. 
 
 And the rough voyage has giv n her a new life. 
 
 PERCY. My Geraldine! 
 
 DELAWAR. My niece! O brazenface! 
 
 Approach me not; fly from your uncle s anger; 
 Fly to your husband s arms for shelter, hussy! 
 
 [GERALDINE flies to PERCY S embrace. 
 
 PERCY. Oh! speechless transport! mute let me infold thee! 
 
 DELAWAR. [To KATE.] And you, my little spark, perhaps, 
 your cloak 
 
The Indian Princess 627 
 
 Covers another duteous niece or daughter. 
 Speak, lady : for I see that title writ 
 In crimson characters upon your cheek. 
 Art of my blood? 
 
 LARRY. No, sir, she s of my flesh ; 
 
 Flesh of my flesh, my lord. Now, arrah, Kate, 
 Don t blush. This goodly company all knows 
 My flesh may wear the breeches, without scandal. 
 
 WALTER. Listen not, Alice, to his sophistry. 
 Sir, if our good wives learn this argument, 
 They ll logically pluck away our 
 
 ALICE. Tut: 
 
 Fear ye not that; for when a woman would, 
 She ll draw them on without a rule of reason. 
 
 DELAWAR. Methinks tis pairing time among the turtles. 
 Who have we here? 
 
 ROBIN and NIMA come forward. 
 
 ROBIN. A pair of pigeons, sir; or rather a robin and a dove. 
 A wild thing, sir, that I caught in the wood here. But when I 
 have dipt her wings, and tamed her, I hope (without offence to 
 this good company) that we shall bill without biting more than 
 our neighbours. 
 
 SMITH. Joy to ye, gentle lovers; joy to all; 
 A goodly circle, and a fair. Methinks 
 Wild Nature smooths apace her savage frown, 
 Moulding her features to a social smile. 
 Now flies my hope-wing d fancy o er the gulf 
 That, lies between us and the aftertime, 
 When this fine portion of the globe shall teem 
 With civiliz d society; when arts, 
 And industry, and elegance shall reign, 
 As the shrill war-cry of the savage man 
 Yields to the jocund shepherd s roundelay. 
 Oh, enviable country! thus disjoin d- 
 From old licentious Europe! may st thou rise, 
 Free from those bonds which fraud and superstition 
 Tn_barbarous ages have enchain d her with ; 
 Bidding the antique world with wonder view 
 A great, yet virtuous empire in the west! 
 
628 Representative Plays 
 
 Finale. 
 
 Freedom, on the western shore 
 Float thy banner o er the brave; 
 
 Plenty, here thy blessings pour; 
 Peace, thy olive sceptre wave ! 
 
 PERCY, WALTER, &c. 
 
 Fire-eyed Valour, guard the land; 
 Here uprear thy fearless crest; 
 
 PRINCESS, KATE, ALICE, &c. 
 
 Love, diffuse thy influence bland 
 O er the regions of the west. 
 
 t CHORUS, Freedom, &c. 
 
 LARRY. 
 
 Hither, lassie, frank and pretty, 
 Come and live without formality. 
 
 Thou, in English christen d Pity, 
 But call d, in Irish, Hospitality. 
 CHORUS, Freedom, &c. 
 
 The End. 
 
SHE WOULD BE A SOLDIER 
 
 By M. M. NOAH 
 
M. M. NOAH 
 
MORDECAI MANUEL NOAH 
 
 (1785-1851) 
 
 Mr. Noah was born in Philadelphia, July 19, 1785, the son of 
 Portuguese Jewish descent, it being stated by some sources that 
 his father not only fought in the Revolutionary Army, but was a 
 sufficient friend of George Washington to have the latter attend 
 his wedding. In his early years, he was apprenticed, according to 
 the custom of the day, to a carver and gilder, but he spent most 
 of his evenings in the Franklin Library and at the theatre, likewise 
 attending school in his spare time, where, among the pupils, he 
 met John and Steven Decatur, famed afterwards in the history of 
 the American Navy. He filled a minor position in the Auditor s 
 office in Philadelphia, but his tastes inclined more to journalistic 
 than they did to desk work, and, in 1800, he travelled to Harris- 
 burg as a political reporter. 
 
 Several years after this, he went to Charleston, and studied law, 
 but before he had had a chance to practise, he became the editor 
 of the Charleston City Gazette, and, advocating those principles 
 which resulted in the War of 1812, he used his pen, under the 
 pseudonym of Muley Molack, to disseminate those ideas in edi 
 torials. The consequence is he encouraged much hatred, and was 
 forced into many duels to support his opinions. In 1811, he was 
 offered the position of Consul at Riga by President Madison, but 
 declined. In 1813, he was sent by Mr. Monroe, as Consul, to 
 Tunis, at a time when the United States was having trouble with 
 Algerian piracy. 
 
 During all this period, his pen was actively busy, and while he 
 was abroad he did much travelling which resulted, in 1819, in his 
 publishing a book of travels. 
 
 In 1816, he returned to New York, and settled there as a 
 journalist. Being a Tammanyite in politics, we find him filling 
 the position of Sheriff, Judge and Surveyor of the Port at various 
 periods. He was, likewise, an editor of some skill, and his name is 
 associated with the columns of the New York Enquirer, the 
 Evening Star, the Commercial Advertiser the Union, and the 
 Times and Messenger. 
 
632 Representative Plays 
 
 His political career may be measured in the following manner: 
 
 In 1821 he became Sheriff. In 1823, he was admitted to the bar 
 of New York, and in 1829 to the bar of the Supreme Court of the 
 United States. This same year he was appointed Surveyor of the 
 Port of New York. 
 
 Entering very prominently in politics, he opposed the election 
 of Van Buren, and gave his vote to General Harrison. Governor 
 Seward appointed him, in 1841, Judge of the Court of Sessions. 
 The same year he was made a Supreme Court Commissioner. 
 
 It was in 1825 that, as one of the early Zionists of America, 
 he entered into negotiations for the purchase of nearly three 
 thousand acres of land on Grand Island, in New York State, 
 where it was his dream to establish the City of Ararat, a haven 
 of Judaism in this country. This venture became the basis for a 
 story by Israel Zangwill, called "Noah s Ark." He died in New 
 York on March 22, 1851, having lived in that city since 1813. 
 
 Any full Bibliography will give a sufficient idea of the scope of 
 Major Noah s pen. He lived at a time when American Letters 
 were beginning to develop, himself a friend of most of the literary 
 figures of the day Cooper, Irving, Fitz-Green Halleck and 
 others. And we have an excellent impression of the manner in 
 which the younger literary men regarded the authority of Noah 
 in the "Reminiscences" of J. T. Trowbridge: 
 
 "Come with me," he [Mr. Noah] said, putting on his hat; and 
 we went out together, I with my roll of manuscript, he with his 
 stout cane. Even if I had been unaware of the fact, I should very 
 soon have discovered that I was in company with an important 
 personage. Everybody observed him, and it seemed as if every 
 third or fourth man we met gave him a respectful salute. He 
 continued his friendly talk with me in a way that relieved me of 
 all sense of my own insignificance in the shadow of his celebrity 
 and august proportions. 
 
 As far as his theatrical association is concerned, we can have 
 no better source of information than a letter written by Noah to 
 William Dunlap, and published in the latter s "History of the 
 American Theatre." It is quoted in full: 
 
 New- York, July n, 1832. 
 To William Dunlap, Esq., 
 Dear Sir: 
 
 I am happy to hear that your work on the American Drama is in 
 press, and trust that you may realize from it that harvest of fame 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 633 
 
 and money to which your untiring industry and diversified labours 
 give you an eminent claim. You desire me to furnish you a list of 
 my dramatic productions; it will, my dear sir, constitute a sorry 
 link in the chain of American writers my plays have all been ad 
 captandum: a kind of amateur performance, with no claim to the 
 character of a settled, regular, or domiciliated writer for the green 
 room a sort of volunteer supernumerary a dramatic writer by 
 "particular desire, and for this night only," as they say in the bills 
 of the play; my "line," as you well know, has been in the more 
 rugged paths of politics, a line in which there is more fact than 
 poetry, more feeling than fiction; in which, to be sure, there are 
 "exits and entrances" where the "prompter s whistle" is constantly 
 heard in the voice of the people; but which, in our popular govern 
 ment, almost disqualifies us for the more soft and agreeable trans 
 lation to the lofty conceptions of tragedy, the pure diction of genteel 
 comedy, or the wit, gaiety, and humour of broad farce. 
 
 I had an early hankering for the national drama, a kind of juvenile 
 patriotism, which burst forth, for the first time, in a few sorry 
 doggerels in the form of a prologue to a play, which a Thespian com 
 pany, of which I was a member, produced in the South-Street 
 Theatre the old American Theatre in Philadelphia. The idea was 
 probably suggested by the sign of the Federal Convention at the 
 tavern opposite the theatre. You, no doubt, remember the picture 
 and the motto: an excellent piece of painting of the kind, represent 
 ing a group of venerable personages engaged in public discussions, 
 with the following distich: 
 
 "These thirty-eight great men have signed a powerful deed, 
 That better times, to us, shall very soon succeed." 
 
 The sign must have been painted soon after the adoption of the 
 Federation Constitution, and I remember to have stood "many a 
 time and oft," gazing, when a boy, at the assembled patriots, par 
 ticularly the venerable head and spectacles of Dr. Franklin, always 
 in conspicuous relief. In our Thespian corps, the honour of cutting 
 the plays, substituting new passages, casting parts, and writing 
 couplets at the exits, was divided between myself and a fellow of 
 infinite wit and humour, by the name of Helmbold; who subse 
 quently became the editor of a scandalous little paper, called The 
 Tickler: He was a rare rascal, perpetrated all kind of calumnies, 
 was constantly mulcted in fines, sometimes imprisoned, was full of 
 faults, which were forgotten in his conversational qualities and dry 
 sallies of genuine wit, particularly his Dutch stories. After years of 
 singular vicissitudes, Helmbold joined the army as a common 
 soldier, fought bravely during the late war, obtained a commission, 
 and died. Our little company soon dwindled away; the expenses 
 were too heavy for our pockets; our writings and performances were 
 
634 Representative Plays 
 
 sufficiently wretched, but as the audience was admitted without cost, 
 they were too polite to express any disapprobation. We recorded 
 all our doings in a little weekly paper, published, I believe, by Jemmy 
 Riddle, at the corner of Chestnut and Third-Street, opposite the 
 tavern kept by that sturdy old democrat, Israel Israel. 
 
 From a boy, I was a regular attendant of the Chestnut-Street 
 Theatre, during the management of Wignell and Reinagle, and made 
 great efforts to compass the purchase of a season ticket, which I 
 obtained generally of the treasurer, George Davis, for eighteen 
 dollars. Our habits through life are frequently governed and 
 directed by our early steps. I seldom missed a night; and always 
 retired to bed, after witnessing a good play, gratified and improved: 
 and thus, probably, escaped the haunts of taverns, and the pursuits 
 of depraved pleasures, which too frequently allure and destroy our 
 young men; hence I was always the firm friend of the drama, and 
 had an undoubted right to oppose my example through life to the 
 horror and hostility expressed by sectarians to plays and play-houses 
 generally. Independent of several of your plays which had obtained 
 possession of the stage, and were duly incorporated in the legitimate 
 drama, the first call to support the productions of a fellow townsman, 
 was, I think, Barker s opera of The Indian Princess. Charles Inger- 
 soll had previously written a tragedy, a very able production for a 
 very young man, which was supported by all the "good society;" 
 but Barker, who was "one of us," an amiable and intelligent young 
 fellow, who owed nothing to hereditary rank, though his father was 
 a Whig, and a soldier of the Revolution, was in reality a fine spirited 
 poet, a patriotic ode writer, and finally a gallant soldier of the late 
 war. The managers gave Barker an excellent chance with all his 
 plays, and he had merit and popularity to give them in return full 
 houses. 
 
 About this time, I ventured to attempt a little melo-drama, under 
 the title of "The Fortress of Sorrento" [1808], which, not having 
 money enough to pay for printing, nor sufficient influence to have 
 acted, I thrust the manuscript in my pocket, and, having occasion 
 to visit New- York, I called in at David Longworth s Dramatic 
 Repository one day, spoke of the little piece, and struck a bargain 
 with him, by giving him the manuscript in return for a copy of every 
 play he had published, which at once furnished me with a tolerably 
 large dramatic collection. I believe the play never was performed, 
 and I was almost ashamed to own it; but it was my first regular 
 attempt at dramatic composition. 
 
 In the year 1812, while in Charleston, Mr. Young requested me 
 to write a piece for his wife s benefit. You remember her, no doubt; 
 remarkable as she was for her personal beauty and amiable deport 
 ment, it would have been very ungallant to have refused, particularly 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 635 
 
 as he requested that it should be a "breeches part," to use a green 
 room term, though she was equally attractive in every character. 
 Poor Mrs. Young! she died last year in Philadelphia. When she 
 first arrived in New- York, from London, it was difficult to conceive 
 a more perfect beauty; her complexion was of dazzling whiteness, 
 her golden hair and ruddy complexion, figure somewhat embonpoint, 
 and graceful carriage, made her a great favourite. I soon produced 
 the little piece, which was called "Paul and Alexis; or, the Orphans 
 of the Rhine." I was, at that period, a very active politician, and 
 my political opponents did me the honour to go to the theatre the 
 night it was performed, for the purpose of hissing it, which was not 
 attempted until the curtain fell, and the piece was successful. After 
 three years absence in Europe and Africa, I saw the same piece 
 performed at the Park, under the title of "The Wandering Boys," 1 
 which even now holds possession of the stage. It seems Mr. Young 
 sent the manuscript to London, where the title was changed, and the 
 bantling cut up, altered, and considerably improved. 
 
 About this time, John Miller, the Arherican bookseller in London, 
 paid us a visit. Among the passengers in the same ship was a fine 
 English girl of great talent and promise, Miss Leesugg, afterwards 
 Mrs. Hackett. She was engaged at the Park as a singer, and Phillips, 
 who was here about the same period fulfilling a most successful 
 engagement, was decided and unqualified in his admiration of her 
 talent. Every one took an interest in her success: she was gay, 
 kind-hearted, and popular, always in excellent spirits, and always 
 perfect. Anxious for her success, I ventured to write a play for her 
 benefit, and in three days finished the patriotic piece of "She Would 
 be a Soldier; or, the Battle of Chippewa," 2 which, I was happy to 
 find, produced her an excellent house. Mrs. Hackett retired from 
 the stage after her marriage, and lost six or seven years of profitable 
 and unrivalled engagement. 3 
 
 After this play, I became in a manner domiciliated in the green 
 room. My friends, Price and Simpson, who had always been ex 
 ceedingly kind and liberal, allowed me to stray about the premises 
 like one of the family, and, always anxious for their success, I ven- 
 
 1 John Ken- wrote "The Wandering Boys; or, The Castle of <pjival" (1823), 
 which Dr. Atkinson believes was taken from the same French source as Noah s 
 
 z She Would Be A Soldier,/or the/Plains of Chippewa;/An Historical Drama,/In 
 Three Acts./By M. M. Noah./Performed for the first time on the aist/of June, 1819. 
 New- York i/Published at Longworth s Dramatic Repository, /Shakspeare Gallery./ 
 G. L. Birch & Co. Printers./i8ip./[At one time, Edwin Forrest played the Indian 
 in this piece.] 
 
 3 Catherine Leesugg married James H. Hackett, the American actor, in 1819. 
 As early as 1805, some critics in England spoke of her as the Infant Roscius. Of 
 her, the newspaper versifier proclaimed: 
 
 "There s sweet Miss Leesugg by-the-by, she s not pretty, 
 She s a little too large, and has not too much grace, 
 Yet there s something about her so witching and witty, 
 Tis pleasure to gaze on her good-humoured face." 
 
636 Representative Plays 
 
 tured upon another attempt for a holy-day occasion, and produced 
 "Marion; or, the Hero of Lake George." It was played on the 25th 
 of November, Evacuation day [1821], and I bustled about among 
 my military friends, to raise a party in support of a military play, 
 and what with generals, staff-officers, rank and file, the Park Theatre 
 was so crammed, that not a word of the play was heard, which was 
 a very fortunate affair for the author. The managers presented me 
 with a pair of handsome silver pitchers, which I still retain as a 
 memento of their good-will and friendly consideration. You must 
 bear in mind that while I was thus employed in occasional attempts 
 at play-writing, I was engaged in editing a daily journal, and in all 
 the fierce contests of political strife: I had, therefore, but little time 
 to devote to all that study and reflection so essential to the success 
 of dramatic composition. 
 
 My next piece, I believe, was written for the benefit of a relative 
 and friend, who wanted something to bring a house; and as the 
 struggle for liberty in Greece was at that period the prevailing excite 
 ment, I finished the melodrama of the Grecian Captive, which was 
 brought out with all the advantages of good scenery and music 
 [June 17, 1822]. As a "good house" was of more consequence to 
 the actor than fame to the author, it was resolved that the hero of 
 the piece should make his appearance on an elephant, and the 
 heroine on a camel, which were procured from a neighbouring 
 menagerie, and the tout ensemble was sufficiently imposing, only it 
 happened that the huge elephant, in shaking his skin, so rocked the 
 castle on his back, that the Grecian general nearly lost his balance, 
 and was in imminent danger of coming down from his "high estate," 
 to the infinite merriment of the audience. On this occasion, to use 
 another significant phrase, a "gag" was hit upon of a new character 
 altogether. The play was printed, and each auditor was presented 
 with a copy gratis, as he entered the house. Figure to yourself a 
 thousand people in a theatre, each with a book of the play in hand 
 imagine the turning over a thousand leaves simultaneously, the buzz 
 and fluttering it produced, and you will readily believe that the 
 actors entirely forgot their parts, and even the equanimity of the 
 elephant and camel were essentially disturbed. 
 
 My last appearance, as a dramatic writer, was in another national 
 piece, called "The Siege of Tripoli," which the managers persuaded 
 me to bring out for my own benefit, being my first attempt to derive 
 any profit from dramatic efforts. The piece was elegantly got up 
 the house crowded with beauty and fashion everything went off 
 in the happiest manner; when, a short time after the audience had 
 retired, the Park Theatre was discovered to be on fire, and in a short 
 time was a heap of ruins. This conflagration burnt out all my 
 dramatic fire and energy, since which I have been, as you well know, 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 637 
 
 peaceably employed in settling the affairs of the nations, and mildly 
 engaged in the political differences and disagreements which are so 
 fruitful in our great state. 
 
 I still, however, retain a warm interest for the success of the 
 drama, and all who are entitled to success engaged in sustaining it, 
 and to none greater than to yourself, who have done more, in actual 
 labour and successful efforts, than any man in America. That you 
 may realize all you have promised yourself, and all that you are 
 richly entitled to, is the sincere wish of 
 
 Dear sir, 
 
 Your friend and servant, 
 
 M. M. NOAH. 
 Wm. Dunlap, Esq. 
 
SHE YTOTJLD *E A SOLD1EU, 
 
 OR THE 
 
 PLAINS OF CHIPPEWA ; 
 
 AX HISTORICAL DRAMA, 
 
 IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 BY M. M. NOAH. 
 
 PERFORMED FOR THE FIRST TIME ON THE 2lST 
 OF JUNE, 1819. 
 
 NEW- YORK : 
 
 Published at Longworth a Dramatic Repository, 
 Sbakspeare Gallery. 
 
 C. L. Birch fcf Co. Printers. 
 1819. 
 
 FAC-SIMILE TITLE-PAGE TO 1819 EDITION 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The following dramatic bagatelle was written in a few days, and 
 its reception, under every circumstance, far exceeded its merits. 
 I had no idea of printing it, until urged to do so by some friends 
 connected with theatres, who, probably, were desirous of using 
 it without incurring the expense of transcribing from the original 
 manuscript. Writing plays is not my "vocation;" and even if the 
 mania was to seize me, I should have to contend with powerful 
 obstacles, and very stubborn prejudices; to be sure, these, in 
 time, might be removed, but I have no idea of being the first to 
 descend into the arena, and become a gladiator for the American 
 Drama. These prejudices against native productions, however 
 they may be deplored as impugning native genius, are neverthe 
 less very natural. An American audience, I have no doubt, 
 would be highly pleased with an American play, if, the perform 
 ance afforded as much gratification as a good English one ; but 
 they pay their money to be pleased, and if we cannot afford 
 pleasure, we have no prescriptive right to ask for approbation. 
 In England, writing of plays is a profession, by which much 
 money is made if the plays succeed; hence a dramatic author 
 goes to work, secundum artem. He employs all his faculties, ex 
 hausts all his resources, devotes his whole time, capacity and in 
 genuity to the work in hand ; the hope of reward stimulates him 
 the love of fame urges him on the opposition of rivals ani 
 mates his exertions and the expectation of applause sweetens 
 his labours and yet, nine times out of ten, he fails. Mr. Dunlap, 
 of this city, has written volumes of plays, and written well, 
 "excellent well," but he made nothing; nay, he hardly obtained 
 that civic wreath which he fairly earned. Barker, of Phila 
 delphia, whose muse is the most delicate and enticing, has hung 
 up his harp, which, I dare say, is covered with dust and cobwebs; 
 and even Harby, of Charleston, whose talents are of the finest 
 order, and who is a bold yet chaste poet, gained but little profit 
 and applause from his labours. We must not expect, therefore, 
 more encouragement for the American Drama than may be suffi 
 cient to urge us on. We will succeed in time, as well as the 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 641 
 
 English, because we have the same language, and equal intellect; 
 but there must be system and discipline in writing plays a 
 knowledge of stage effect of sound, cadences, fitness of time and 
 place, interest of plot, spirit of delineation, nature, poetry, and a 
 hundred et ceteras, which are required, to constitute a good dra 
 matic poet, who cannot, in this country, and while occupied in 
 other pursuits, spring up over night like asparagus, or be watered 
 and put in the sun, like a geranium in a flower pot. 
 
 I wrote this play in order to promote the benefit of a performer 
 who possesses talent, and I have no objections to write another 
 for any deserving object. New plays, in this country, are gener 
 ally performed, for the first time, as anonymous productions: I 
 did not withhold my name from this, because I knew that my 
 friends would go and see it performed, with the hope of being 
 pleased, and my opponents would go with other motives, so that 
 between the two parties a good house would be the result. This 
 was actually the case, and two performances produced nearly 
 $2,400; I hope this may encourage Americans of more talent to 
 attempt something. 
 
 National plays should be encouraged. They have done every 
 thing for the British nation, and can do much for us; they keep 
 alive the recollection of important events, by representing them 
 in a manner at once natural and alluring. We have a fine scope, 
 and abundant materials to work with, and a noble country to 
 justify the attempt. The "Battle of Chippewa" was selected, 
 because it was the most neat and spirited battle fought during the 
 late war, and I wish I was able to do it more justice. 
 
 N. 
 New- York, July, 1819. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 GENERAL, Mr. Graham. 
 
 JASPER, Mr. Robertson. 
 
 LENOX, Mr. Pritchard. 
 
 HON. CAPTAIN PENDRAGON, Mr. Simpson. 
 
 JERRY, Mr. Barnes. 
 
 LAROLE, Mr. Spiller. 
 
 JENKINS, Mr. Johnson. 
 
 INDIAN CHIEF, Mr. Maywood. 
 
 IST OFFICER, Mr. Bancker. 
 
 SOLDIER, Mr. Nexsen. 
 
 WAITER, Mr. Oliff. 
 
 JAILOR, Mr. Baldwin. 
 Soldiers, Peasants, Indians, &c. 
 
 CHRISTINE, Miss Leesugg. 
 
 ADELA, Miss Johnson. 
 
 MAID, Mrs. Wheatley. 
 
 Peasant Women, &c. 
 
 1 In Dr. Atkinson s copy of this play, the following cast is given: as a note, in 
 the handwriting of Henry Wallack: 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 1819. 
 GENERAL, Hughes. 
 
 JASPER, 
 
 LENOX, Darley, John, Jr. 
 
 PENDRAGON, Wood, William. 
 
 JERRY, Jefferson, Joseph. 
 
 LAROLE, Blissett, Francis. 
 
 CHIEF, Wallack, Henry. 
 
 CHRISTINE, Darley, Mrs. John (Miss E. Westray). 
 
 ADELA, Wood, Mrs. Wm. (Miss J. Westray). 
 
SHE WOULD BE A SOLDIER, 
 
 or; the 
 PLAINS OF CHIPPEWA 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A Valley with a neat Cottage on the right, an Arbour on 
 the left, and picturesque Mountains at a distance. 
 
 Enter from the cottage, JASPER and JENKINS. 
 
 JENKINS. And so, neighbour, you are not then a native of this 
 village? 
 
 JASPER. I am not, my friend; my story is short, and you shall 
 hear it. It was my luck, call it bad or good, to be born in France, 
 in the town of Castlenaudary, where my parents, good honest 
 peasants, cultivated a small farm on the borders of the canal of 
 Midi. I was useful, though young; we were well enough to live, 
 and I received from the parish school a good education, was 
 taught to love my country, my parents, and my friends; a 
 happy temper, a common advantage in my country, made all 
 things easy to me ; I never looked for to-morrow to bring me more 
 joy than I experienced to-day. 
 
 JENKINS. Pardon my curiosity, friend Jasper: how came you 
 to leave your country, when neither want nor misfortune visited 
 your humble dwelling? 
 
 JASPER. Novelty, a desire for change, an ardent disposition to 
 visit foreign countries. Passing through the streets of Toulouse 
 one bright morning in spring, the lively drum and fife broke on 
 my ear, as I was counting my gains from a day s marketing. 
 A company of soldiers neatly dressed, with white cockades, 
 passed me with a brisk step ; I followed them through instinct 
 the sergeant informed me that they were on their way to Bor 
 deaux, from thence to embark for America, to aid the cause of 
 liberty in the new world, and were commanded by the Marquis 
 de la Fayette. That name was familiar to me; La Fayette was a 
 patriot I felt like a patriot, and joined the ranks immediately. 
 
 JENKINS. Well, you enlisted and left your country? 
 
644 Representative Plays 
 
 JASPER. I did. We had a boisterous passage to America, and 
 endured many hardships during the revolution. I was wounded 
 at Yorktown, which long disabled me, but what then? I served 
 under great men, and for a great cause; I saw the independence 
 of the thirteen states acknowledged, I was promoted to a ser- 
 geancy by the great Washington, and I sheathed my sword, with 
 the honest pride of knowing, that I had aided in establishing a 
 powerful and happy republic. 
 
 JENKINS. You did well, honest Jasper, you did well; and now 
 you have the satisfaction of seeing your country still free and 
 happy. 
 
 JASPER. I have, indeed. When the army was disbanded, I 
 travelled on foot to explore the uncultivated territory which I had 
 assisted in liberating. I purchased a piece of land near the great 
 lakes, and with my axe levelled the mighty oaks, cleared my 
 meadows, burnt out the wolves and bears, and then built that 
 cottage there. 
 
 JENKINS. And thus became a settler and my neighbour; thanks 
 to the drum and fife and the white cockade, that lured you from 
 your home. 
 
 JASPER. In a short time, Jenkins, everything flourished; my 
 cottage was neat, my cattle thriving, still I wanted something 
 it was a wife. I was tired of a solitary life, and married Kate, 
 the miller s daughter; you knew her. 
 
 JENKINS. Ay, that I did ; she was a pretty lass. 
 
 JASPER. She was a good wife ever cheerful and industrious, 
 and made me happy: poor Kate! I was without children for 
 several years; at length my Christine was born, and I have en 
 deavoured, in cultivating her mind, and advancing her happiness, 
 to console myself for the loss of her mother. 
 
 JENKINS. Where is Christine? where is your daughter, neigh 
 bour Jasper? 
 
 JASPER. She left the cottage early this morning with Lenox, 
 to climb the mountains and see the sun rise; it is time for them 
 to return to breakfast. 
 
 JENKINS. Who is this Mr. Lenox? 
 
 JASPER. An honest lieutenant of infantry, with a gallant spirit 
 and a warm heart. He was wounded at Niagara, and one stormy 
 night, he presented himself at our cottage door, pale and hag 
 gard. His arm had been shattered by a ball, and he had received 
 a flesh wound from a bayonet: we took him in for an old soldier 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 645 
 
 never closes his door on a wounded comrade Christine nursed 
 him, and he soon recovered. But I wish they were here it is 
 growing late: besides, this is a busy day, friend Jenkins, 
 
 JENKINS. Ah, how so? 
 
 JASPER. You know Jerry Mayflower, the wealthy farmer; 
 he has offered to marry my Christine. Girls must not remain 
 single if they can get husbands, and I have consented to the 
 match, and he will be here to-day to claim her hand. 
 
 JENKINS. But will Christine marry Jerry? She has been too 
 well educated for the honest farmer. 
 
 JASPER. Oh, she may make a few wry faces, as she does when 
 swallowing magnesia, but the dose will go down. There is some 
 credit due to a wife who improves the intellect of her husband; 
 aye, and there is some pride in it also. Girls should marry. Matri 
 mony is like an old oak; age gives durability to the trunk, skill 
 trims the branches, and affection keeps the foliage ever green. 
 But come, let us in. QASPER and JENKINS enter the cottage. 
 
 Pastoral Music. LENOX and CHRISTINE are seen winding down 
 the mountains his left arm is in a sling. 
 
 CHRISTINE. At last we are at home. O my breath is nearly 
 gone. You soldiers are so accustomed to marching and counter 
 marching, that you drag me over hedge and briar, like an empty 
 baggage-wagon. Look at my arm, young Mars, you ve made it as 
 red as pink, and as rough as then my hand don t attempt to 
 kiss it, you wild man of the woods. 
 
 LENOX. Nay, dear Christine, be not offended ; if I have passed 
 rapidly over rocks and mountains, it is because you were with me. 
 My heart ever feels light and happy when I am permitted to 
 walk with you; even the air seems newly perfumed, and the 
 birds chaunt more melodiously; and see, I can take my arm out of 
 confinement your care has done this; your voice administered 
 comfort, and your eyes affection. What do I not owe you? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Owe me? Nothing, only one of your best bows, 
 and your prettiest compliments. But I do suspect, my serious 
 cavalier, that your wounds were never as bad as you would have 
 me think. Of late you have taken your recipes with so much 
 grace, have swallowed so many bitter tinctures with a playful 
 smile, that I believe you ve been playing the invalid, and would 
 make me your nurse for life O sinner as you are, what have you 
 to say for yourself? 
 
646 Representative Plays 
 
 LENOX. Why, I confess, dear Christine, that my time has 
 passed with so much delight, that even the call of duty will find 
 me reluctant to quit these scenes, so dear to memory, hospitality, 
 and, let me add, to love. Be serious, then, dear Christine, and tell 
 me \vhat I have to hope ; even now I expect orders from my com 
 manding officer, requiring my immediate presence at the camp; 
 we are on the eve of a battle Speak ! 
 
 CHRISTINE. Why, you soldiers are such fickle game, that if we 
 once entangle you in the net, tis ten to one but the sight of a new 
 face will be sufficiently tempting to break the mesh you re just 
 as true as the smoke of your cannon, and you fly off at the sight 
 of novelty in petticoats, like one of your Congreve rockets No, 
 I won t love a soldier that s certain. 
 
 LENOX. Nay, where is our reward then for deserving well of 
 our country? Gratitude may wreath a chaplet of laurel, but 
 trust me, Christine, it withers unless consecrated by beauty. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Well, that s a very pretty speech, and deserves 
 one of my best courtesies. Now suppose I should marry you, my 
 "dear ally Croaker," I shall expect to see myself placed on the 
 summit of a baggage- w r agon, with soldiers \vives and a few dear 
 squalling brats, whose musical tones drown e en the "squeaking 
 of the wry-neck d fife;" and if I should escape from the enemy at 
 the close of a battle, I should be compelled to be ever ready, and 
 "pack up my tatters and follow the drum." No, no, I can t 
 think of it. 
 
 LENOX. Prithee, be serious, dear Christine, your gaiety alarms 
 me. Can you permit me to leave you without a sigh? Can I 
 depart from that dear cottage and rush to battle without having 
 the assurance that there is a heart within which beats in unison 
 with mine? a heart which can participate in my glory, and sympa 
 thize in my misfortunes? 
 
 CHRISTINE. No not so, Lenox; your glory is dear to me, your 
 happiness my anxious wish. I have seen you bear pain like a sol 
 dier, and misfortune like a man. I am myself a soldier s daughter, 
 and believe me, when I tell you, that under the appearance of 
 gaiety, my spirits are deeply depressed at your approaching de 
 parture. I have been taught, by a brave father, to love glory when 
 combined with virtue. There is my hand; be constant, and I 
 am ever your friend; be true, and you shall find me ever faithful. 
 
 LENOX. Thanks a thousand thanks, beloved Christine; you 
 have removed a mountain of doubts and anxious wishes from my 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 647 
 
 heart: I did hope for this reward, though it was a daring one. 
 Love and honour must now inspire me, and should we again be 
 triumphant in battle, I shall return to claim the reward of con 
 stancy a reward dearer than thrones the heart of a lovely and 
 virtuous woman. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Enough, dear Lenox; I shall never doubt your 
 faith. But come, let us in to breakfast stay my knight of the 
 rueful countenance, where is the portrait which you have been 
 sketching of me? Let me look at your progress. 
 
 LENOX. Tis here. [Gives a small drawing book. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [Opening it. ] Heavens, how unlike ! Why Lenox, 
 you were dreaming of the Venus de Medici when you drew this 
 Oh, you flatterer! 
 
 LENOX. Nay, tis not finished; now stand there, while I sketch 
 the drapery. [Places her at a distance, takes out a pencil, and 
 works at the drawing. ] 
 
 CHRISTINE. Why, what a statue you are making of me. Pray, 
 why not make a picture of it at once? Place me in that bower, 
 with a lute and a lap dog, sighing for your return; then draw a 
 soldier disguised as a pilgrim, leaning on his staff, and his cowl 
 thrown back; let thai; pilgrim resemble thee, and then let the 
 little dog bark, and I fainting, and there s a subject for the pencil 
 and pallet. 
 
 LENOX. Sing, dear Christine, while I finish the drawing it 
 may be the last time I shall ever hear you. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Oh, do not say so, my gloomy cavalier; a soldier, 
 and despair? 
 
 THE KNIGHT ERRANT. 
 
 Written by the late Queen of Holland. 
 
 It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound to Palestine, 
 
 But first he made his orisons before St. Mary s shrine: 
 
 And grant, immortal Queen of Heav n, was still the soldier s 
 
 prayer, 
 That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair. 
 
 His oath of honour on the shrine he grav d it with his sword, 
 And follow d to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord ; 
 Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill d the air 
 Be honour d, aye, the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair. 
 
648 Representative Plays 
 
 They ow d the conquest to his arm, and then his liege lord said, 
 The heart that has for honour beat must be by bliss repaid: 
 My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, 
 For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair. 
 
 And then they bound the holy knot before St. Mary s shrine, 
 Which makes a paradise on earth when hearts and hands com 
 bine; 
 
 And every lord and lady bright that was in chapel there, 
 Cry d, Honour d be the bravest knight, belov d the fairest fair. 
 
 LENOX. There, tis finished how do you like it? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Why, so, so if you wish something to remind you 
 of me, it will do. 
 
 LENOX. No, not so ; your image is too forcibly impressed here 
 to need so dull a monitor. But I ask it to reciprocate wear this 
 for my sake [Gives a miniature. ], and think of him who, even in 
 the battle s rage, will not forget thee. [Bugle sounds at a dis 
 tance.] Hark! tis a bugle of our army. [Enter a SOLDIER, who 
 delivers a letter to LENOX and retires LENOX opens and reads it. ] 
 
 "The enemy, in force, has thrown up entrenchments near 
 Chippewa; if your wounds will permit, join your corps without 
 delay a battle is unavoidable, and I wish you to share the glory 
 of a victory. You have been promoted as an aid to the gelieral 
 for your gallantry in the last affair. It gives me pleasure to be the 
 first who announces this grateful reward lose not a moment. 
 Your friend, 
 
 MANDEVILLE." 
 I must be gone immediately. 
 
 Enter JASPER and JENKINS from the cottage. 
 
 JASPER. Ah! Lenox, my boy, good morning to you. Why 
 Christine, you have had a long ramble with the invalid. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Lenox leaves us immediately, dear father; the 
 army is on the march. 
 
 JASPER. Well, he goes in good time, and may success attend 
 him. Ods my life, when I was young, the sound of the drum and 
 fife was like the music of the spheres, and the noise and bustle 
 of a battle was more cheering to me, than "the hunter s horn in 
 the morning." You will not forget us, Lenox, will you? 
 
 LENOX. Forget ye? Never I should be the most ungrateful 
 of men, could I forget that endearing attention which poured oil 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 649 
 
 into my wounds, and comforted the heart of a desponding and 
 mutilated soldier. No, Jasper, no; while life remains, yourself 
 and daughter shall never cease to live in my grateful remem 
 brance. [CHRISTINE and LENOX enter the cottage. 
 
 Pastoral Music. Peasants are seen winding down the mountains, 
 headed by JERRY, dressed for a festive occasion, with white favours, 
 nosegays, &c. 
 
 JERRY. Here I am, farmer Jasper come to claim Miss Crissy 
 as my wife, according to your promise, and have brought all my 
 neighbours. How do you do? 
 
 JASPER. Well quite well and these are all your neighbours? 
 
 JERRY. Yes there s Bob Short, the tanner; Nick Anvil, the 
 blacksmith ; Patty, the weaver s daughter and the rest of em ; 
 come here, Patty, make a curtchey to the old soger [PATTY 
 comes forward.} a pretty girl! I could have had her, but she 
 wanted edication she wanted the airs and graces, as our school 
 master says. 
 
 JASPER. Well, farmer, you are an honest man, but I fear my 
 Christine will not approve this match, commenced without her 
 advice, and concluded without her consent. Then her education 
 has been so different from 
 
 JERRY. O, fiddle-de-dee, I don t mind how larned she is, so 
 much the better she can teach me to parlyvoo, and dance solos 
 and duets, and such elegant things, when I ve done ploughing. 
 
 JASPER. But I m not sure that she will like you. 
 
 JERRY. Not like me? Come, that s a good one; only look at 
 my movements why she can t resist me. I m the boy for a race, 
 for an apple-paring or quilting frolic fight a cock, hunt an opos 
 sum, or snare a partridge with any one. Then I m a squire, and 
 a county judge, and a brevet ossifer in the militia besides; and a 
 devil of a fellow at an election to boot. Not have me? damme, 
 that s an insult. Besides, sergeant Jasper, I ve been to the wars 
 since I ve seen ye got experience, laurels and lilies, and all 
 them there things. 
 
 JASPER. Indeed! 
 
 JERRY. Yes sarved a campaign, and was at the battle of 
 Queenstown. What do you think of that? 
 
 JASPER. And did you share in the glory of that spirited battle? 
 
 JERRY. O yes, I shared in all the glory that is I didn t fight. 
 I ll tell you how it was: I marched at the head of my village 
 
650 Representative Plays 
 
 sogers, straight as the peacock in my farm yard, and I had some 
 of the finest lads in our county, with rifles well, we march d and 
 camp d, and camp d and march d, and were as merry as grigs un 
 til we arrived at the river: half the troops had cross d and were 
 fighting away like young devils: ods life, what a smoke! what a 
 popping of small arms, and roaring of big ones! and what a power 
 of red coats ! 
 
 JASPER. Well, and you panted to be at them? clubb d your 
 rifles, and dashed over? 
 
 JERRY. Oh no, I didn t I was afear d that in such a crowd, 
 nobody would see how I fought, so I didn t cross at all. Besides, 
 some one said, it were contrary to law and the constitution, to go 
 into the enemy s country, but if they com d into our country, it 
 were perfectly lawful to flog em. 
 
 JASPER. And you did not cross? 
 
 JERRY. Oh no, I stood still and look d on; it were contrary to 
 the constitution of my country, and my own constitution to boot 
 so I took my post out of good gun shot, and felt no more fear 
 nor you do now. 
 
 JASPER. No doubt. Admirable sophistry, that can shield 
 cowards and traitors, under a mistaken principle of civil govern 
 ment! I ve heard of those scruples, which your division felt when 
 in sight of the enemy. Was that a time to talk of constitutions 
 when part of our gallant army was engaged with unequal num 
 bers? Could you calmly behold your fellow citizens falling on all 
 sides, and not avenge their death? Could you, with arms in your 
 hands, the enemy in view, with the roar of cannon thundering on 
 your ear, and the flag of your country waving amidst fire and 
 smoke could you find a moment to think of constitutions? 
 Was that a time to pause and suffer coward scruples to unnerve 
 the arm of freemen? 
 
 JERRY. Bravo! bravo! sergeant Jasper; that s a very fine 
 speech I ll vote for you for our assemblyman; now just go that 
 over again, that I may get it by heart for our next town meeting 
 blazing flags fiery cannon smoking constitutions 
 
 JASPER. I pray you pardon me. I am an old soldier, and fought 
 for the liberty which you enjoy, and, therefore, claim some privi 
 lege in expressing my opinion. But come, your friends are idle, 
 let us have breakfast before our cottage door. Ah, Jerry, my 
 Crissy would make a fine soldier s wife: do you know that I have 
 given her a military education? 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 651 
 
 JERRY. No, surely 
 
 JASPER. Aye, she can crack a bottle at twelve paces with a 
 pistol. 
 
 JERRY. Crack a bottle! Come, that s a good one; I can crack 
 a bottle too, but not so far off. 
 
 JASPER. And then she can bring down a buck, at any dis 
 tance. 
 
 JERRY. Bring down a buck? I don t like that can t say as 
 how I like my wife to meddle with bucks. Can she milk knit 
 garters make apple butter and maple sugar dance a reel after 
 midnight, and ride behind her husband on a pony, to see the 
 trainings of our sogers that s the wife for my money. Oh, here 
 she comes. 
 
 Enter CHRISTINE and LENOX from the cottage. 
 
 JASPER. Christine, here is farmer Mayflower and his friends, 
 who have come to visit our cottage, and you in particular. 
 
 CHRISTINE. They are all welcome. Good morning, Jerry 
 how is it with you? 
 
 JERRY. Purely, Miss Crissy, I m stout and hearty, and you 
 look as pretty and as rosy as a field of pinks on a sunshiny morn 
 ing. 
 
 JASPER. Come here, farmer give me your hand Christine, 
 yours [Joins them.] there; may you live long and happy, and 
 my blessings ever go with you. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [Aside in amazement.] Heavens! what can this 
 mean? [LENOX is agitated pause JASPER and group retire 
 LENOX remains at a distance. ] 
 
 JERRY. Why, Miss Crissy, your father has consented that I 
 shall marry you, and I ve come with my neighbours to have a 
 little frolic, and carry you home with me. 
 
 CHRISTINE. And am I of so little moment as not to be con 
 sulted? Am I thus to be given away by my father without one 
 anxious question? [With decision.] Farmer, pardon my frank 
 ness; on this occasion, sincerity alone is required I do not like 
 you, I will not marry you nay, do not look surprised. I am a 
 stranger to falsehood and dissimulation, and thus end at once all 
 hopes of ever becoming my husband. 
 
 JERRY. Why, now, Miss Crissy, that s very cruel of you I 
 always had a sneaking kindness for you, and when your father 
 gave his consent, I didn t dream as how you could refuse me. 
 
652 Representative Plays 
 
 CHRISTINE. My father has ever found me dutiful and obedi 
 ent, but when he bestows my hand, without knowing whether my 
 heart or inclinations accompany it, I feel myself bound to consult 
 my own happiness. I cannot marry you, farmer. 
 
 LENOX. [Advancing.] All things are prepared, and I am now 
 about to depart. Christine, farewell! Friends, good fortune 
 await you! [Aside.] Dear Christine, remember me. [Exit hastily. 
 
 JERRY. Lack-a-daisy ! What a disappointment to me, when I 
 had put my house in such nice order painted my walls got a 
 new chest upon chest two new bed quilts, and a pair of pumps, 
 and had the pig-sty and dairy whitewashed. Hang me, after all, 
 I believe, she is only a little shy. Oh, I see it now, she only wants a 
 little coaxing a little sparking or so I ve a great mind to kiss 
 her. I will, too. [Approaches CHRISTINE, who stands at a dis 
 tance, buried in deep thought. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Begone dare not touch me! Heavens, am I re 
 served for this humiliation? Could my father be so cruel? 
 
 JERRY. Now, Crissy, don t be so shy you know you like me 
 you know you said t other day, when I were out training, that I 
 held up my head more like a soger than anybody in the ranks; 
 come now, let s make up; you ll always find me a dutiful hus 
 band, and if I ever flog you, then my name s not Jerry. 
 
 Enter JASPER from the cottage, with a basket; PEASANTS following 
 with fruit. 
 
 JASPER. Come, let us have breakfast in the open air help me 
 to arrange the table. 
 
 JERRY. Breakfast! Oh, true, I ve a powerful appetite. [A ssists. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [Aside.] What is to be done? I have not a mo 
 ment to lose; my father is stern and unyielding I know his tem 
 per too well, to hope that my entreaties will prevail with him 
 the farmer is rich, and gold is a powerful tempter. I must be gone 
 follow Lenox, and in disguise, to avoid this hateful match. 
 I ll in, whilst unobserved. [Enters the cottage. 
 
 JASPER. Come, sit down, farmer and neighbours; and you, my 
 pretty lads and lasses, let s have a dance. Ah, here is a foraging 
 party. [Enter SOLDIERS. 
 
 Party dance several pastoral and fancy dances and as the whole 
 company retires, CHRISTINE comes from the cottage with cautious 
 steps she is dressed in a frock coat, pantaloons and hat. 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 653 
 
 CHRISTINE. They are gone now to escape. Scenes of my 
 
 infancy of many a happy hour, farewell! Oh, farewell, 
 
 forever! [Exit. 
 JASPER and JERRY return. 
 
 JERRY. She refused me plumply. 
 
 JASPER. Impossible! 
 
 JERRY. No, it s quite possible. Farmer, said she, I will not 
 marry you and hang me if there s any joke in that. 
 
 JASPER. Refuse an honest man? A wealthy one, too? And 
 one whom her father gives to her? Trifling girl ! Insensible to her 
 happiness and interest. What objections had she to you, farmer? 
 
 JERRY. Objections! Oh, none in the world, only she wouldn t 
 marry me; she didn t seem struck at all with my person. 
 
 JASPER. Mere coyness maiden bashfulness. 
 
 JERRY. So I thought, sergeant Jasper, and was going to give 
 her a little kiss, when she gave me such a look, and such a push, 
 as quite astounded me. 
 
 JASPER. I will seek and expostulate with the stubborn girl. 
 Ah, Jerry, times have strangely altered, when young women 
 choose husbands for themselves, with as much ease and indif 
 ference, as a ribbon for their bonnet. [Enters the cottage. 
 
 JERRY. So they do the little independent creatures as they 
 are but what Miss Crissy could see in me to refuse, hang me if I 
 can tell. I m call d as sprightly a fellow as any in our county, 
 and up to everything always ready for fun, and perfectly good- 
 natured. [Enter JASPER from the cottage, agitated. 
 
 JASPER. She is nowhere to be found she has gone off and 
 left her poor old father. In her room, I found these lines scrawled 
 with a pencil: "You have driven your daughter from you, by 
 urging a match that was hateful to her. Was her happiness not 
 worth consulting?" What s to be done? Where has she gone? 
 Ah, a light breaks in upon me to the camp to the camp! 
 
 JERRY. Oho! I smell a rat too she s gone after Mr. Lenox, the 
 infantry ossifer. Oh, the young jade! But come along, old soger 
 get your hat and cane, and we ll go arter her I m a magistrate, 
 and will bring her back by a habes corpus. [They enter the cottage. 
 
 SCENE II. A Wood. 
 
 Enter CHRISTINE in haste, looking back with fear. 
 CHRISTINE. On, on, or I shall be pursued and o ertaken I 
 
654 Representative Plays 
 
 have lost my way. Ah, yonder is the camp I see the flags and 
 tents a short time and I shall be with you, dear Lenox. [Exit. 
 
 Enter JASPER, JERRY and PEASANTS. 
 
 JERRY. We re on the right track, farmer; I know all tracks 
 used to em when I hunt possums. 
 
 JASPER. Cruel girl! to desert her old father, who has ever 
 been kind and affectionate. 
 
 JERRY. Cruel girl! to desert me, who intended to be so very 
 affectionate, if he had given me a chance. 
 
 JASPER. We cannot be far from the outposts, let us continue 
 our search. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Camp. A row of tents in the rear with camp flags at 
 equal distances; on the right wing is a neat marquee, and directly 
 opposite to it another. Sentinels on duty at each marquee. 
 
 Enter from the marquee, LENOX and ADELA. 
 
 LENOX. I never was more surprised! just when I had brush d 
 up my arms, and prepared to meet the enemy, who should I find 
 in camp but you, my old hoyden scholar. Why Adela, you have 
 grown nearly as tall as a grenadier, and as pretty zounds, I 
 would kiss you, if I dare. 
 
 ADELA. I am delighted to see you, dear Lenox; you are still 
 as gay and amiable as when you taught your little Adela to con 
 jugate verbs, and murder French; I heard of your gallantry and 
 wounds, and imagined I should see you limping on crutches, with 
 a green patch over one eye, and a wreath of laurel around your 
 head, a kind of limping, one-eyed cupid; but I find you recovered 
 from your wounds, and ready for new ones, my soldier. 
 
 LENOX. Bravo! the little skipping girl, who was once so full of 
 mischief, has grown a tall and beautiful woman. But what 
 brings you to camp, Adela? What have you to do with "guns 
 and drums? heaven save the mark!" 
 
 ADELA. Why, my father wrote for me, expecting that the 
 campaign was drawing to a close; but scarcely had I arrived 
 here, when intelligence reached us that the enemy, in force, had 
 occupied a position near Chippewa; it was too late to return, so I 
 remained to see a little skirmishing. 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 655 
 
 LENOX. And are you prepared to endure the privations of a 
 camp? 
 
 ADELA. Oh, it is delightful ! it is something out of the common 
 order of things, something new such echoing of bugles glisten 
 ing of fire-arms, and nodding of plumes such marchings and 
 countermarchings and such pretty officers too, Lenox; but 
 then a terrible accident happened to me the other day. 
 
 LENOX. Aye, what was it? 
 
 ADELA. Why you must know, that I accompanied my father, 
 who with his suite, and a small detachment, went out on a re- 
 connoitering project. Just as we debouched from the wood, ac 
 cording to the military phrase, we came suddenly and unex 
 pectedly on a foraging party of the enemy, who began to fight 
 and retreat at the same time. 
 
 LENOX. Well? 
 
 ADELA. My horse happening to be an old trooper, the moment 
 the bugles sounded, and he heard the prattle of the small arms, 
 he dashed in amongst them, and there was I screaming in a most 
 delightful style, which, by some, must have been mistaken for a 
 war-whoop, and to mend the matter, a very polite and accom 
 plished Indian took aim at me with his rifle, and actually shot 
 away the plume from my hat, which, I dare say, was as valuable 
 a prize to him as I should have been. 
 
 LENOX. And how did you escape from your perilous situation? 
 
 ADELA. Oh, I soon recovered my fright, and reined in my old 
 horse; my father and a few soldiers cut in before me, and covered 
 my retreat, so that in the conclusion of this little affair, I gained 
 a feather in my cap, though the enemy carried off the plume; 
 and I found myself at last on the field of battle, as cool as any 
 hero in the army. 
 
 LENOX. And so, my lively Adela, you have been fairly intro 
 duced to Mars and Bellona: how do you like them? 
 
 ADELA. Prodigiously. I find, after all, that courage is some 
 thing like a cold bath; take the first plunge, and all is over. Lord, 
 Lenox, how delightful it would have been, had I been armed and 
 fought gallantly in that affair; my name would have been immor 
 talized like Joan of Arc s. Congress would ha.ve voted me a 
 medal, I should have had a public dinner at Tammany-Hall, and 
 his honour the mayor would have made me one of his prettiest 
 speeches, in presenting me with the freedom of the great city in a 
 gold box. 
 
656 Representative Plays 
 
 LENOX. And so, then, you admire a military life? 
 ADELA. Oh, I m in raptures with it! I am a perfect female 
 Quixote, and would relinquish a thousand dandy beaux for one 
 brave fellow; and, therefore, Lenox, don t be surprised, if you 
 should see me going about from tent to tent, chaunting the old 
 songs of 
 
 "Soldier, soldier, marry me, 
 With your fife and drum" 
 
 CHRISTINE suddenly appears in the background and surveys the 
 party with astonishment. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Heavens! what do I see? Lenox, and with a 
 female so affectionately? 
 
 LENOX. Your spirits charm me, dear Adela, and revive those 
 feelings for you, that time has impaired, but not destroyed. But 
 come, let us in and see your worthy father. 
 
 [Leads her into the tent to the left. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Cruel, unkind, false Lenox! Are these your vows 
 of constancy? are these your protestations of love? Scarcely 
 are you free from our cottage, when your vows and pledges are. 
 but air. Wretched Christine! what will become of you? I have 
 deserted my father s house to avoid a hateful match, and seek 
 the protection of the man I love; he is false, and I am lost. 
 What s to be done? Return home a penitent, and meet the frowns 
 of my father, and be wedded to the man I hate? Never. Seek out 
 Lenox, and upbraid him with his falsehood? No, pride and 
 wounded honour will not permit me. Let him go he is a wretch 
 who trifles with the affections of a woman. I care not what be 
 comes of me, despair is all that I have left. Ha! a thought strikes 
 me with the lightning s force the army I will enlist this dis 
 guise is favourable, and in the battle s rage, seek that death which 
 quickly awaits me tis resolved. [CORPORAL passes over the 
 stage.] Hist, corporal. 
 
 CORPORAL. Well, my lad, what would ye? 
 
 CHRISTINE. I would enlist, good corporal, and serve my 
 country. 
 
 CORPORAL. Enlist ! As a drummer or fifer, I suppose. 
 
 CHRISTINE. No; in the ranks and though small, you will 
 
 find me capable. Give me your musket. [CHRISTINE takes the 
 
 musket, shoulders, presents, and goes through a few motions. ] 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 657 
 
 CORPORAL. Well done, my little fellow; you ll do, if it s only 
 for a fugelman; come along to our sergeant, and receive the 
 bounty. [Exit. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Now, Lenox, now am I fully revenged for your 
 cruel desertion. [Follows. 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. York, in Upper Canada; a Tavern meanly furnished. 
 Enter LAROLE, in pursuit of the chambermaid. 
 
 LAROLE. Come here, you littel demoiselle you bootiful 
 sauvage, vy you run vay from me hay? 
 
 MAID. I wish you would let me alone, mounsure, you officers 
 gentlemen are very disagreeable things. 
 
 LAROLE. Disagreeable? ma foi! I am one joli garcon, one 
 pretti batchelor; disagreeable? I vill tell you, ma belle grizette, 
 I am maitre de mode, I give de lecons for dance, to speake de 
 English, and de Frangaise aussi ; I can fence, aha ! or fight de duel, 
 or de enemi, je suis un soldat. 
 
 MAID. Well, if you re a soldier, you have no business to be 
 following me up and down the house like a pet lamb. Why don t 
 you go to camp? 
 
 LAROLE. Camp? vat is de camp? Oho, le champ de bataille; 
 I shall tell you, mademoiselle, I did fight at the bataille de 
 Vittoria, com un diable, like littel devil. I did kill beaucoup 
 d Anglais. Mai my maitre, le capitain, he did give me a dam 
 tump on my head wis his rapier, and did knock me down from on 
 top of my horse, and make a me von prisonier. 
 
 MAID. Poor fellow ! And so, mounsure, you were made prisoner? 
 
 LAROLE. Oui, ven I could not run avay, begar I surrender 
 like von brave homme, and now I am jentiman to capitain 
 Pendragoon; I do brus his coat, poudre his hair, and pull his 
 corset tight, and ven he was order to come to Amerique, and fight 
 wis de Yankee Doodel, begar me come too. I arrive ici, I am 
 here, to make a littel de love to you. 
 
 MAID. Well now, once for all, I tell you not to be following 
 me; I don t like Frenchmen I can t parly voo. 
 
 LAROLE. You no like de Frenchiman? O quell barbare! vy 
 you ave von abominable gout, mademoiselle, von shockin taste. 
 
658 Representative Plays 
 
 I shall tell you, mademoiselle, en my contree, en France, de 
 ladies are ver fond of me. O beaucoup, I am so charmant so 
 aimable, and so jentee, I have three five sweetheart, ami de cceur, 
 mai for all dat I do love you ver mush, par example. 
 
 MAID. Let me go! [Bell rings.] There, your master calls you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 LAR.OLE. Dam de littel bell, I vill not come; mon maltre he 
 always interrupt me ven I make de love to the pretti ladi, he be 
 jealous, begar I vill not come. [Exit opposite side. 
 
 Enter CAPTAIN PENDRAGON, dressed in the British uniform, but 
 
 in the extreme of fashion throws himself into a chair. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Oh, curse such roads! My bones are making their 
 way out of their sockets such vile, abominable, detestable 
 Waiter! If my friends at Castle Joram only knew the excruciat 
 ing fatigues which I am undergoing in this barbarous land Why, 
 waiter! or if his highness the commander-in-chief was only 
 sensible of my great sacrifices to Why, waiter! where the devil 
 are you? 
 
 Enter WAITER. 
 
 WAITER. Here I be, sir. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Why didn t you come when I first called? Do 
 you think I ve got lungs like a hunter? I m fatigued and hungry. 
 Get me an anchovy, a toast, and a bottle of old port. 
 
 WAITER. A what, sir? an ancho 
 
 PENDRAGON. Yes, sir, an anchovy small ones delicate. 
 
 WAITER. Why, sir, we don t know what these are in this 
 country. 
 
 PENDRAGON. The devil you don t! Then pray, sir, what have 
 you to eat in this damn d house fit for a gentleman? 
 
 WAITER. Why, sir, not much the army eats us out of house 
 and home. We have some very excellent fresh bear meat, sir. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Bear meat! Why, what the devil, fellow, do you 
 take me for a Chickasaw, or an Esquimau? Bear meat! the 
 honourable captain Pendragon, who never ate anything more 
 gross than a cutlet at Molly s chop-house, and who lived on 
 pigeons livers at Very s, in Paris, offered bear meat in North 
 America! I ll put that down in my travels. 
 
 WAITER. Why, sir, it is considered here a great delicacy. 
 
 PENDRAGON. The devil it is! Then pray, sir, what are your 
 ordinary fares, if bear s meat is considered a delicacy? 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 659 
 
 WAITER. Why, truly, sir, this is but a young country, and 
 we have to live upon what we can catch. Pray, would you fancy 
 some possum fat and hominy? 
 
 PENDRAGON. Oh, shocking! begone, fellow you ll throw me 
 into a fever with your vile bill of fare. Get me a cup of tea 
 mix it, hyson and souchong, with cream and muffins. 
 
 WAITER. We can t give you any of those things, sir. How 
 ever, you can have an excellent cup of sage tea, sweetened with 
 honey. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Sage tea! Why, you rascal, do you intend to 
 throw me into a perspiration by way of curing my hunger? or 
 do you take me for a goose or a duck, that you intend stuffing me 
 with sage? Begone, get out, you little deformed fellow! [Exit 
 WAITER. ] I shall perish in this barbarous land bear meat, pos 
 sum fat, and sage tea! O dear St. James! I wish I was snug in 
 my old quarters. LaRole! [Enter LARoLE.] Where the devil 
 do you hide yourself in this damn d house? Why, I shall starve 
 there s nothing to eat, fit for a gentleman. 
 
 LAROLE. Oui, monsieur, dis is von damn contree, I can find 
 nosing to eat. I did look into all de pantri, mai parbleu, I find 
 only a ver pretti demoiselle, mai, I could not eat her. 
 
 PENDRAGON. W T e must be off to the camp, LaRole, my quar 
 ters there will be infinitely more agreeable. I shall get the blue 
 devils in this cursed place. 
 
 LAROLE. Veil, sair, I have all de devils ventre bleu, das you 
 can imagine; dere is no politesse, no respect, nosing paid to me. 
 
 PENDRAGON. My fit of the blues is coming on me; sing me a, 
 song, LaRole. 
 
 LAROLE. A chanson? Veil, sair, I shall sing to frighten avay 
 de littel blue devil; vill you I shall sing de English or de Fran- 
 gaise? 
 
 PENDRAGON. Oh, English, by all means curse your foreign 
 lingo. 
 
 LAROLE. Ahem ! Ahem ! you shall understand. 
 
 Vat is dis dull town to me, 
 
 Robin Hadair? 
 
 Vere is all de joys on earth, dat 
 Make dis town 
 
 [A bugle sounds without. 
 Ha! what is dat? who de devil intrup me in my chanson? 
 
660 Representative Plays 
 
 INDIAN CHIEF. [Speaks without. ] Have them all ready, with 
 their rifles and tomahawks in order; [Enters with another 
 INDIAN.] and you, Coosewatchie, tell our priests to take their 
 stand on yonder hill, and as my warriors pass them, examine 
 whether they have fire in their eyes. [Exit INDIAN. ] How now, 
 who have we here? 
 
 PENDRAGON. [Examining him with his glass.] Where the 
 devil did this character come from? he s one of the fancy, I 
 suppose. 
 
 INDIAN. Who and what are you? 
 
 PENDRAGON. Who am I? Why, sir, I am the honourable cap 
 tain Pendragon, of his majesty s guards, formerly of the buffs. 
 
 INDIAN. [Aside.] The officer who is to be under my com 
 mand. Well sir, you have lately arrived from across the great 
 waters: How did you leave my father, the King of England? 
 
 PENDRAGON. How! call my most gracious sovereign your 
 father? Why, sir, you are the most familiar impertinent 
 sdeath! I shall choke What the devil do you mean? 
 
 INDIAN. [Coolly.] What should I mean, young man, but to 
 inquire after the health of my father, who commands my re 
 spect, who has honoured me with his favours, and in whose cause 
 I am now fighting. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Well, sir, if you have the honour to hold a com 
 mission from his majesty, I desire that you will speak of him with 
 proper awe, and not call him your father, but your gracious 
 master. 
 
 INDIAN. Young man, the Indian warrior knows no master 
 but the Great Spirit, whose voice is heard in thunder, and whose 
 eye is seen in the lightning s flash; free as air, we bow the knee to 
 no man; our forests are our home, our defence is our arms, our 
 sustenance the deer and the elk, which we run down. White men 
 encroach upon our borders, and drive us into war; we raise the 
 tomahawk against your enemies, because your king has promised 
 us protection and supplies. We fight for freedom, and in that 
 cause, the great king and the poor Indian start upon equal terms. 
 
 PENDRAGON. A very clever spoken fellow, pon honour; I ll 
 patronise him. 
 
 LAR.OLE. Parbleu, he is von very sensible sauvage; vill you 
 take von pinch snuff? 
 
 INDIAN. Pshaw! 
 
 LAR.OLE. He say pshaw, I see he is born in de voods. 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 66 1 
 
 PENDRAGON. And are you prepared to fan these Yankees? 
 We shall flog them without much fatigue, I understand. 
 
 INDIAN. Not so fast, young soldier; these pale-faced enemies 
 of ours fight with obstinacy; accustomed to a hardy life, to 
 liberty and laws, they are not willing to relinquish those blessings 
 on easy terms; if we conquer them, it must be by no moderate 
 exertions: it will demand force and cunning. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Oh, dry dogs, I suppose, not to be caught nap 
 ping; well, I m up to them, we ll fan them in high style; the 
 ragged nabobs, I understand, are not far off, and our troops are 
 in fine preservation. 
 
 INDIAN. True, preparation must be made to meet them. 
 You are under my orders. 
 
 PENDRAGON. The devil I am ! 
 
 INDIAN. Aye, sir; your general, at my request, has ordered you 
 here to take command of a company of my warriors; but you 
 must not appear in that dress: change it quickly, or they will not 
 be commanded by you; they are men, and fight under the orders 
 of men. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Change my dress ! why what the devil do you 
 mean, sir? 
 
 INDIAN. Mean? that you should appear in the ranks like 
 a warrior, and not like a rabbit trussed for dressing off with 
 these garments, which give neither pleasure to the eye nor ease to 
 the limbs put on moccasins, wrap a blanket around you, put 
 rings through your nose and ears, feathers in your head, and 
 paint yourself like a soldier, with vermilion. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Why, this is the most impertinent and presuming 
 savage in the wilds of North America. Harkee, sir, I d have you 
 to know, that I am a man of fashion, and one of the fancy for 
 merly of the buffs, nephew of a peer of the realm, and will.be a 
 member of parliament, in time ; an officer of great merit and great 
 services, Mr. Red Jacket. Paint my face, and fight without 
 clothes? I desire, sir, that you will please to take notice, that I 
 fought at Badahoz with the immortal Wellington, and had the 
 honour to be wounded, and promoted, ancl had a medal for my 
 services in that affair, Mr. Split-log. Put rings in my nose? 
 a man of taste, and the ne plus ultra of Bond-street, the very 
 mirror of fashion and elegance? Sir, I beg you to observe, that 
 I am not to be treated in this manner I shall resent this insult. 
 Damme, I shall report you to the commander-in-chief at the 
 
662 Representative Plays 
 
 Horse Guards, and have you courtmartialled for unfashionable 
 deportment Mr. Walk-in-the- Water. 
 
 INDIAN. Come, come, sir, enough of this trifling; I do not 
 understand it; you have heard my orders obey them, or, after 
 the battle, I ll roast you before a slow fire! [Exit. 
 
 LAROLE. O le barbare! O de dam sauvage! dis is de most 
 impertinent dog in de vorld. Roast before de fire! Parbleu, 
 mon maitre, ve are not de littel pig. 
 
 PENDRAGON. I m horrified! lost in amazement! but I ll resent 
 it. Damme, I ll caricature him. 
 
 LAROLE. Oh, I vish I vas fight encore at Saragossa, vis mi lor 
 Villainton; par example, I did get some hard tumps, mai I did 
 get plenti to eat; but ici I ave nosing but de little bear to mange. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Come along courage, LaRole. We ll fan the 
 Yankee Doodles in our best style, and then get a furlough, and be 
 off to White-Hall, and the rings in our noses will afford anecdotes 
 for the bon-ton for a whole year. Allons. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The American Camp at daybreak. The drum and 
 fife plays the reveille. Sentinels on duty before the tents. 
 
 LENOX enters from the tent on the right, GENERAL and ADELA 
 from the left. 
 
 LENOX. Good morning, general; you are "stirring with the 
 lark" and you also, Adela. 
 
 GENERAL. The times require the utmost vigilance, Lenox; 
 the enemy cannot escape a battle now, and we must be prepared 
 at all points to meet him. Decision and energy cannot fail to 
 promote success. 
 
 ADELA. And what is to become of me, father, in the battle? 
 Am I to ride the old trooper again, and run the risk of having the 
 tip of my nose carried away by a musket ball, and left on the 
 field of battle in all my glory? 
 
 GENERAL. You shall be taken care of, dear Adela; we will 
 place you in the rear, among the baggage-wagons. 
 
 ADELA. And if they should be captured, I become also a pris 
 oner, and probably a prize to some gallant Indian chief, who will 
 make me his squaw, and teach me to kill deer. O delightful 
 thought! [Bugles sound. 
 
 GENERAL. The troops are under arms, and approaching. 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 663 
 
 [Quick march the GENERAL, LENOX and ADELA pass to the left, 
 and stand near the tent; the troops advance; CHRISTINE 
 is among them, dressed in uniform; they pass round the 
 stage in regular order, then form the line two deep; CHRIS 
 TINE is in front on the right, and keeps her eye fixed anxiously 
 on LENOX ; drum beats the roll; the troops come to an order, 
 and then proceed through the manual by the tap of drum, and 
 finally to a present; the GENERAL, LENOX, and other officers 
 advance, and pass through the line in review; the flags wave, 
 and the band strikes up "Hail Columbia. "] 
 
 GENERAL. Well everything is right. And now, soldiers, to 
 your posts; remember, discipline, subordination, courage, and 
 country, and victory will be ours. [GENERAL, LENOX and ADELA, 
 enter the tent to the left. The troops march off. CHRISTINE 
 and a SOLDIER, headed by a CORPORAL, return to relieve 
 guard at each tent. Port arms and whisper the countersign. 
 CHRISTINE is placed before the tent on the right, her comrade 
 on the left. CORPORAL retires with the two relieved sentries. 
 After a pause, she beckons to her comrade. ] 
 CHRISTINE. Hist comrade! 
 SOLDIER. Well, what is it? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Will you exchange places? There is no difference 
 and the sun will be too powerful for me presently. Look, here 
 is a dollar. 
 
 SOLDIER. With all my heart. [They cross quickly, the SOLDIER 
 
 receives the money CHRISTINE now paces before the tent 
 
 into which LENOX, ADELA and the GENERAL have retired. ] 
 
 CHRISTINE. Could I but see the false, perfidious LENOX, and 
 
 upbraid him with his cruelty! [She is in great uneasiness, pauses 
 
 occasionally, and looks into the tent her comrade is watching her. 
 
 LENOX sings within. ] 
 
 Shall the pleasures of life unknown fade away, 
 
 In viewing those charms so lovely and gay? 
 
 Shall the heart which has breath d forth rapturous flame, 
 
 Be hid from the world and unsought for by fame? 
 
 Thus spoke the fond Roscoe to Scylla the fair, 
 
 As he gaz d on her charms, with a love-soothing care: 
 
 Hear now the last wish, that fondly I sigh, 
 
 I ll conquer in love, or in battle I ll die. 
 
664 Representative Plays 
 
 He girded his armour and flew to the field, 
 Determin d while life flow d never to yield; 
 The foe was subdued, but death s cruel dart 
 Was aim d at the valiant and fond Roscoe s heart: 
 
 But the blow was defeated he lived to enjoy 
 
 The sight of his Scylla, no longer so coy, 
 
 And his laurels fresh bloom d, as she smil d on the youth, 
 
 And gave her fair hand in reward for his truth. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Ha, that false voice! I can no longer bear it! 
 [Throws down her gun, and is about entering the tent, when her 
 
 comrade, who has been attentively regarding her movements, 
 
 rushes over and seizes her.] 
 SOLDIER. Where are you going? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Unhand me this instant! [Struggles. 
 
 SOLDIER. Guards, there! 
 
 Enter an OFFICER with SOLDIERS, who attempts to seize CHRISTINE 
 she draws her sword and stands on the defensive, and after some 
 resistance, escapes. 
 
 OFFICER. Pursue him quickly! [SOLDIERS pursue. 
 
 SOLDIER. He crosses the bridge. 
 
 OFFICER. The sentinels will reach him with their guns. 
 
 [Muskets discharged. 
 SOLDIER. They have him he is not hurt. 
 
 GENERAL, ADELA and LENOX rush from the tent. 
 
 GENERAL. What means this confusion? 
 
 2ND OFFICER. The sentinel who was placed here on duty, at 
 tempted, for some desperate purpose, to enter your tent; but 
 being discovered, he refused to surrender, drew his sword on me 
 and the guard, and, after some resistance, has been disarmed and 
 secured. 
 
 LENOX. Good heavens! What object could he have had? 
 
 2ND OFFICER. I know not but he is a new recruit, probably 
 a spy from the enemy. 
 
 GENERAL. It must be so see that a court martial be called to 
 try him, and bring the result to me without delay. If he is guilty, 
 a dreadful example shall be made of him. Begone. 
 
 [Exeunt GENERAL, SOLDIERS, &c. 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 665 
 
 SCENE III. Another Part of the Camp. 
 ENTER JASPER, JERRY and PEASANTS. 
 
 JASPER. Nowhere to be found. I have asked everybody in 
 the camp in vain she is lost to me. Unhappy, cruel girl! to 
 quit her old and fond father thus. 
 
 JERRY. Unhappy girl! to leave me in such an ungenteel man 
 ner too, run away from me on my wedding day! but I ll find her 
 out. 
 
 JASPER. Impossible! we must return, dejected and disap 
 pointed. 
 
 JERRY. I ll peep into every tent, bribe the sogers I ve got a 
 little money left. QASPER and PEASANTS retire. CORPORAL 
 crosses the stage. ] Hist, corporal ! 
 
 CORPORAL. Well, what would you? 
 
 JERRY. Why no, sure it isn t yes, it is why Corporal 
 Flash, how do you do? Don t you know me? 
 
 CORPORAL. Can t say I do, sir. 
 
 JERRY. Why, not know Jerry Mayflower? Don t you remem 
 ber me at the battle of Queenstown, when you were in the boat 
 and I on land, and you were crossing to fight Johnny Bull, and 
 I didn t cross at all? 
 
 CORPORAL. Oh, I remember you now I remember calling you 
 a cowardly rascal at the time. 
 
 JERRY. So you did how have you been? I am very glad to 
 see you you re not killed, I take it? 
 
 CORPORAL. No, not exactly killed but I was wounded an 
 honour which you didn t seem to care much about. 
 
 JERRY. No, not much; I m not very ambitious that way. 
 
 CORPORAL. What brings you to the camp, just when we are 
 about having another brush with the enemy do you want to 
 run away again? Zounds! you deserve a round hundred at the 
 halberts. 
 
 JERRY. Yes, I deserve many things that I don t get but 
 pray, corporal, mout you have seen a young woman in this here 
 camp lately? 
 
 CORPORAL. Oh, plenty, among the suttlers. 
 
 JERRY. No, a kind of a pretty girl, a little lady-like, parlyvoos, 
 and carries her head up straight. 
 
 CORPORAL. No I ve seen no such person. 
 
666 Representative Plays 
 
 JERRY. Well, Corporal Flash, I ve a little cash, and what say 
 you to a jug of whiskey punch? Brave men, you know, like you 
 and I, should drink with one another. 
 
 CORPORAL. With all my heart; you re good for nothing else 
 but to drink with. 
 
 JERRY. Then come along, my boy; we ll drown care, raise our 
 spirits, and swallow the enemy in a bumper. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Prison. 
 
 Enter two OFFICERS, GUARDS and CHRISTINE. OFFICERS seat 
 themselves at a table, with pens and ink. 
 
 1ST OFFICER. Young man, come forward. You have been 
 charged with an act of mutiny, and with an attempt, for some 
 unknown cause, to force your way, with arms in your hand, 
 into the tent of the commanding general. We are convened for 
 your trial we have examined the testimony ; and as you^ are a 
 stranger in our ranks, no feelings of prejudice could have given a 
 false colouring to that testimony. What have you to say? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Nothing. 
 
 OFFICER. Nothing? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Nothing! [With firmness.] I am guilty! 
 
 OFFICER. Have a care, pause before you make this avowal of 
 your guilt. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [With settled firmness.] I have considered it well, 
 and am ready to meet the consequences. I am guilty. [With a 
 burst of anguish. ] Oh, most guilty ! 
 
 OFFICER. Unhappy young man, what could have tempted you 
 to this act? Who set you on? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Seek not to know the cause, tis buried here. Do 
 your duty I am prepared for the result. 
 
 OFFICER. [To the Board.] The charge is fully admitted, and 
 the rules of war prescribe the punishment. The object he had in 
 view must yet be discovered; tis plain, however, that he is a 
 spy, and has no hope of pardon. Record the verdict and sen 
 tence, for the inspection and concurrence of the general. [OFFICER 
 writes. The company rise from the table, and one approaches 
 CHRISTINE, who appears buried in thought. ] 
 
 OFFICER. Young man, I deeply commiserate your unhappy sit 
 uation, but the rules of war are rigid, and must be enforced. You 
 must prepare to die ! 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 667 
 
 CHRISTINE. [Starts, but recovers herself quickly. ] I am ready. 
 
 OFFICER. I would offer you hope, but acts of mutiny, and when 
 covering such suspicious motives as yours, cannot be pardoned. 
 You have but a day to live. I deeply regret it, for you appear to 
 have qualities which, in time, would have made you a valuable 
 citizen. You are cut off in youth, probably from the hopes of a 
 fond parent. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [In agony. ] Oh, no more no more ! 
 
 OFFICER. All the sympathy and indulgence which can be 
 offered you shall be yours! Farewell. 
 
 [Exit OFFICERS, GUARDS, &c. 
 
 CHRISTINE. At length tis concluded, and an ignominious 
 death terminates my unmerited sufferings. Cruel father! and 
 still more cruel Lenox! thus to have wounded the heart that 
 loved you. Oh, what a situation is mine ! separated from all I hold 
 dear, sentenced to die, and in this disguise; to leave my poor 
 father, and to know that death, alone, can tell my sad story. 
 What s to be done? Discover all? No, no. Expose my weakness 
 and folly to see the false Lenox wedded to another, and I 
 forced to accept the hand I loathe to be pointed at for one who, 
 lost to the delicacy of her sex, followed a perfidious lover in dis 
 guise, and, tortured by jealousy, enlisted, was mutinous, and 
 sentenced to die; but who, to save a miserable life, avowed her 
 situation, and recorded her disgrace at once? Never, never! 
 let me die, and forever be forgotten tis but a blow, and it will 
 end the pangs which torment me here. [Enter a SOLDIER, who 
 beckons. ] I am ready, lead the way. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Prison. 
 
 Enter the JAILOR, driving JERRY before him. 
 
 JAILOR. In, in, you mutinous dog! do you come here to breed 
 a riot in our camp? 
 
 JERRY. Now, my dear good-natured jailor, only have pity on 
 me, and I ll tell you all about it. 
 
 JAILOR. I won t hear you didn t you breed a riot? 
 
 JERRY. Why no, it was not me. I am as innocent as a young 
 lamb. I ll tell you how it was come, sit down on this bench 
 with me. [They sit.] You must know that I m a farmer, pretty 
 well off, as a body mout say, and I wanted a wife; hard by our 
 
668 Representative Plays 
 
 village, there lived an old soger with a pretty daughter, so I 
 courted the old man for his daughter, and he consented to the 
 match. 
 
 JAILOR. Well? 
 
 JERRY. And so I got together all my neighbours, and, with 
 music, went to the old soger s to get my sweetheart, when, lo and 
 behold ! after all my trouble, she refused me plump. 
 
 JAILOR. No, did she? 
 
 JERRY. Ay, indeed; she didn t seem stricken with the pro 
 posal and for fear her father would force her to marry me, egad, 
 she run away. 
 
 JAILOR. And where did she go? 
 
 JERRY. I can t say, but her father and a whole posse comitatus, 
 as we justices call em, went in search of her to the camp, and 
 when I came here, I found some of my old comrades who fought 
 with me at Queenstown; and so having a little money, we went 
 to take a comfortable pitcher of whiskey punch together, and so, 
 while over our cups, they doubted my valour, and hinted that I 
 run away before the battle. 
 
 JAILOR. Well, and what did you do? 
 
 JERRY. Why, I offered to fight em single-handed all round, 
 and we got into a dispute, and so when my money was all gone, 
 they tweaked my nose, boxed my ears, and kick d me out of the 
 tent. So I then kick d up a row, and that s all. 
 
 JAILOR. A very pretty story, indeed ! You look like a mutinous 
 dog so come, get into the black hole. 
 
 JERRY. Now, my dear jailor, do let me escape, and I ll give 
 you the prettiest little pig in my farmyard. 
 
 JAILOR. What! bribe an honest and humane jailor, and with a 
 pig? In with you. 
 
 JERRY. Well, but I ve nothing to eat I shall be half starved. 
 
 JAILOR. Oh no, you shall have something to employ your 
 grinders on. [Goes out, and returns with a black loaf, and a pitcher 
 of water. ] There ! 
 
 JERRY. O dear, nothing else but black bread and cold water? 
 Can t you get me a pickle? 
 
 JAILOR. I think you re in a devil of a pickle already come, 
 get in ! [Removes a board from the scene, which discovers a small 
 dark hole. JERRY supplicates.] 
 
 JERRY. How long am I to be here, Mr. Jailor, in company with 
 myself? 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 669 
 
 JAILOR. That depends on your good behaviour. [Cannon are 
 heard. ] There ! the battle has commenced. 
 
 JERRY. [Putting his head out of the hole. ] O dear, what s that? 
 The great guns are going off. Are you sure, my dear jailor, that 
 this prison is bomb proof? 
 
 JAILOR. Take your head in, you great land turtle. 
 
 JERRY. Oh, what will become of me? 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene in front of a pavilion tent; trumpets and drums sounding. 
 Enter GENERAL, LENOX, SOLDIERS, OFFICERS, &c. 
 
 GENERAL. At length victory has crown d our arms, and the 
 result of this action will keep alive the spirits of our troops, and 
 the hopes of our country. Hark! the bugles are sounding a re 
 treat, and the enemy has abandoned the field and taken to his en 
 trenchments. Lenox, your hand your conduct this day has con 
 firmed our hopes allow me in the name of our country to thank 
 you. 
 
 LENOX. Not a word, dear general, not a word; I have merely 
 done my duty, and done no more than every soldier in our ranks. 
 
 GENERAL. What is the result of this day s action? 
 
 LENOX. The enemy has lost upwards of 500 in killed and 
 wounded, and several principal officers have been taken prisoners. 
 
 GENERAL. In what position were they when the attack be 
 came general? 
 
 LENOX. The British commander, pressed by our artillery 
 under Towson, issued in all his force from his entrenchments. 
 It was a gallant sight, to see his solid columns and burnished arms 
 advance on the margin of the river, and his cavalry, with light 
 ning s force, dart on our flanks to turn and throw them into con 
 fusion: but they were met by the volunteers under the brave 
 Porter, and gallantly repulsed. 
 
 GENERAL. Go on. 
 
 LENOX. The enemy then condensed his forces and crossed the 
 bridge, and was encountered on the plains of Chippewa by Scott, 
 with his brigade, when the action became severe and general. 
 No ambuscade or masked batteries were held in reserve the 
 enemy was not a moment concealed from our view no tangled 
 thicket or umbrageous groves gave effect or facility to our rifles: 
 
670 Representative Plays 
 
 the battle was fought on a plain where man grappled man, 
 force was opposed to force, skill to skill, and eye to eye, in regular, 
 disciplined, and admirable order. 
 
 GENERAL. How near were you to the British general? 
 
 LENOX. In sight and hearing. Charge the Yankees! said a 
 hoarse voice which I knew to be his. Charge away! said our ar 
 dent troops, as they advanced with fixed bayonets; the fire be 
 came dreadful, and our stars and stripes were seen waving in the 
 blaze. Scott rode through the lines cheering the men, and gal 
 lantly leading them on; Jessup and his third battalion turned 
 the right flank of the enemy after a dreadful conflict; Ketchum 
 had kept up a cross and ruinous fire; and Towson, from his 
 dread artillery, scattered grape like hail amongst them. On, on! 
 cried Leavenworth, the day s our own, my boys! Just then a 
 shot struck down my comrade, Harrison, and shattered his leg. 
 
 GENERAL. Well? 
 
 LENOX. He grasped his sword and fought on his stump, cling 
 ing to the spot like fire-eyed Mars; the enemy, pressed on all 
 sides, gave way; our troops pursued, and the flight became gen 
 eral. At length we drove them to their entrenchments, and re 
 mained masters of the field. Our trumpets sounded their retreat; 
 victory perched on our eagles, and our bands struck up the soul- 
 inspiring air of "Hail, Columbia, happy land!" 
 
 GENERAL. Well done, my brave fellows! This action will 
 teach the enemy to respect that valour which they cannot subdue. 
 See that the wounded prisoners are taken care of: give them all 
 succor: victory loses half its value, when it is not tempered with 
 mercy. [Exit GENERAL. 
 
 LENOX. Now to my dear Christine, to receive from her the 
 reward which I hope I have fairly earned, and seek with her the 
 joys of tranquillity and love. 
 
 Enter a SOLDIER. 
 
 SOLDIER. Towards the conclusion of the battle we made two 
 Indian warriors prisoners, who were fighting desperately; we 
 have them with us. 
 
 LENOX. Bring them in; I will examine them, touching the 
 
 number and force of their tribe. [Exit SOLDIER, who returns 
 
 with PENDRAGON and LAROLE, with a file of men; both 
 
 are painted and dressed as Indians; PENDRAGON preserves 
 
 his opera-glass, and LAROLE his snuff-box. ] 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 671 
 
 PENDRAGON. What are we brought here for, fellow? 
 
 LENOX. Warriors, the fate of battle has placed you in our 
 power; yet fear nothing, we shall treat you like men and soldiers. 
 Deeply do we regret to see you take up arms against us, insti 
 gated by foreign influence, and bribed by foreign gold. How 
 numerous is your tribe? 
 
 PENDRAGON. W T hy what the devil, sir, do you take us for 
 Choctaws? Can t you tell a man of fashion in masquerade? 
 
 LENOX. Who and what are you? 
 
 PENDRAGON. I am the honourable Captain Pendragon, of his 
 Majesty s Coldstream guards. 
 
 LENOX. The honourable Captain Pendragon, and taken prisoner 
 fighting in the ranks with Indians, and in disguise? A man of 
 rank and fashion, and a soldier, changing his complexion, his 
 nature and his character herding with savages infuriating 
 their horrid passions, and whetting their knives and tomahawks 
 against their defenceless prisoners? Impossible! And who are 
 you, sir? \To LAROLE. 
 
 LAROLE. {Taking snuff.} Begar, sair, I am von man of 
 fashion aussi, I am valet de sham to capitain Pendragoon; ve 
 are in de masquerade, sair. 
 
 PENDRAGON. It s very true, sir, pon honour we are in mas 
 querade, though you look as if you doubt it. War, sir, is a kind of 
 a a singular science, and if you are to be knock d on the head, 
 tis of very little consequence whether your nose is tipped with 
 blue or red, damme. I am in your power, sir, and a man of 
 fashion, pon honour. 
 
 LENOX. Well, sir, if your example is to govern men of honour 
 or men of fashion, I hope I am ignorant of the attributes of the 
 one, or the eccentricities of the other. However, mercy to 
 prisoners, even when they have forfeited mercy, may teach 
 your nation lessons of toleration and humanity. Your life is 
 safe, sir. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Sir, you speak very like a gentleman, and I shall 
 be happy to taste Burgundy with you at the Horse Guards. 
 
 LENOX. I thank you, sir. 
 
 LAROLE. Par example, dis Yankee. Doodel is von very pretti 
 spoken jeune gentiman, I will give him de encouragement. Sair, 
 I vill be ver happy to serve you en my contree, to take un tasse 
 de caffee at de Palais Royale en Paris wid you, to dress your hair, 
 or pull your corset tight. 
 
672 Representative Plays 
 
 Enter GENERAL, ADELA and OFFICER. 
 
 GENERAL. Who have we here? 
 
 LENOX. Prisoners, sir, and in disguise. 
 
 ADELA. As I live, an Indian dandy! 
 
 PENDRAGON. A lady? [With an air of fashion.} Ma am, your 
 most devoted slave inexpressibly happy to find a beautiful 
 creature in this damn d wilderness. You see, ma am, I am a kind 
 of a prisoner, but always at home, always at my ease, d-la-mode 
 St. James extremely rejoiced to have the honour of your ac 
 quaintance. A fine girl, LaRole, split me ! 
 
 LAR.OLE. Oh, oui, she is very fine, I like her ver mush. 
 
 ADELA. Pray, sir, may I ask how came you to fancy that dis 
 guise? 
 
 PENDRAGON. Oh, it s not my fancy, pon honour, though I am 
 one of the fancy; a mere russe de guerre. We on the other side 
 of the water, have a kind of floating idea that you North Ameri 
 cans are half savages, and we must fight you after your own 
 fashion. 
 
 ADELA. And have you discovered that any difference exists in 
 the last affair in which you have been engaged? 
 
 PENDRAGON. Why, pon my soul, ma am, this Yankee kind of 
 warfare is inexpressibly inelegant, without flattery no order 
 no military arrangement no deploying in solid columns but a. 
 kind of helter-skelter warfare, like a reel or a country-dance at a 
 village inn, while the house is on fire. 
 
 ADELA. Indeed? 
 
 PENDRAGON. All true, I assure you. Why, do you know, 
 ma am, that one of your common soldiers was amusing himself 
 with shooting at me for several minutes, although he saw from 
 my air, and my dodging, that I was a man of fashion? Mon 
 strous assurance! wasn t it? 
 
 ADELA. Why ay, it was rather impertinent for a common sol 
 dier to attempt to bring down a man of fashion. 
 
 LAROLE. Oui it is dam impertinent, mai par example, de 
 littel bullet of von common soldat, he sometime kill von great 
 general. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Pray, ma am, will you permit me to ask, when 
 you arrived from England, and what family has the honour to 
 boast of so beautiful a representative? 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 673 
 
 ADELA. Sir, I am not of England, I stand on my native soil. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Oh. 
 
 ADELA. And much as I esteem English women for their many 
 amiable qualities, I hope that worth and virtue are not wholly 
 centered in that country. 
 
 PENDRAGON. Why, pon my soul, ma am, though it is not 
 fashionable this year to be prejudiced, yet were I to admit that 
 I saw any beauty or elegance in America, my Bond-Street 
 friends would cut me split me! 
 
 ADELA. I cannot admire their candour. Merit is the exclusive 
 property of no country, and to form a just estimate of our own 
 advantages, we should be ever prepared to admit the advantages 
 possessed by others. 
 
 Enter a SOLDIER. 
 
 SOLDIER. We have surprised and made captive the celebrated 
 Indian chief, who fought so desperately against us. 
 
 GENERAL. Bring him before us. [Exit SOLDIER.] He has long 
 been the terror of the neighbourhood, and the crafty foe of our 
 country. 
 
 Enter SOLDIERS with the INDIAN CHIEF. 
 
 INDIAN. Who among you is the chief of these pale-faced ene 
 mies of our race? 
 
 GENERAL. I am he. 
 
 INDIAN. Tis well, sir; behold in me your captive, who has 
 fallen into your power after a resistance becoming a warrior. I 
 am ready to meet that death which I know awaits me. 
 
 GENERAL. Chief, your fears are groundless; we intend you no 
 harm, but by our example, teach you the blessings of valour and 
 mercy united. 
 
 INDIAN. Wherefore show me mercy? I ask it not of you. 
 Think you that I cannot bear the flames? that a warrior shrinks 
 from the uplifted tomahawk? Try me try how a great soul can 
 smile on death. Or do you hope that I will meanly beg a life, 
 which fate and evil fortune has thrown into your hands? 
 
 GENERAL. We ask no concessions of you, warrior; we wish to 
 see you sensible of the delusions into which foreign nations have 
 plunged you. We wish to see you our friend. 
 
 INDIAN. Your friend? Call back the times which we passed 
 in liberty and happiness, when in the tranquil enjoyment of un- 
 
674 Representative Plays 
 
 restrained freedom we roved through our forests, and only knew 
 the bears as our enemy; call back our council fires, our fathers 
 and pious priests; call back our brothers, wives and children, 
 which cruel white men have destroyed. Your friend? You came 
 with the silver smile of peace, and we received you into our 
 cabins; we hunted for you, toiled for you; our wives and daugh 
 ters cherished and protected you; but when your numbers in 
 creased, you rose like wolves upon us, fired our dwellings, drove 
 off our cattle, sent us in tribes to the wilderness, to seek for shel 
 ter; and now you ask me, while naked and a prisoner, to be your 
 friend ! 
 
 GENERAL. We have not done this, deluded man; your pre 
 tended advocates, over the great waters, have told you this tale. 
 
 INDIAN. Alas! it is a true one; I feel it here; tis no fiction: 
 I was the chief of a great and daring tribe, which smiled on death 
 with indifference and contempt; my cabin was the seat of hos 
 pitality and of love; I was first in council, and first in the field; 
 my prosperity increased, my prospects brightened ; but the white 
 man came, and all was blasted. 
 
 GENERAL. What has been done, was the result of war. 
 
 INDIAN. Wherefore wage war against us? Was not your terri 
 tory sufficiently ample, but did you sigh for our possessions? 
 Were you not satisfied with taking our land from us, but would 
 you hunt the lords of the soil into the den of the otter? Why drive 
 to desperation a free and liberal people? Think you I would be 
 your enemy unless urged by powerful wrongs? No, white man, 
 no! the Great Spirit whom we worship, is also the God whom you 
 adore; for friends we cheerfully lay down our lives; but against 
 foes, our lives are staked with desperation. Had I taken you 
 prisoner, death should have been your portion; death in cruel 
 torments. Then why spare me? why spare the man whose knife 
 was whetted against your life? 
 
 GENERAL. To show, by contrast, the difference of our princi 
 ples. You would strike down the captive who implores your 
 protection: we tender life and liberty to the prisoner, who asks 
 himself for death. 
 
 INDIAN. Is this your vengeance? 
 
 GENERAL. It is. The Great Spirit delights in mercy. Be 
 thou our friend, warrior; bury thy tomahawk deep in earth; 
 let not jealous foreigners excite thy vengeance against us; but 
 living as we do in one territory, let us smoke the calumet of peace, 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 675 
 
 you and all your tribe, and let concord hereafter reign amongst 
 us. Be this the token. [Gives a belt of wampum. 
 
 INDIAN. Brother, I accept the token; forgive my rage, and 
 pardon my unjust anger. Protect our warriors and wives; guard 
 their wigwarns from destruction; soften their prejudices and re 
 move their jealousies. Do this, and the red man is your friend. 
 I have urged you far to end my life: you have tempered your pas 
 sions with mercy, and we are no longer foes. Farewell ! [Exit. 
 
 LAR.OLE. Parbleu, dis general is like von great Roman. I 
 vill speak von vord pour myself, I viil make de speech like de 
 sauvage. 
 
 GENERAL. [To LA ROLE.] And you, sir, it appears, are in 
 disguise, unlike a civilized soldier; you have been taken in the 
 ranks with Indians. 
 
 LARoLE. Sair, mon general, you sail here vat I am goin to 
 say. I am von Frenchiman; in my contree every Frenchiman 
 he is von soldat. 
 
 GENERAL. Well? 
 
 LAROLE. Begar, sair, I must fight vid somebody, because it is 
 my bisness. In de Egypt I did fight gainst de Turc; in Europe 
 I did fight de whole vorld vis de Grand Napoleon, and in Ame- 
 rique I did fight against you vid myself. Mais, you take a me de 
 prisonier, I can fight no more ; I vill trow myself on de protection 
 of dis contree; I vill no more fight contree de Yankee Doodel; 
 I vill stay here and eat de ros beef vid you, and mon capitain la, 
 he may go to de devil. 
 
 GENERAL. Admirably concluded. And you, sir, what can we 
 do to lighten your captivity? 
 
 PENDRAGON. Why sir, if war was not my profession, I d sell 
 out; but it s always my maxim to obey orders, whatever they 
 may be: therefore, shall be happy to have a brush with you in 
 war, and equally happy to crack a bottle of Burgundy with you 
 in peace; a flash in the pan in one way, or a puff from a segar in 
 another; a bullet under the ribs in battle, or a country dance in a 
 ball-room; all s one to me, if it s only fashionably conducted. 
 
 GENERAL. Well, let s into my tent and partake of some re 
 freshment. We may not always meet as enemies. 
 
 PENDRAGON. [To ADELA. ] Allow me the felicity of your little 
 finger. [Aside.] She s struck with my figure, split me! LaRole, 
 take notice. 
 
 LAROLE. Oh, you are de littel devil among de ladies. [Exeunt. 
 
676 Representative Plays 
 
 SCENE II. A Prison. 
 
 CHRISTINE seated on a bench; her appearance betrays grief and 
 
 despair. 
 
 CHRISTINE. At length the weary night has passed away, and 
 day dawns, but brings no joy or comfort to my aching heart. 
 Alas! alas! Christine, where are all the bright visions thy fond 
 fancy painted? where is that content and love which gleamed 
 through the casement of our cottage, when my dear father smiled 
 on his child, and entwined around her his protecting arms: when 
 the false Lenox, too, with honeyed lips, and tones soft as zephyrs, 
 vow d eternal love? Let me not think of them, or I shall go mad. 
 Oh, what a contrast! pent up in a vile prison, and in disguise! 
 condemned to die, and perishing unknown and unprotected. 
 On the one side, my grave yawns for me; and on the other, a 
 false lover, and a cruel father, drive me to despair. My brain is 
 on fire ! {Hurries about with rapid strides. Music loud and violent. ] 
 Ha! what is this? [Tears the miniature from around her neck.] 
 Lenox, these are thy features ! thy mild looks beam hope and joy 
 upon me. [Kisses it.] Could such a face be false? Away with 
 it! even now he weds another. [Throws the miniature indignantly 
 from her.] So, tis gone, and I am left alone in darkness and 
 despair. [She stands transfixed with grief muffled drum rolls 
 she starts. ] Ha ! they come for me ! Be firm, my heart ! 
 
 Enter an OFFICER and a file of SOLDIERS. 
 
 OFFICER. Young man, your hour has arrived ; the detachment 
 waits without to receive you. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [Faintly. ] I am ready. 
 
 OFFICER. Can I serve you in any manner? Is there no letter 
 no remembrance that you would wish sent to father or friend? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Oh, forbear! 
 
 SOLDIER. [Picking up the miniature. ] See, sir, here is a minia 
 ture. 
 
 OFFICER. [Examining it. ] By Heavens, they are the features 
 of Captain Lenox! How came you by this? What! a thief too? 
 Tis well your career is cut short. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Oh no, no! Give it me, I implore you ; tis mine. 
 
 OFFICER. I shall restore it to the rightful owner. Come,wewait. 
 
 CHRISTINE. Lead on. A few fleeting moments, and all my 
 troubles will be at an end. [Exeunt. 
 
She Would Be a Soldier 677 
 
 SCENE III. Before the Tent. 
 Enter GENERAL, SOLDIERS, &c., with papers. 
 
 GENERAL. He has not confessed who set him on? 
 
 OFFICER. He has not, but admits the crime. 
 
 GENERAL. [Returning papers.] Tis well see him executed 
 according to the sentence. Hard and imperious duty, which, at 
 once, shuts out hope and mercy! [Exit GENERAL. 
 
 OFFICER. Now to seek for Lenox, and restore to him his minia 
 ture. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Camp, as in Act I, Scene III; the stage is thrown 
 open, drums roll, and the procession enters for the execution of 
 CHRISTINE; she is in the centre, between the two detachments; 
 her coat is off, and the stock unloosened from her neck her step is 
 firm, until she reaches the tent of LENOX, when she clasps her 
 hands and hangs down her head in despair. Procession makes 
 the circuit of the stage with slow steps, and when opposite the tent 
 she kneels; an OFFICER places the bandage over her eyes, and gives 
 a sign to a detachment of four to advance; they step forward, and 
 level their muskets at her; at the moment, LENOX rushes from the 
 tent with the miniature in his hand and strikes up their guns. 
 
 LENOX. Hold! for your lives! [Rushes down to CHRISTINE, 
 and tears the bandage from her eyes.] Tis she! tis she! tis my 
 own, my beloved Christine ! [Holds her in his arms; she faints. 
 
 2ND OFFICER. What means this? 
 
 LENOX. Stand off, ye cruel executioners, would you destroy a 
 woman? 
 
 OFFICER. A woman? Heavens! how did this happen? 
 
 Enter GENERAL, ADELA, LAR.OLE, SOLDIERS, &c. 
 
 LENOX. Support her, Adela, support my dear Christine ! 
 
 [ADELA assists. 
 
 CHRISTINE. [Recovering.] Where am I? [Sees LENOX and 
 ADELA.] Hide me, save me from that horrid sight! 
 
 LENOX. Do you not know me, dear Christine? 
 
 CHRISTINE. Traitor, begone! let me die at once! Is she not 
 your bride? 
 
 LENOX. No, by Heavens, no! tis my early friend, my dear 
 companion. Could you doubt my love? 
 
678 Representative Plays 
 
 CHRISTINE. Not married? not your betrothed? Lenox, are 
 you then faithful? 
 
 LENOX. Could Christine doubt my vows? 
 
 CHRISTINE. I see it all I have been deceived. Pardon me, 
 dear Lenox; but driven to despair by your supposed perfidy, I en 
 listed, and rushed on my fate which in a moment (horrid 
 thought!) would have terminated. But you are true, and I am 
 happy. [Embrace. 
 
 LAROLE. Parbleu! it is a littel voman vidout de petticoat. 
 Suppose she take a me von prisonier, O quell disgrace! 
 
 Enter JASPER, JERRY and PEASANTS. 
 
 JASPER. Where is she? where is my daughter? 
 
 CHRISTINE. My father? I dare not look upon him. 
 
 JASPER. Come to my arms, dear wanderer. Could you leave 
 your poor old father thus? You ve nearly broke my heart, 
 Christine. 
 
 CHRISTINE. My sufferings have been equally severe; but do 
 you pardon your child? 
 
 JASPER. I do I do ! and further proTte my love, by making you 
 happy. Take her, Lenox, she is yours; and never let father at 
 tempt to force his child into a marriage which her heart abhors. 
 
 JERRY. Well, I vow, Miss Crissy, you look very pretty in pan 
 taloons, and make a fine soger; but after all, I m glad to have 
 escaped a wife who wears the breeches before marriage so I 
 consent that you shall have the infantry ossifer, because I can t 
 help it; and so I ll marry Patty, the weaver s daughter, though 
 she can t crack a bottle nor bring down a buck. 
 
 GENERAL. All things have terminated happily. Our arms 
 have been triumphant, and our gallant soldiers rewarded with the 
 approbation of their country. Love has intwined a wreath for 
 your brows, Lenox, and domestic peace and happiness await you; 
 and when old age draws on apace, may you remember the 
 PLAINS OF CHIPPEWA, and feel towards Britain as freemen 
 should feel towards all the world: "Enemies in war in peace, 
 friends" 
 
 Finis. 
 
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