ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES. The Eclectic Educational Series AT THE VIENNA WORLD'S EXPOSITION OF 1873. «* It is n'^-*.'».-«bi><^'S>'^'«''-***>'%P,' and, when I ex- press my adi ,-r»-rk i r»"i7 ATi /iivATnT>"P O O "^ 'oiceness of their selections, tl^^ LIIjIlAIiI Ul^ tUJMjliriOb. # ousness of range, their fine ac _ of sentiment^ united with ^ a sense of m^ gation to th ^ M. STORRS?^ Iran. ?^ .\/4- ' ind philanthropy f cm sectarianism, W Dn — I do it under W ur country's ohli- #— Rev. henry # the result of "Mypn^ ^_ actual use ^ ^^.,,„^^ r,mimnn nn «TnnTiT/i» 4a\TEMAN, State SuftPubHcl UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | " White^i?1^.%.'ll'».%:?'.'»'5:'?l'*'^^f^:^"*;^J?\^^J?fangement of the work, and in method of presentation. The author has recognized the principle that ideas covie before 'words, principles before rules, fads before generalizations ; and to this he has held closely throughout." — E. A. SHEL- DON, Princ. State Normal, Osivego, N. Y. 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Little Teacher (Word Method^. First Lessons for Deaf- Mutes. ARITHMETIC. Ray's Primary Arithmetic. Ray's Intellectual Arithmetic. Ray's Rudiments of Arithmetic Ray's Practical Arithnietic. Key to Practical Arithmetic. Ray's Test Examples. Ray's Higher Arithmetic. Key to Higher Arithmetic. GRADED SCHOOL SERIES : TJniting Mental nitd Written Arith- metic ill a yiitiirttl System, of Instruction, White's Priniary Arithnietic. White's Intellectual Arithmetic White's Complete Arithmetic. ALGEBRA. Ray's New Elem'y Algebra. Ray's New Higher Algebra. Schuyler's Complete Algebra. Key to Ray's New Elementary and Higher Algebras. Key to Schuyler's Algebra. TAbcral Terms on Sample Copies and Supplies for first Jnlroduction. 137 Walnut St., 1 CINCINNATI, j' WILSON, HINKLE k CO., Publishers, i'SirvSri' DRAMAS AND DRAMATIC SCENES EDITED BY W. H. VENABLE llimxt^uti fig dFarnj) CO CG: V"" ^1 WILSON, HINKLE & CO. 137 Walkut Stkeet, og Bond Stkeet CINCINNATI. ^ ^ NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1874, BY WILSON, HINKLE A CO. EI-ErTnOTYPED AT THE KRA.SKI.IN TYPE FOUNDRY, CIN(MNNAT1. PEEFAOE. The range and quality of this boolc are indicated by the table of contents. The editor has endeavored to make a collection of dramatic pieces, various in subject and style, and all within the circle of standard literature. Possibly the volume may have influence in turning attention to some works of genius too much neglected by those who practice elocution as an artistic accom- plishment. Dramatic representation is a fascinating amusement, and it may be made conducive to the best general culture. An art so elegant and intellectual should not be allowed to fall under the contempt of the educator or the censure of the moralist. While it. must be admitted that the performance of frivolous, sensa- tional comedies, and coarse farces, exaggerates some of the evils of the common theatei*, it must be allowed, on the other hand, that the proper acting of choice plays is an exhilarating pas- time, at once innocent, pleasant, and profitable. The careful study and appreciative rendering of such a drama, for example, as "The Three Caskets," can not be regarded as otherwise than elevating and refining. With few exceptions, the plays in these pages are each long (iii) IV PREFACE. enough to allow the development of a strong interest. The comic selections, in several instances, essentially include, the underplots of the dramas from which they are taken, and are, therefore, quite complete in themselves. Some of the spright- liest pieces, as " Bi'aggadocio " and " Detraction," comprise satisfactory portions of plays that, as a whole, are not adapted to the modern stage. The version of " William Tell " here given is not identical with the common acting edition of that drama. Though this volume is designed, primarily, to supply scenes for dramatic representation, it may also be used as a rhetorical reader, or as a reference book for students in English literature, since it contains characteristic productions of representative authors, from Shakespeare to Bulwer. The editor wishes to record his acknowledgment of the great assistance rendered by his wife, in selecting and transcribing material for the entire series of '• Eclectic Acting Plays," of which this is the third and last volume. He would also thank Mrs. Robert Rogers, of Cincinnati, for the continued use of her library, rich in dramatic literature. OO^TEI^TS Stage Terms and Directions Mercutio Detraction Boniface Braggadocio Ilieiizi Ill-gotten Gold The Three Caskets The Positive Man Pangloss Inkle and Yarico The Deceived Bride The Greek Girl and the Barbarian Yentidins and the Emperor . PAGE 7 Shakespeare 9 Wlichcrhj 24 Farqxihar 40 . Congrcve 46 . Mitford 64 . Milman 73 Shakespeare 80 . O ' Kcefe 99 Colman the Younger 104 Colman the Elder 124 Tohin 140 Lovell 153 . Dnjden 164 (V) " VI CONTEN William Tell . Jafficr and Belvidera The Dutiful Son The Pound of Flesl The Bequest . The Death of Cato The Forlorn Hope of Mona PAGE . Knowles 177 Otway 237 . Sheridan 257 Shakespeare 2GS Bulwer-Lytton 284 . Addison 305 . Mason 31-4 STAGE TERMS AND DIRECTIONS. BEHIND SCENE. R. U. E. R. 3E. R. 2E. R. IE. R R. C. SCENE. C. L. U. E. L. 3E. STAGE. L. 2 E. L. 1 E. L. C. L. ORCHESTRA. AUDIENCE. C. means Center ; E., Eight ; L., Left ; E. C, Eiglit Center ; L. C, Left Center ; E. 1 E., Eiglit Fh-st Entrance ; L. 2 E., Left Second Entrance ; E. U. E., Eight Upper Entrance ; W., "Wing; up is toward the flat ; down^ tOAvard the footlights. The actor is sup- posed to face the audience. Complete directions for constructing a stage and its appurte- nances, for providing properties, scenery, and costume, and for selecting, rehearsing, and performing plays, are given in the "Amateur Actor." (vii) ^--/^r7l^l)lf^__>fV^ ERCUTIO From Shakespeare' s Romeo and Julie f. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Mercxitio, friend to Romeo. Romeo, son to Monta Jo. A}', trick, sir ; and won't be put upon, sir, being a man of honor, sir ! and so, sir — Sharp. Hark ye, Sir Joseph, a Avord with ye. In consideration of some favors lately received, I would not have you draw yourself into a prae- munire.! by trusting to that sign of a man there — that pop-gun charged with wind. Sir Jo. La ! O La ! Captain, come, justify j'ourself I '11 give him the lie, if you '11 stand to it. Sharp. Nay, then, I '11 be beforehand with 3'ou ; take that— oaf ! [Cuffs /um. BRAGGADOCIO. 61 Sir Jo. Captain, will 3-011 see this? Won't you pink his soul? Blvffe. (r.) Hush ! 't is not so convenient now — I shall find a time. Sharp. What do you mutter about a time, ras- cal? You were the incendiary. There's to put you in mind of your time — a memorandum. [KicJiS him. Bliiffe. Oh ! this is your time, sir, you had best make use on 't. Sharp. Egad, and so I will: there's again for you. [KicIiS him. Bluffe. You are obliging, sir; but this is too public a place to thank you in ; but, in your ear, you are to be seen again. Sharp. Ay, j^ou inimitable coward, and to be felt — as for example — [^Ivicks him. Bell. Ha, ha, ha ! Pr'ythee come away ; 't is scandalous to kick this puppy, without a man were cold, and had no other way to get himself aheat. l^Exexnit Bellmour and Sharp., l. Bluffe. Yery well — very fine ^ — but 'tis no mat- ter. Is not this fine, Sir Joseph? Sir Jo. Indifferent ; egad, in my opinion, very indifferent. I 'd rather go plain all my life than wear such finery. Bluffe. Death! To be affronted thus! I'll die before I suffer it. [^Draios. Sir Jo. O La ! His anger was not raised before. Nay, dear Captain, do n't be in a passion, now he 's gone. Put up, put up, dear Back ! 't is your Sir 62 BRAGGADOCIO. Josejih who begs. Come, let me kiss thee. — So, so, put xip, put Tip ! Bluffe. By my valor ! 't is not to be put up ! Sir Jo. What, bully? Bluffe. The affront ! Sir Jo. No, egad ! no more 't is, for that 's put up already: thy sword, I mean. Bluffe. Well, Sir JosejDh, at thy entreaty. But were not you, my friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked ? [Putting up his sword. Sir Jo. Ay, ay ! so were you, too. No matter, 't is past. Bluffe. B}^ the immortal thunder of great guns ! 't is false. He sucks not vital air who dares affirm it to this face ! [Looks big. Sir Jo. To that face I grant you, Cai^tain. — No, no, I grant you — not to that face, by the Lord Hany ! If you^ had put on your fighting face be- fore you had done his business, he durst as soon have kissed you as kicked you to your face. But a man can no more help what 's done behind his back than what 's said. Come, we '11 think no more of what 's past. Bluffe. I '11 call a council of war within, to con- sider of my revenge to come. [Exeunt. COSTUMES. Bluffe. — Tight jacket with sleeves ; short trowsers ; high boots ; metallic back, breast, and head-piece, the last a pot-helmet; immense beard ; sword ; two large pistols. BRAGGADOCIO. 63 WiTTOL. — Swallow-tailed buff coat, embroidered with tarnished gilt, with large, loose sleeves, and the collar covered by a falling band of dirty lace;, breeches tied below the knee with ribbon; hose; shoes fastened with yellow ribbon; felt hat with a soiled plume; sword; peaked beard. Bellmour. — Silk doublet with loose sleeves slashed xip the front; collar of rich pointed lace ; short cloak, worn care- lessly on one shoulder; long breeches; wide boots, ruffled at top with lace or lawn; broad-leafed Flemish beaver hat, with rich hat-band and plume of feathers; a Spanish rapier, hung from a rich sash worn over the right shoulder; small mustaches turned up. Sharper. — Same as Bellmour, except as to colors and style of ornamentation. 64 KIENZI. EIENZI, THE TKIBUNE OF THE PEOPLE. From Mitford's Rienzi. DRAMATIS PERSON.^. Cola di Riknzt, afterward Tribune of the People. Albertt, Captain of the Guard. Paolo, a Roman Citizen. Angelo Colonna, Son of a Roinan Nobleman. Soldiers and Citizens. Prologue. No declamation is more familiar to the lips of school-boys than Eienzi's Address to the Pomans. In our Play, which is a Scene from the Second Act of Miss Mitford's Tragedy, this famous speech ap- pears in its proper setting. The harangue of Eien- zi is, indeed, the prelude to an exciting scene, which culminates in the temporarj' success of a popular conspiracy. You will i)lease to imagine the events represented on our stage as occurring at night, be- fore the gates of the Poman Capitol, and in the four- teenth centur}'. RIENZI. 65 Scene: — Before the Gates of the Capitol. — The Stage darkened. Albert!, Paolo, Citizens, etc., crowd in background. \st Cit. (r.) This is tlic chosen sj^ot. A brave assemblage ! 2d Cit. (R. c.) Why, j^es. No marvel that Eienzi struck So bold a blow. I had heard shrewd reports Of heats, and discontents, and gathering bands, But never dreamed of Cola. Pao. (R.) 'T is the spot! Where loiters he? The night wxars on apace. Alb. (c.) It is not yet the hour. \st Cit. Who speaks? Another Cit. Alberti, The captain of the guard ; he and his soldiers Have joined our ftiction. Alb. Comrades, Ave shall gain An easy victory. The Ursini, Drunk Avith false hope and brute debauch, feast high Within their palace. Never Avore emprise A fairer face. Pao. And yet the summer heaA^en, Sky, moon, and stars, are overcast. The saints Send that this darkness — Enter Rienzi, from 2 e. l., doicn c. Rienzi. [^Advancing to thefronf] Darkness! Did ye never Watch the dark glooming of the thunder-cloud D. R.-c. 66 RIENZI. Ere the storm burst? We '11 light this darkness, sir, With the brave flash of spear and SAVord. Citizens, llienzi ! Live, brave Rienzi — honest Cola! Rie. Friends ! Citizens. Long live Rienzi ! Alh. Listen to him. Rie. Friends, I eoine not here to talk. Ye know too well The stor}'' of our thralldom. We are slaves ! The bright sun rises to his course, and lights A race of slaves ! — He sets, and his last beam Falls on a slave, — Slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords. Rich in some dozen paltry villages, — Strong in some hundred spearmen, — only great In that strange spell — a name! Each hour, dark fraud. Or open rapine, or protected murder. Cries out against them. But this very day. An honest man, my neighbor — [^Pointing to Paolo, R. corner^ — there he stands. — Was struck,— struck like a dog, by one who wore The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth, He tossed not high his ready cap in air, Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men. And suifer such dishonor? Men, and Avash not The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common : I have knoAvn deeper Avrongs. I that speak to ye, RIENZI. 67 I had a brother once, — a gracious boy, Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was a look Of heaven upon his face, which limners give To the beloved disciple. How I loved That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years ; Brother at once and son ! He left my side, A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, — a smile Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour The pretty harmless boy was slain ! I saw The corse, the mangled corse, and then I ci-ied For vengeance ! — Eouse, ye Eomans ! rouse, ye slaves ! Have ye brave sons? — Look in the next fierce brawl To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? — Look To see them live, torn from your arms, disdained, Dishonored ; and if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Eome, That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne Of beaut}^ ruled the world ! And we are Eomans ! Why, in that elder day, to be a Eoman Was greater than a king! — And once again, Hear me, yc walls, that echoed to the tread Of either Brutus! — once again, I swear The et-ernal city shall be free ! her sons Shall walk with princes ! Ere to-morrow's dawn, The tyrants — [th'e hack. \st at. Hush ! Who passes there ? [Citizens re- Alb. A foe, By his proud bearing. Seize him ! Rie. As I deem. 68 RIENZI. 'T is Angelo ColoiiiiJi. Touch him not; I would hold parley with him. Good Alberti, The hour is nigh. Away! [^Exit Alberti, r. u. e. Enter Angelo Colonna, l. Now, sir! \_To Angelo. A7ig. (L.) What be ye. That thus in stern and watchful mystery Cluster beneath the veil of night, and start To hear a stranger's foot ? Bie. Romans. Ang. And wherefore Meet ye, my countrymen? liie. For fi'eedom. Ang. Surely Thou art Cola di Rienzi ! Hie. Ay, that voice, — The traitor voice. Ang. I knew thee by the words. Who, save thyself, in this bad age, when man Lies jirostrate like yon temple, dared conjoin The sounds of Rome and freedom ? Hie. I shall teach The world to blend those Avords, as in the daj^s Before the Caesars. Thou shalt be the first To hail the union. 1 have seen thee hang On tales of the world's mistress ; thy young hand Hath clenched thy maiden sword. Unsheath it now, Now, at thy country's call ! What ! dost thou pause ? Is the flame quenched? Dost falter? Hence with thee. RIENZI. 69 Pass on ! pass whilst thou may! [_Crosses to l. Ang. Heai' me, Eicnzi ! Even now my spirit leaps up at the thought Of those brave storied days — a treasury Of matchless visions, bright and glorified. Paling the dim lights of this darkling world With the golden blaze of heaven ; but past and gone, As clouds of yesterday, as last night's dream. Hie. A dream ! Dost see yon phalanx, still and stern ? An hundred leaders, each with such a band, "Wait with suppressed impatience till they hear The great bell of the Capitol, to spring At once on their proud foes. Join them. Ang. My father ! Rie. Alreadj'' he hath quitted Eome. Ang. My kinsmen ! Hie. We are too strong for contest. Thou shalt see No other change within our peaceful streets Than that of slaves to fi-eemen. Such a change As is the silent step from night to day. From darkness into light. We talk too long. Ang. Yet reason with them ; — warn them. Hie. And their answer — Will be the gaol, the gibbet, or the ax. The keen retort of power. Why, I have reasoned ; And, but that I am held, amongst your great ones, Half madman and half fool, these bones of mine Had whitened on yon wall. Warn them ! They met At every step dark warnings. 70 RIENZI. Friend met friend, nor smiled, Till the last footfall of the tyrant's steed Had died upon the ear. Sir, the boys, — The unfledged boys, march at their mother's best. Beside their gi-andsires ; even the girls of Eome, — The gentle and the delicate, array Their lovers in this cause. I have one yonder, Claudia Eienzi, — thou hast seen the maid — A silly trembler, a slight fragile toy. As ever nursed a dove, or reared a flower, — Yet she, even she, is pledged — Ang. To whom? to whom? Bie. To liberty! A king's son Might kneel in vain for Claudia. None shall wed her. Save a true champion of the cause. Ang. I '11 join 3'c : [^Gives his hand to Eienzi. How shall I swear? Bie. [To the peojyle^ Friends, comrades, country- men ! I bring unhoped-for aid. Young Angelo craves To join your band. Citizens. He 's Avelcome ! \_Coming foncard, r. and l. Ang. Hear me swear By Eome — by freedom — by Eienzi ! Comrades, How have j^e titled your deliverer? Consul — Dictator, emperor ? Bie. No: Those names have been so often steeped in blood, So shamed by foil}', so profaned by sin. RIENZI. 71 The sound seems ominous, — I '11 none of them. Call me the Tribune of the people ; there M}' honoring duty lies. IThe Citizens shout, Hail to our Tribune! — The bell sounds thrice; shouts again; and a militanj hand is heard playing a march ivithout, n. u. e. Hark ! the bell, the bell ! That, to the city and the plain, Proclaims the glorious tale Of Rome re-born, and Freedom. See, the clouds Are swept away, and the moon's boat of light Sails in the clear blue sky, and million stars Look out on us, and smile. [The gate of the Capitol opens, c. f., and Alberti and Soldiers join the People, and lay the keys at EiENZi's feet. Hark ! that great voice Hath broke our bondage. Look, without a stroke The Capitol is won— the gates unfold — The keys are at our feet. Alberti, friend, HoAV shall I pay the service? Citizens ! First to possess the palace citadel — The famous strength of Rome; then to sweep on, Triumphant, through her streets. \^As RiENZi and the People are entering the Capitol, he 2'iauses. Oh, glorious wreck Of gods and Cffisars ! thou shalt reign again. 72 RIENZI. Queen of the world ; and I — come on, come on, My people! Citizens. Live Eienzi — live our Tribune! \_Exeunt through the gates, in the center of the flat, into the Capitol. COSTUMES. RiENZi. — AVhite toga; buff hose; black sandals. Paolo and Colonna. — Togas, and sandals. Alberti. — Scarlet and gold Roman uniform; sword. Citizens. — Brown stuff dresses; flesh legs; russet sandals. Soldiers. — Roman shirts of mail; helmets; spears or battle- axes; shields. ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. 73 ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. From Milman's Fazio. DRAMATIS PERSONS. GiRALDi Fazio. Bartolo. Scene I : — A room with crucibles and apparatus of Alchymy. Fazio discovered seated, (r. c.) Faz. Yet he, Bartolo, he is of our rich ones : There 's not a galiot on the sea, but bears A venture of Bartolo's ; not an acre, Na}^, not a villa of our proudest princes. But he hath cramped it with a mortgage ; he, He only stocks our prisons with his debtors. I saw him creeping home last night : he shuddered As he unlocked his door, and looked around As if he thought that every breath of wind Were some keen thief: and when he locked him in, I heard the grating key turn twenty times. To tr}' if all were safe. I looked again From our high window by mere chance, and saw The motion of his scanty moping lantern ; And, where his wind-rent lattice was ill stuffed With tattered remnants of a money-bag, D. s.— 7. 74 ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. Through cobwebs and thick dust I S2:)icd his face, Like some dry wither-boned anatomy, Through a liuge chest-]id, jealously and scantily Uplifted, peering upon coin and jewels. Ingots and wedges, and broad bars of gold, Upon whose luster the wan light shone muddily, As though the New World had outrun the Sj^aniard, And emptied all its mines in that coarse hovel. His ferret eyes gloated as wanton o'er them, As a gross Satyr on a sleeping Nymph ! And then, as he heard something like a sound. He clapped the lid to, and blew out the lantern. [He pauses a moment, then, rising, speaks on with enthusiastic energy. Oh, what a star of the first magnitude Were poor young Fazio, if his skill should work The wond'rous secret your deep-closeted sages Grow gray in dreaming of! Why, all our Florence Would be too narrow for his branching glories ; It would o'crleap the Alps, and all the north Troop here to see the great philosopher. He Avould be wealthy, too — wealthy in fame ; And that 's more golden than the richest gold. \A groan without. Holy St. Francis ! what a groan was there ! Bar. (Without) Within there ! — Oh, within there, neighbor ! Death ! Murder, and merciless robbery ! Fazio opens the door — Enter Bartolo. ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. 75 Faz. What! Bartolo! Bar. Thank ye, my friend ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! my old limbs ! I did not think them half so tough and sinewy. St. Dominic ! but their pins pricked close and keen. Six of 'em, strong and sturdj^, Avith their daggers, Tickling the old man to let loose his ducats? Faz. Who, neighbor, who? Bar. Eobbers — black crape-faced robbers, Your only blood-suckers, that drain your veins, And yet their meager bodies aye groAv sparer. They knew that I had moneys from the Duke, But I o'erreached them, neighbor ; not a ducat, Na}-, not a doit, to cross themselves withal. Got they from old Bartolo. Oh, I bleed ! And my old heart beats minutes like a clock. Faz. A surgeon, friend! Bar. Ay, one of your kind butchers. Who cut and slash your flesh for their own pastime, And then, God bless the mark! they must have mone}^ ! Gold, gold, or nothing ! Silver is grown coarse. And rings unhandsomely. Have I 'scaped robbing, Only to give? Oh, there! there! there! Cold^ cold, Cold as December. Faz. Nay, then, a confessor ! Bar. A confessor ! one of your black smooth talk- ers, Thnt drone the name of God incessantly, Like the drear burden of a doleful ballad ! 76 ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. That sing to one of bounteous codicils To the Franciscans or some hosjiital ! Oh ! there 's a sliooting ! — Oozing here ! — Ah, me, M}^ ducats and my ingots scarcely cold Prom the hot Indies ! Oh ! and I forgot To seal those jewels from the Milan Duke ! Oh ! miser}', miser}^ ! — Just this very day, And that mad spendthrift Angelo hath not signed The mortgage on those meadows b}' the Arno. Oh ! miser}', misery ! — Yet 1 'scaped them bravely, And brought my ducats off! — [Dies. Faz. Why, e'en lie there, as foul a mass of earth As ever loaded it. 'T were sin to charity To wring one drop of brine upon th}^ corpse. In sooth, death 's not nice-stomached, to be crammed With such unsavory offal. What a god 'Mong men might this dead, withered thing have been. That now must rot beneath the earth, as once He rotted on it! Why, his wealth had won In better hands an atmosphere around him, Musical ever with the voice of blessing, — Nations around his tomb, like marble mourners, Vied for their pedestals. — In better hands? Methinks these fingers are nor coarse nor clumsy. Philosophy! Philosoph}'! thou 'rt lame And tortoised-paced to my fleet desires ! I scent a shorter path to fame and riches. The Hesperian trees nod their rich clusters at me, Tickling my timorous and withdrawing grasj") ; — I would, yet dare not; — that's a coward's reckoning. ILL-GOTTEN OOLD. 77 Half of the sin lies in "I would." To-morrow, If that it find me j^oor, will write me fool, And myself be a mock unto mj-self Ay, and the body murdered in m}- house! Your carrion breeds most strange and loathsome in- sects — Suspicion 's of the quickest and tlie keenest So, neighbor, by your leave, your keys ! In sooth Thou hadst no desperate love for holy churcli ; Long-knolled bell were no sweet music to thee. A " God be with thee '' shall be all thy mass ; Thou never lovcd'st those dry and droning priests. Thou 'It rot most cool and quiet in my garden ; Your gay and gilded vault would be too costly. \_Exit, icith body of Bartolo. Scene II: — A Street. Enter Fazio icith a dark lantern, r. Faz. I, wont to rove like a tame household doo-, Caressed by every liand, and fearing none, Now prowl e'en like a gra}^ and treasonous wolf 'T is a bad deed to rob, and I '11 have none on 't : 'T is a bad deed to rob — and whom? the dead? Ay, of their winding-sheets and coffin nails. 'T is but a quit-rent for the land I sold him. Almost two yards to house him and his worms j Somewhat usurious in the main, but that Is honest thrift to your keen usurer. Had he a kinsman, nay, a friend, 'twere devilish. But now whom rob I? why, the state. — In sooth, 78 ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. Marvelous little owe I this same state, That I should be so dainty of its welfare. Mcthinks our Duke hath pomp enough ; our Senate Sit in their scarlet robes and ermine tippets, And live in pi'oud and pillared palaces, Where their Greek wines flow plentiful. — Besides, To scatter it abroad amid so man}-, It were to cut the sun out into spangles, And mar its brilliance by disj^ersing it. Away ! away ! his burying is my Eubicon ! Ctesar or nothing! Now, ye close-locked treasures, Put on your gaudiest hues, outshine 3'ourselves! With a deliverer's, not a tj^rant's hand, invade I thus your dull and ])eaceful slumbers, And give 3'ou light and libert3\ Ye shall not Molder and rust in pale and pitiful darkness. But front the sun with light bright as his own. \_I!xit, L. Scene III : — Fazio's House. Erder Fazio, icith a sack, r. : he I'ests if. Faz. My steps were ever to this door, as though They trod on beds of perfume and of doAvn. The winged birds were not b}' half so light, When through the lazy twilight air they wheel Home to their brooding mates. But now, methinks, The heavy earth doth cling around my feet. I move as every separate limb were gyved With its particular weight of manacle. The moonliirht that was wont to seem so soft, ILL-GOTTEN GOLD. 79 So balm}^ to the slow respired breath, Icily, shiveringly cold falls on me. The marble pillars, that soared statclj^ up. As though to prop the azure vault of heaven. Hang o'er me with a dull and dizzy weight. The stones whereon I tread do grimly sjieak, Forbidding echoes, ay, with human voices : Unbodied arms pluck at me as I pass, And socketless pale eyes look glaring on me. But I have passed them : and methinks this weight Might strain more sturdy sinews than mine own. Howbeit, thank God, 't is safe ! — Thank God ! — for what ? That a poor honest man 's grown a rich villain. [^Bows his head upon his hands icith remorse^ while the curtain descends to music expressive of his emotion. COSTUMES. Fazio. — Brown doublet and trunks, trimmed and puffed, with black hat and stockings to match; brown Spanish cloak. Bartolo. — Dark-colored doublet and trunks; dark breeches, and hat. RE.MARKS. This play, though of a somber cast, will be found quite effective in representation. The action is extremely simple, and the long soliloquies afford excellent practice in sustained dramatic read- ing. The piece also gives opportunity for simulating the passions of avarice, terror, ambition, scorn, and remorse. 80 THE THREE CASKETS. THE THEEE CASKETS; OE, BASSANIO'S CHOICE. From Shakespeare^ s Merchant of Venice. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Bassanio, a Venetian gentleman. Gratiano, his friend. Prince of Morocco suitors to Portia. CO, 1 Prince of Arragon, / Portia, a rich heiress of Belmont Nerissa, her waiting-maid. Attendants of Portia. Scene I : — Belmont. A room in Portia's house. At hack of stage and hidden by a curtain, a table, upon ichich arc three caskets, one of gold, one of silver, one of lead. Enter Portia and Nerissa. THE THREE CASKETS. 81 For. (c.) By 1113^ troth, Ncrissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. Ner. (r. c.) You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries Avere in the same abundance as 3'our good fortunes are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. It is no small happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean : superfluit}' comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. For. Good sentences, and Avell pronounced. Ner. The}- would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and ])oor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions. I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to folloAV mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree. Such a hare is madness, the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel, the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. — O me! the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike : so is the will of a living daughter curbed b}" the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I can not choose one nor refuse none? \_Cr asses., r. Ner. Your father Avas ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations: there- fore the lotteiy that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses 82 THE THREE CASKETS. his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection toward any of these princely suitors that are already come? For. I pray thee, overname them ; and as thou namest them, I will describe them ; and according to my description, level at my affection. Ner. First, is there the Neapolitan prince. For. A}', that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great ap- propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. Ner. (c.) Then is there the County Palatine. For. (R.) He doth nothing but frown, as who should say, ' An you will not have me, choose.' He hears merr}^ tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's-head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. Heaven defend me from these two. Ner. How say you by the French lord. Monsieur Le Bon? For. God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker ; but he ! — why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frown- ing than the Count Palatine; he is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight a-caper- ing; he will fence with his own shadow. If I should THE THREE CASKETS. 83 many him, I should many twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. Ner. What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron of England ? For. You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him. He hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into the court and swear that I have a poor penny- worth in the English. He is a proper man's pic- ture ; but, alas ! who can converse with a dumb- show? How oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet in Italj', his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behavior every-where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbor ? For. That he hath a neighborly charit}* in him; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was able. I think the Frejichman became his surety and sealed under for another. Ner. How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxonj^'s nejihew? For. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober, and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk. When he is best, he is a little worse than a man ; and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. An the w^orst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him. [^Crosses, r. Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the 84 THE THREE CASKEffS. right casket, you should refuse to perform 3-our father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. Po7\ Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of lihenish wine on the contrary casket ; for if the devil be within, and that tempta- tion without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords ; the}' have acquainted me with their determinations, which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition depending on the caskets. For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence ; and I wish them a fair departure. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your flithcr's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a soldier, that canie hither in company of the Marquis of Mont- ferrat? For. Yes, 3'es ; it was Bassanio ; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, madam : he, of all the men that ever my foolish ej^cs looked upon. Avas the best deserving a fair lady. For. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise. THE THREE CASKETS. 85 Enter a Serving-man. How now? what news? \_Crosses to l. Serv. The four strangers seek you, madam, to take their leave ; and there is a forerunner eome from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word the Prince, his master, will be here to-night. Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome Avith so good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. Come, Nerissa — sirrah, go before. Whilst we shut the gate upon one Avooer, another knocks at the door. \Exeunt. Scene Jl:—The same. Flovrish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco and his train; Portia, Nerissa, and others attending. Morocco. Mislike me not for ra}' complexion. The shadowed livery of the burnished sun. To whom I am a neighbor and near bred. Por. In terms of choice 1 am not solely led By nice direction of a maiden's eye; Besides, the lottery of my destiny Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : But if my father had not scanted me. And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself His wife who wins me by that means I told you, Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair As any comer I have looked on yet. For my affection. Mor. Even for that I thank you : 86 THE THREE CASKETS. Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, To try my fortune. By this scimetar, That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince, That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, I would o'er-stare the sternest eyes that look, Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, To win thee, lady, Por. You must take your chance; And either not attempt to choose at all. Or swear, before 3'ou choose, if jon choose wrong, Never to speak to lady afterward In way of marriage ; therefore be advised. 3Ior. !Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. Por. Go draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble Prince. Now make your choice. [An attendant obei/s. Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears : WIw chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. The second, silver, which this promise carries: — Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt : — Who chooseth me, must give and hazard, all he hath. How shall I know if I do choose the right? Por. The one of them contains my picture, Prince : If you choose that, then I am yours withal. Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me see ; I will survey the inscrii^tions back again: What says this leaden casket? THE THREE CASKETS. 87 TTVio chooscth me, must give and hazard all he hath. Must give — for what ? For lead ? hazard for lead ? A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; I '11 then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. What says the silver, with her virgin hue? Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thj^ value with an even hand. As much as I deserve ? Why, that 's the lady : Let 's see once more this saying graved in gold : Who chooseth me, shall gain ichat many men desii'e. Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her: From the four corners of the earth they come, To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. Deliver me the key : Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! For. There, take it, Pinnce; and if my form lie there. Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. ^^for. What have we here ! A carrion death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll. I'll read the Avriting: All that glitters is not gold ; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold, But my outside to behold : Gilded tombs do ivorms infold. Had you been as wise as bold. Young in limbs, in judgment old. Your answer had not been inscrolled : Fare you n-ell ; your suit is cold. 88 THE THREE CASKETS. Cold, indeed; and labor lost: Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost! Portia, adieu ! I have too grieved a heart To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part. l_Exit icith his train. For. A gentle riddance. — Draw the curtains; go. Let all of his complexion choose me so. \_Exeunt. Scene III: — The smne. Enter Nerissa 7cith a Servitor. Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee ; draw the curtain straight : The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, And comes to his election presentl}^. [FlourisJi of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, Portia, and their trains. For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince : If you choose that wherein I am contained. Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized : But if 3'0ii fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediatel}'. Arragon. I am enjoined by oath to observe three things : First, never to unfold to an}^ one Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail Of the right casket, never in m}' life To woo a maid in way of marriage ; Lastly, if I do foil in fi>i-tune of my choice, Imniediatel}^ to leave you and be gone. THE THREE CASKETS. 89 Par. To tlicse injunctions every one doth sweai* That comes to liazard for my worthless self. Arr. And so have I addressed me. Fortune, now, To my heart's hope ! Gold, silver, and base lead. Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath: You shall look fairer, e'er I give or hazai'd. What. saj's the golden chest? Ila ! let me see : IVho chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. I will not choose what many men desire; Because I will not jump with common spirits, And rank me Avith the barbarous multitudes. Wh}', then to thee, thou silver treasure-house ; Tell me, once more, what title thou dost bear : Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves: I will assume desert. — Give me a key for this, And instantly unlock my fortunes here. [ZTc opens the silver casket. For. Too long a pause for that which you find there. Arr. What 's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Presenting mo a schedule. I Avill read it. HoAv much unlike art thou to Portia! How miich unlike my hopes and my deservings! JVJio chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves. Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? Is that mj' prize? Are ni}' deserts no better? Por. To offend and judge are distinct offices, And of opposed natures. Arr. What is hei*e? The fire seven times tried this : Seven times tried that judgment is, D. s.— 8. 90 THE THREE CASKETS. That did never choose amiss. Some there be that shadows Jdss ; Such have but a shadow's bliss. There be fools alive, I wis, Silvered o'er ; and so teas this. Take what ivife you will to bed, . J will ever be your head : So be gone : you are sjjed. Still more fool I shall appear, By the time I linger here : With one fool's head I came to woo, But I go away with two. Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath, Patiently to bear my wroth. [^Exeunt Arragon and train. For. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. O these deliberate fools ! when the}" do choose. They have the Avisdom by their wit to lose. Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy, — Hanging and wiving goes by destinj'. Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. Enter a Servant. Serv. Where is m}" lady? Por. Here : what would my lord ? Serv. Madam, there is alighted at 3'our gate A 3*oung Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of his lord, From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; To wit, (besides commends and courteous breath,) THE THREE CASKETS. 91 Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen So likely an ambassador of love : A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly Summer Avas at hand, As this forespurrer comes before his lord. For. No more, I pray thee : I am half afeard Thou wilt say anon ho is some kin to thee, Thou spend'st such high-daj- wit in praising him. Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. Ncr. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will be. [^Exeunt. Scene IV : — The same. Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and Attendants. For. I pray j'ou, tarry ; pause a day or two Before you hazard : foi', in choosing wrong, I lose 3'our company : therefore forbear awhile. There 's something tells me, but it is not love, 1 would not lose you : and 3'ou know yourself, Hate counsels not in such a quality. But lest 3-0U should not understand mo well. — And 3'et a maiden hath no tongue but thought, — I would detain you here some month or two. Before j^ou venture for me : I could teach 5-ou How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; So Avill I never be : so may you miss me; But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, — That I had been forsworn. Bassanio. I./et me choose; For as I am. T live upon the rack. 92 THE THREE CASKETS. For. Upon the rack, Bassanio ! then confess What treason there is mingled with 3^our love. Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust, Which makes me fear the enjoj'ing of my love There may as well be amity and life 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. For. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack ; And men, enforced, do speak an}- thing. Bass. Promise me life, and I '11 confess the truth. For. Well, then, confess and live. Bass. Confess and love Had been the very sum of my confession. O happy torment, when my torturer Doth teach me answers for deliverance! But let me to my fortune and the caskets. For. Away, then ! I am locked in one of them : If 3'ou do love me, you will find me out. Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof Let music sound while he doth make his choice ; Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, Fading in music: that the comparison May stand more proper, m}' eye shall be the stream And watery death-bed for him. lie ma}' win. And what is music then ? Then music is Even as the flourish when true subjects bow To a ncAV-crowned monarch : such it is As are those dulcet sounds in break of day ; That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, And summon hiin to marriage. \_Soft music. Bass. So may the outward shows be least tliem- selves : THE THREE CASKETS. 93 The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, AVhat deadly error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text. Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts: How man}' cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars ; Who, inward searched, have livers white as millc; And these assume but valor's excrement, To render them redoubted ! Look on bctiut}^ And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight, Which therein works a miracle in nature. Making them lightest that wear most of it: So arc those crisped, snaky, golden locks, W^hich make such wanton gambols in the wind. Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowrj' of a second head ; The skull that bred them, in the sepulcher. Thus ornament is but the gulled shoi^e To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf Veiling an Indian beaut}' ; — in a word. The seeming truth which cunning times put on To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold. Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee; Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meager lead, 94 THE THREE CASKETS. Which ratlicr threaL'nest than dost promise auglit, Tliy phiiiiness moves me more than eloquence ; And here choose I. Joy be the consequence ! Por. [^Aside'\ How all the other passions fleet to air, As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy. love ! be moderate ; allay thy ecstasy ; Jn measui-e rain thy joy : scant this excess : 1 feel too much thy blessing; make it less, For fear I surfeit. Bass. AVhat find I here? \_Openin(j the leaden casket. Fair Portia's counterfeit! AVhat demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move, these cj-cs? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. Seem they in motion? Here are severed lijis, I'arted with sugar breath : so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends. Herein her hairs Tlie painter plays the spider, aiul hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her ej'es ! How could he see to do them? having made one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfurnished. Yet look, how far The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance. — Here's the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune. You that choose not by the view, Chance as fair, and choose as true: Since this fortune falls to you. THE THREE CASKETS. 95 Be content, and seek no new : If you be icell pleased with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss. Turn you where your lady is. And claim her with a loving kiss. A gentle scroll. — Fair lady, by your leave ; I come b}' note to give and to receive. [^Kissing her. Like one of two contending in a prize, That thinks he hath done well in people's e^-es, Hearing apphiuse and universal shout, Gidd}^ in spirit, still gazing in a doubt Wiiether those peals of praise be his or no ; 80, thrice fair lady, stand I even so, As doubtful whether what I see be true, TT]itil confirmed, signed, ratified by 3'ou. Por. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am : though for myself alone 1 would not be ambitious in my wish. To wish myself mucii better; yet, for j'ou I would bo trebled twenty times myself, A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich ; That onl}' to stand high in your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account : but the full* sum of me Is sum of nothing: which, to term in gross. Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed : Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; Happiest of all is that her gentle s])irit 96 THE TIIUEE CASKETS. Commits itself to yours to bo directed, As fi'om her lord, her governor, her king. Myself and what is mine to you and yours Is now converted : but now I was the lord Of tiiis fair mansion, master of my servants, Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, This house, these servants, and this same m3'self Are yours, my lord. I give them Avith this ring, Which, when jon part from, lose, or give awa}', Let it presage tiie ruin of j'our love, And be my vantage to exclaim on you. Bass. Madam, j'ou have bereft mc of all words; Only ni}' blood speaks to you in my veins: And there is such confusion in my powers As, after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved ]n'ince, there doth appear Among the buzzing, ])leased multitude; Where ever}' something, being blent together. Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, P^x])ressed and not expressed. But Avhen this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence : then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead ! JVer. My loi-d and lad}', it is now our time, That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper, To cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady ! Gratiano. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 1 wish you all the joy that you can wish ; For I am sure you can wish none from mc: And when your honors mean to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. Even at that time I may be married too. THE THREE CASKETS. 97 Bass. With all mj^ heart, so thou canst get a "vvife. Grat. I thank your lordship, you have got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : You saw the mistress, I belield the maid ; You loved, I loved ; for intermission No more pei'tains to me. my lord, than you. Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, And so did mine, too, as the matter falls; For wooing here until I sweat again, And swearing till my very roof was dry, With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, I got a promise of this fair one hero To have her love, provided that your fortune Achieved her mistress. Po7'. Is this true, Nerissa? Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal. Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? Graf. Yes, faith, my loi-d. Bass. Our feast shall be much honored in your marriage. Tableau. Curtain. COSTUMES. Bassanio. — While tunic, trimmed with silver; blue satin waist- coat, cmbroidei-ed, and blue sash-belt; white silk stocking pantaloons; white shoos, with rosettes. Gratiano. — Green velvet coat; white waistcoat ; worsted pan- taloons, and russet boots. PoHTiA. — SaUnon-coloved gown, trimmed with silver. Nekiss.\. — AVhite dress spangled, with coloi'ed body. D. S.-9. 98 THE THREE CASKETS. Prince of Morocco. — Long crimson tunic, girt around the waist by a rich sash; over the tunic, a long flowing robe, or gab- ardine, of a dark green color, reaching almost or quite to the feet; wide flowing sleeves; high turban of crimson and gold, ornamented with gems; scimetar, worn suspended from a narrow scarf or band hung over the right shoulder. Pri.nce of Arragon. — Slashed doublet; hose; hat with feather; sword. The costume should be of very rich material. THE POSITIVE MAN. 99 THE POSITIVE MAN. From The Positive Man, hy John 0^ Keefe. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Sir Toby Tacit. Lady Tacit. Rupee. Cornelia. Servant. vScENE : — Sir Toby Tacit's House. Enter Sir Toby and Lady Tacit. Sir Toby. You know, my Ladj^ Tacit, I am not to be controlled ; I Avill have ray way. Lady T. Will ! And have, my sweet Sir Toby. Do I ever presume to have a will of my own ? But indeed, my dear love, you are a little too positive. Sir T. I am, I am a positive man, I own it ; and I will insist, and persist, too, that this new house I 've taken in Portland Place is charmingly situ- ated. I challenge England to afford such a delightful pi'ospect. Lady T. Sir Toby, pardon me ; do you really think the view of Highgate and Hampstead so very beautiful ? 100 THE POSITIVE MAN. Sir T. Me ! not I. Visto, the landscape painter, commends it, indeed ; but he knows no more of a prospect than a hedgehog. The house, though, has a lofty hall ; it strikes you with an air of grandeur. Lady T. The hall lofty, Sir Toby ! Pardon me, my dear, but I protest it did n't seem so to me. Sir T. Nor to me, my Lady. I thought, indeed, it seemed tolerably high, till t'other day, trying to cut one of Vestris' capers, I hit my head against the lantern. — But the gi-eat parlor, my Lady ; I '11 lay any man an hundred guineas that parlor dines forty. Lady T. Na}", Sir Toby, when once you form an opinion, you will persist in it; you are exceedingly obstinate. Sir T. True, Lady Tacit ; when once I 'm deter- mined, I 'm not to be moved by the rhetoric of Oxford, Cambridge, Sorbonne, or Salamanca. Enter Servant. Serii. Mr. Eupee, sir. [Exit. Sir T. My new East India son-in-law. Here, my Lady Tacit, pull up my cravat and pull down my ruffles. Lady T. Sir Toby ! ask me such a thing ! Sir T. Then, my Lady, I will pull down my ruffles and pull up my cravat ; I am determined. Enter Eupee. Rupee. My Lad}^ Tacit, your ladyship's slave. I have — Apropos., Sir Toby, your most obedient. THE POSITIVE MAN. 101 Lady T. Sir, we are exceedingly pi-oud of this lion or. Sir T. Sir, we are exceedingly proud. Lady T. Sir Toby ! Sir T. Proud ! I mean, sir, Ave are j^our humble — Bnpee. I hope, madam, my lovely Cornelia is well ? Sir T. She is exceedingly well, indeed, sir. Lady T. What are you at, my sweet? Sir T. Only at present she has got a most dan- gerous cold. Lady T. Cornelia ! a cold ! Sir T. But now she 's perfectly recovered ; and ni}' daughter will be so happy when she hears — Lady T. Your daughter ! Sir Toby ! Sir T. Mine? I'm an obstinate man, but in this particular I will not be positive. Lady T. Mr. Rupee, dear sir, I shall beg but for a few moments, though, to deprive mj^self of the egregious felicity of j-our very agreeable compan3\ Sir T. Egregious felicity ! Mr. Eupee, what a line spoken woman ! Rv.pee. Yer3^, Sir Toby ; but that phrase of egre- gious felicity is — ° Sir T. Nonsense. Rupee. Nonsense! Apropos, did you ever hear me speak in Leadenhall street upon Indian affairs? Sir T. Poor Lady Tacit ! all obedience — -humble as a forsaken sultana. But, sir, in this house I am Turk and tyrant. Sir, I am a very Bajazet. Not 102 THE POSITIVE MAN. iTi}^ fault, though, Mr. Kupee ; I was formed with a hard heart. As Othello says, " I strike it, and it hurts my hand." Now, sir, as to my wife — she 's a lady, thanks to my knighthood, but the most silly, igno- rant, ridiculous — \_Re-e7iter Lady Tacit and Cornelia. Hem! — sensible, elegant, and finest spoken woman in England. Ah, my Lady Tacit, we were just talk- ing of you. Lady T. Coxmelia, child, receive Mr. Eupee as a gentleman who is shortly to be your husband. Rupee. Oh, my charming Cornelia ! [^su/e] Now if I can but recollect my oriental compliment; it has pleased both black, brown, and yellow : now I'll try it on the fair. Cornelia, speak, lu}- love ; the melody of your voice is sweeter than the sound of a Nankin bell; your breath is cinnamon of Ceylon, diffusing fragrance through teeth of the sagacious elephant, and coral of the Ormus. Permit me, madam, to touch this fair hand, soft as weft of the Indostan worm. Your ej^es, arched with camels' hair, brilliant as the diamond of Golconda; and the porcelain tower of Pckin is but a ftiint emblem of the excellent sym- metrj^ of your beautiful tout ensemble. Sir T. Oh, charming! elegant! Cornelia, speak and make a handsome curtsey. Cor. I confess, sir, I am incapable of answering so lavish and polite a compliment. Sir T. What a delightful curtsey she makes! eh, Mr. Eupee ? Lady T. O fie. Sir Toby ! THK POSITIVE MAN. 103 Sir T True, my Lady; — so, so, Corney; you are a good girl, but confound your dancing-master. Well, Mr. Rupee, what say you to a bottle ? Lady T What ! do you mean to bottle a gentle- man at this time of day ? Richard! [^n^.r Servant] Get tea. ^ ^,11 SirT. Look ye, my Lady Tacit, I am the lord and master in this house; I will be positive; there- fore I say, Richard, get tea ! [.Exit Servant^ Rupee. Tea ! ^Apropos, ma'am, do you take snutt . Cor No, sir. [Aside'] Insignificant coxcomb ! Bupee True, madam ; it was formerly in style, quite the rage with people of ton; but now it's a vile bore I took snuff once in such profusion, that in most polite circles I was distinguished by the title of Count Macabah. Sir T When I was encamped, I took so much snuff that they called me Captain Strasborough Rupee. Strasborough !-^i?ropos, I presume from to-morrow I date my felicity ? Sir T. Yes ; you and my daughter Cornelia here shall be married to-morrow morning; that is, my Lady, if you have no objection. Ladii T Ah, Mr. Rupee, they talk of female pre- rogative ; you see how weak my influence with such a positive man. Sir T Yes, Mr. Rupee, when the gust of passion blows, my Lady Tacit is the gentle osier of compli- ance, and T am the sturdy oak of opposition^ Costumes. — Modern English dresses. 104 PANGLOSS. PANGLOSS. From The Heir-at-Law, by Geo. Colman the Younger. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Lord Duberly, alias Daniel Dowlas. Dick Dowlas. Dr. Pangloss, LL.D. and A. S. S. Lady Duberly, alias Deborah Dowlas. John, a Servant. Scene I : — An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House. Lord and Lady Duberly discovered at breakfast. Lord D. But what does it matter, niy Lady, whether I drink my tea out of a cup or a saucer? Lady D. A great deal in the polite circles, my Lord. We have been raised, by a strange freak of fortune, from nothing, as a body may say ; and — Lord D. Nothing! as reputable a trade as any in all Gosjjort. You hold a merchant as cheap as if he trotted about with all his property in a pack, like a peddler. Lady D. A merchant, indeed ! curious merchan- dise 3'ou dealt in, truly! PANGLOSS. 105 Lord D. A lurge assortment of articles : coal, cloth, herrings, linen, candles, eggs, sugar, treacle, tea, bacon, and brick-dust; with many more, too tedious to mention in this here advertisement. Jjady D. Well, praise the bridge that carried you over ; but you must now drop the tradesman and learn life. Consider, by the strangest accident, you have been raised to neither more nor less than a peer of the realm. Lord D. Oh ! 't was the strangest accident, my Lady, that ever happened on the face of the uni- versal y earth. Lady D. True; 'twas, indeed, a windfall; and you must now walk, talk, eat and drink as becomes your station. 'T is befit a nobleman should behave as sich, and knoAV summut of breeding. Lord L>. Well, but I ha n't been a nobleman more nor a week; and my throat isn't noble enough yet to be proof against scalding. Hand over the milk, my Lady. Jjady D. Hand over ! Ah ! what 's bred in the bone will never come out of the flesh, my Lord. Lord D. Pshaw ! here 's a fuss, indeed ! When I was plain Daniel Dowlas, of Gosport, I was reckoned as cute a dab at discourse as any in town. Nobody found fault Avith me then. Jjady D. But why so loud ? I declare, the serv- ants will hear. Lord D. Hear ! and what will they hear but what they know? Our story a secret! Tell 'em Queen Anne 's dead, my Lady. Do n't every body know 106 PANGLOSS. old Duberly was sui^posed to die without any hair to his estate — as the doctors say, of an implication of disorders? and that his son, Henry Morland, was lost, some lime ago, in the salt sea? Lady D. Well, thei'e 's no occasion to — Lord D. Do n't every hodj know that lawj^er Ferret, of Furnival's Inn, owed the legatees a grudge, and popped a bit of an advertisement into the News: — '-Whereas, the heir-at-law, if there be tix\y reviving, of the late Baron Dnberlj^, will apply — so and so — he '11 hear of summut greatly to his advantage." Jjady D. But why bawl it to the — I^ord. D. Did n't ho hunt me out to prove my title, and lug me from the counter to clap me into a coach, a house .here in Hanover Square, and an estate in the country worth fifteen thousand per annum? Wh}', bless 5'ou, my Lad}', every little black sweep with a soot-bag cries it about the streets as often as he says " Sweep ! " Jjady D. 'T is a pity but my Loi*d had left you some manners with his monc}-. Jjord D. He ! what, mj^ cousin twenty thousand times removed? He must have left them by word of month. Never spoke to him but once in all my born life — upon an electioneering matter. That 's a time when most of your proud folks make no bones of tii:)pling with a tallow-chandler, in his back room, on a melting day. But he! — except calling me cousin, and buj'ing a lot of damaged huckaback to cnt into kitchen towels, he was as cold and as PANGLOSS. 107 stiff as he is noAv, thougii he has been dead and buried these nine months, rot him ! Lady D. There again, now ! rot him ! Lord D. WI13', what is a man to say when he wants to consecrate liis old, stiff-rumped relations? \_Rings the bell. Lady D. Why, an oath now and then may slip in, to garnish genteel conversation ; but then it should be done with an air to one's equals, and with a kind of careless condescension to menials. Lord D. Should it? Well, then; here, John. Enter John, r. My good man, take away the tea. John. Yes, my Lord. lExit, r. Lady D. And now, my Lord, I must leave you for tlic concerns of the day. We elegant people are as full of business as an ci^g 's full of meat. Lord D. Yes, we elegant people find the trade of the tone, as tliey call it, plaguy fatiguing. What! you arc for the ids a ids this morning? Much good ma}' it do you, my Lady. It makes me sit stuck up and squeezed like a bear in a bathing-tub. Lady D. I have a hundred places to call at. Folks are so civil since avc came to take possession. There 's dear Lady Littlefigure, Lord Sponge, Mrs. Holdbank, Lady Betty Pillory, the Hon. Mrs. Cheat- well, and — Lord B. Ay, ay; you may always find plenty in this here town to be civil to fifteen thousand a year, my Lady. 108 PAN GLOSS. Lady D. Well, thci'e 's no learning yoii life. I 'ra sure they are as kind and friendly. The supper Lady Betty gave to us, and a hundred friends, must have cost her fifty good pounds, if it cost a brass farden ; and she does the same thing, I 'm told, three times a Aveek. If she is n't monstrous rich, I wonder, for my part, how she can afford it. Lord D. Why, my Lady, that would have puzzled me, too, if they hadn't hooked me into a game of cocking and punting, I think they call it, Avhere I lost as much in half a hour as would keep her and her companj^ in fricasees and whip sullibubs for a fortnight. But I may be even with her some o' these a'ternoons. Only let me catch her at Put, that's all! Enter John, l. John. Doctor Pangloss is below, my Lord. Lord I). Oddsbobs, my Lady ! That 's the man as learns me to talk English. Lady D. Hush! consider — [_Poi7iting to John. Lord p. Hum ! I forgot. My honest fellow, show him up stairs, d'ye hear? [_Lx it 3 oim, l.] There, was that easy ? Lady D. Tolerable. Lord D. Well, now, get along, my Lady; the Doctor and I must be snug. I^ady D. Then I bid you good morning, my Lord. As Lady Betty says, I wish you a bon repos. [Exit, R. PANGLOSS. 109 Lord D. A bon repos ! I do n't know how it is, but the women arc more cuter at these here matters nor the men. My wife, as every bod}^ may see, is as genteel already as if she had been born a duchess. This Doctor Pangloss will do me a deal of good in the way of fashioning my discourse. So here he is. Enter Pangloss, l. Doctor, good morning. I wish you a bon repos! Take a chair. Doctor. Pang. Pardon me, ni}^ Lord ; I am not inclined lobe sedentary. I wish, Avith permission, '^ crectus ad sidera tollere vultus.''' — Ovid. Hem ! Lord D. Tollory vultures ! I suppose that that means you had rather stand? Pang. Fye, this is a locomotive morning with me. Just hurried, my Lord, from the Society of Arts, whence, I may say, " I have borne my blushing honors thick upon me." — Shakespeare. Hem ! Lord D. And what has put 3-our honors to the blush, this morning. Doctor? Pang. To the blush ! a ludicrous perversion of the author's meaning — he, he, he! Hem! You shall hear, m}^ Lord. " Lend me your ears." — Shakespeare again. Hem! 'T is not unknown to your lordship, and the no less literary world, that the Caledonian University of Aberdeen long since conferred upon me the dignity of LL.D. ; and, as I never beheld that erudite body, I may safely say 110 PANGLOSS. they dubbed me with a degree from sheer con- siderations of my celebrity. Lord D. True. Fang. For nothing, my Lord, but mj' own innate modesty, could suppose that Scotch college to be swayed by one pound fifteen shillings and three pence three farthings, paid on receiving my diploma, as a handsome compliment to the numerous and learned head of that seminary. Lord D. Oh, no; it wasn't for the matter of money. Pang. I do not think it was altogether the " auri sacra fames.'' — Virgil. Hem ! But this \erj day, my Lord, at eleven o'clock A. M., the Society of Arts, in consequence, as they were pleased to say, of my merits — he, he, he! my merits^ my Lord — have admitted me as an unworthy member; and I have henceforward the privilege of adding to my name the honorable title of A double S. Lord D. And I make no doubt, Doctor, but you have richly deserved it. I warrant a man does n't ffet A double S tacked to his name for nothins:. Pang. Decidedly not, ni}- Lord. Yes, I am now arthim sociefatis socius. My two last publications did that business. ^' Exegi monumentum cere perennius." — Horace. Hem ! Lord D. And what might them there two books be about. Doctor? Pang. The first, my Lord, was a plan to lull the restless to sleep by an infusion of opium into their ears. The efficacy of this method originally struck PANGLOSS. Ill me in St. Stephen's chapel, while listening to the oratory of a worthy country gentleman. Lord D. I wonder it wa'n't hit upon before by the doctors. Pang. Physicians, m}^ Lord, jjut their patients to sleep in another manner — he, he, he ! " To die — to sleep; no more." — Shakespeare. Hem! My second treatise was a proposal for erecting dove-houses, on a principle tending to increase the projiagation of pigeons. This, I may affirm, has received consider- able countenance from many who move in the circles of fashion. ^^ Nee gemere cessabit turtur^ — Yirgil. Hem ! I am about to publish a third edition by subscription. May I have the honor to poj) your lordshij) down among the pigeons? Lord D. Ay, ay ; down with me, Doctor. Pang. My Lord, I am grateful. I ever insert names and titles at full length : what may be your lordship's sponsorial and patronymic appellations? \_Taking out his pocket-book. Lord D. My what ? Pang. I mean, my Lord, the designations given to you by your lordship's godfathers and parents. Lord D. Oh ! what my Christian and surname ? I was baptized Daniel. Pang. " Abolens baptismate labem." — I forget where ; no matter. Hem ! The Eight Honorable Daniel — [ Writing. Lord D. Dowlas. Pang. [Writing'] Dowlas — "Filthy Dow!" — Hem ! Shakespeare. — The Eight Honorable Daniel 112 PANGLOSS. Dowlas, Baron Duberly. — And now, my Lord, to 3'our lesson for the day. ^They sit. Lord D. Now for it, Doctor. Pang. The process which we are now upon is, to eradicate that blemish in your lordship's language which the learned denominate cacology., and which the vulgar call slip-slop. Lord D. I am afraid. Doctor, my cakelology will give you a tolerable tight job on 't. Pang. " Nil desperandum." — Horace. Hem ! We'll begin in the old way, my Lord. Talk on: Avhen 3'ou stumble,-! check. Where was your lordship yesterday evening? Lord D. At a consort. Pang. Umph ! tete a tele with Lady Duberly, I presume. Lord, D. Tete a tete with five hundred people, hearing of music. Pang. Oh ! I conceive : your lordship Avould say a concert. Mark the distinction : a concert, my Lord, is an entertainment visited by fashionable lovers of harmony. Now, a consort is a wife — little conducive to harmony in the present day, and seldom visited by a man of fashion, unless she happens to be his friend's or his neighbor's. Lord D. A difference, indeed! Between 5 on and I, Doctor, (now my Lady 's out of hearing,) a wife is the plague. Pang. He, he, he! there are plent}' of Jobs in the world, my Lord. Lord D. And a sight of Jezebels, too. Doctor. PANGLOSS. 113 But patience, as you say ; for I never gives my Lady no bad language. Whenever she gets in her tan- trums, and talks high, I always sits mumchance. Pang. " So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard." — Milton. Hem! \_They rise^ Silence is most secure, my Lord, in these cases; for if once your lordship opened your mouth, 'tis twenty to one but bad language would follow. I/07'd D. Oh, that 's a sure thing ; and I never liked to disperse the women. Pang, disperse. Lord D. Humph ! there 's another stumble ! After all. Doctor, 1 shall make but a jDOor progress in my vermicular tongue. Pang. Your knowledge of our native or ver- nacular language, my Lord, time and industry may meliorate. Yermicxdar is an epithet seldom applied to tongues, but in the case of puppies who want to be wormed. Lord D. Oh, then, I a'n't so much out, Doctor, I 've met plenty of puppies, since I came to town, whose tongues are so troublesome, that worming might chance to be of service. But, Doctor, I 've a bit of a proposal to make to you concerning my own family. Pang. Disclose, my Lord. Lord I). Why, you must know, I expect my son Dicky in town this here very morning. Now, Doctor, if you would but mend his cakelology, may- hap it might be better worth while than the mending of mine. 1). s.— 10. 114 PANGLOSS. Pang \_Aside\ I smell a pupil. Whence, my Lord, does the young gentleman come ? Lord D. You shall hear all about it. You know, Doctor, though I 'm of good family distraction — Pang. Ex. Lord D. Though I 'm of a good family extraction, 't was but t' other day I kept a shop at Gosport. Pa7ig. The rumor has reached me. " Fama volat viresque.'' — Lord JD. Do n't put me out. Pang. Virgil. Hem ! Proceed. Lord D. A tradesman, you know, must mind the main chance ; so, when Dick began to grow as big as a porpus, I got an old friend of mine, who lives in Derbyshire — humph ! close to the peak — to take Dick 'prentice at half-price. He 's just now out of his time ; and I warrant him as wild and as rough as a rock. Now, if you. Doctor, if j^ou would but take him in hand, and soften him a bit — Pang. Pray, my Lord — " to soften rocks." — Congreve. Hem ! Pray, my Lord, what profession may the Honorable Mr. Dowlas have followed? Lord D. "Who? Dick? He has served his clerk- ship to an attorney at Castlcton. Pang. An attorney ! Gentlemen of his profession, my Lord, are very difficult to soften. Lord D. Yes, but the pay may make it worth while. I 'm told that Lord Spindle gives his eldest son. Master Drumstick's tutorer, three hundred a year-, and, besides learning his pupil, he has to read my lord to sleep of an afternoon, and walk out with PANGLOSS. 115 the lap-dogs and children. Now, if thi*ee hundred a year, Doctor, will do the business for Dick, I sha'n't begrudge it you. Pang. Three hundred a year ! say no more, my Lord. LL.D., A. double S., and three hundred a 3'ear ! I accept the office. " Verbum sat.'" — Horace. Hem ! I '11 run to my lodgings, settle with Mrs. Suds, put my wardrobe into a — no, I "ve got it all on, and — [Going. Lord D. Hold, hold ! not so hasty. Doctor. I must first send you for Dick to the Blue Boar. Fang. The Honorable Mr. Dowlas, my pupil, at the Blue Boar ! Lord D. Ay, in Holborn. As I a'n't fond of telling people good news beforehand, for fear they may be baulked, Dick knows nothing of my being made a lord. Pang. Three hundred a year ! " I've often wished that I had clear, For life, six " — 710, three — " Thi'ee hundred " — Lord B. I wrote him just before I left Gosport, to tell him to meet me in London with — Pang. " Three hundred pounds a year." — Swift. Hem ! Lord I). With all speed, upon business ; d' 3-e mind me? Pang. Dr. Pangloss, with an income of — no lap- dogs, my Lord? Lord F. Nay, but listen. Doctor; — and as I 1 16 PANGLOSS. did n't know where old Ferret was to make me live in London, I told Dick to be at the Blue Boar this morning by the stage-coach. Why, you don't hear what I'm talking about. Doctor. Pang. Oh, perfectly, my Lord — three hundred — Blue Boars — in a stage-coach ! Lord D. Well, step into my room. Doctor, and I '11 give you a letter which yon shall cany to ihe inn, and bring Dick awaj' with you. I Avarrant the boy will be ready to jump out of his skin. Pang. Skin! jump ! I 'm ready to jump out of mine! I follow your lordship. — Oh, Dr. Pangloss, where is your philosophy now! — I attend you, my Lord. '^ Eq^iam memento." — Horace. Servare mentem. Hem! bless me, I'm all in a fluster — LL.D., A. double S., and three hundred a — I attend your lordship. Scene 11: — A Room in the Blue Boar Inn. Enter Dr. Pangloss a7id Waiter, l. Pang. Let the chariot turn about. Dr. Pangloss in a lord's chariot ! " Curra portahur eodem.'^ — Juve- nal. Hem ! — Waiter ! Wait. Sir. Pang. Have 3'ou any gentleman here who arrived this morning? Wait. There 's one in the house now, sir. Pang. Is he juvenile? Wait. No, sir ; he 's Derbj^shire. PANGLOSS. 117 Pang. lie, he, he ! — Of what appearance is the gentleman ? Wait. W]i3% pLaguy poor, sir. Pang. " I hold him rich, al had he not a sherte." — Chaucer. Hem ! — Denominated the Honorable Mr. Dowlas ? Wait. Honorable! He left his name plain Dowlas at the bar, sir. Pang. Plain Dowlas, did he ? That will do ; " for all the rest is leather — " Wait. Leather, sir! Pang. " And prunello." — Pope. Hem! Tell Mr. Dowlas a gentleman requests the honor of an inter- view. Wait. This is his room, sir. He is but just stepped into our parcel warehouse ; he'll be with you directly. \^Exit^ R. Pang. Never before did honor and affluence let foil such a shower on the head of Dr. Pangloss ! Fortune, I thank thee ! propitious goddess, I am grateful ! J, thy favored child, who commenced his career in the loftiest apartment of a muffin- maker, in Milk Alley. Little did I think, "good, easy man " — Shakesjoeare — hem I — of the I'iches and literar}^ dignities which now — Enter Dick Dowlas, r. ]\Iy pupil ! Dick. [Speaking irJu'le entering'] Well, where is the man that Avants — oh ! you are he, I suppose — 118 PANGLOSS. Pang. I am the man, 3'oung gentleman. '^ Honw sum.'' — Terence. Hem! 8ir, the person who now presumes to address you is Peter Pangloss, to whose name, in the College of Aberdeen, is subjoined LL.D., signifying Doctor of Laws; to which has been re- cently added the distinction of A. double S., the Roman initials for a Fellow of the Society of Arts. Dick. Sir, I am your most obedient, Eichard Dowlas; to whose name, in his tailor's bill, is sub- joined DR., signifying debtor; to which are added L. S. D., the Roman initials for pounds, shillings, and pence. Fang. Ha ! this j^outh was doubtless designed by destiny to move in tlie circles of fashion ; for he is dip])cd in debt, and makes a merit of telling it. Dick. But what are your commands with me. Doctor ? Pang. I have the honor, young gentleman, of being deputed an ambassador to you from your father. Dick. Then 3'ou have the honor to be an ambas- sador of as good-natured an old fellow as ever sold a ha'porth of cheese in a chandler's shop. Pa7ig. Pardon me, if on the subject of 3-our father's cheese, I advise you to be as mute as a mouse in one, for the future. 'T were better to keep that '' alta menta repositum.'" — Virgil. Hem! Dick. Wliy, what's the matter? anj^ misfortune? Broke, I fear ! Pang. No, not broke; but his name, as 'tis cus- tomar}^ in these cases, has a])peared in the Gazette. PANGLOSS. 119 Dick. Xot broke, but Gazetted ! Pang. Check your pussions ; learn philosoph}". When the wife of the great Socrates threw a — hum ! threw a tea-pot at his erudite head, he Avas as cool as a cucumber. When Plato — Dick. Hang Plato! Avhat of my father? Pang. Do n't hang Plato ! The bees swarmed round his mellifluous mouth as soon as he was swaddled. " Gum in cunis apes in labelUs consedis- sent." — Cicero. Hem ! Dick. I wish you had a swarm round yours, with all ni}^ heart. Come, to the point. Pang. In due time. But calm j^our choler. "/m furor brevis est.''' — Horace. Hem! Eeadlhis. \_Gives a letter. Dick. [Snatches the letter, breaks it open, and reads'] "Dear Dick. This comes to inform j^ou I am in a perfect state of health, hoping 3'ou are the same." Ay, that 's the old beginning. " It was my lot, last week, to be made" — ay, a bankrupt, I suppose — "to be made a" — what? — " to be made a p-e-a-r" — a pear ! to be made a pear ! What does he mean by that? Pang. A peer — a peer of the realm. His lord- ship's orthography is a little loose; but several of his equals countenance the custom. Lord Logger- head always spells pihysician with an /. Dick. A i)eer ! what, my father! I 'm electrified. Old Daniel Dowlas made a peer ! But let me see — [j-eads on] — " pear of the realm. Lawyer Ferret got me my tilt" — oh, title — "and an estate of 120 PANGLOSS. fifteen thousand per ann., by making me out next of kin to old Lord Duberly, because he died Avitli- out — without hair.'^ 'T is an odd reason, by the by, to be next of kin to a nobleman because he died bald. Pang. His lordship means heir — heir to his estate. We shall meliorate his style speedily — " reform it altogether." — Shakespeare. Ilem ! Dick. \_Iieads 0)1] "I sent my carrot" — carrot! Fang. He, he, he ! Chariot, his lordship means. Dick. \_Iieading'] '• With Dr. Pangloss in it." Pang. That's me. Dick. \_Reading'] "Eespect him; for he's an LL.D., and, moreover, an A. double S." \_They bow. Pang. His lordship kindly condescended to insert that at my request. Dick. \Rending'\ "And I have iiiade him your tutorer, to mend your cakelology." Pang. Cacology : from Kaxo;', mahis, and Aoyoj-, verhinn. — Vide Lexicon. Hem!" Dick. [Peadingl " Come Avith the Doctor to my house in Hanover Square." — Hanover Square! — '• I remain your affectionate father, to command, Duberly." Pang. That's his lordship's title. Dick. Is it? Pang. It is. Dick. Say sir to a lord's son. You have no more manners than a bear! Paiuj. Bear ! Under favor, young gentleman, I am the bear leader, being appointed your tutor. PANGLOSS. 121 Dick. And what can you teach me? Pang. Prudence. Don't forget yourself in sudden success. ^^ Tecum habita." — Persius. Hem! Dick. Prudence to a nobleman's son with fifteen thousand a year ! Pang. Don't give way to 3'our passions. Dick: Give way ! I 'm wild — mad! You teach me, pooh ! I have been in London before, and know it requires no teaching to be made a modern fine gentleman. Wh}', it all lies in a nut-shell: — sport a curricle — walk Bond street — plaj" at faro — get drunk — dance reels — go to the opera— cut off your tail — pull on your pantaloons — and there 's a buck of the first fashion in town for you. D' ye think I don't know what's going? Pang. Mercy on me ! I shall have a veiy refrac- tory pupil. Dick. Not at all ; wc '11 be hand-and-glove to- gether, my little Doctor. I '11 drive j'ou down to all the races, with my terrier between your legs, in a tandem. Pang. Doctor Pangloss, the philosopher, with a terrier betAveen his legs, in a tandem ! Dick. I '11 tell you what. Doctor, I '11 make you my long-stop at cricket — you shall draw corks when I'm president — laugh at my jokes before comjDany — squeeze lemons for punch — cast up the reckoning — and Avoe betide 3'ou if you do n't keep sober enough to see me safe home after a jollification ! Pang. Make me a long-stop and a squeezer of lemons! This is more fatiguing than walking out D. S.-ll. 122 PANGLOSS. with the lap-dogs. And are these the qualifications for a tutor, young gentleman ? Dick. To be sure they are. 'T is the way that half the prig parsons, who educate us honorables, jump into fat livings. Pang. 'Tis well they jump into something fat at last, for they must wear all the flesh off their bones in the process. Dick. Come now, tutor, go and call the waiter. Pang. Go and call ! sir, sir ! I 'd have you to understand, Mr. Dowlas — Dick. Ay^ let us undei'stand one another, Doctor. My father, I take it, comes down handsomely to you for your management of me. Pang. My lord has been liberal. Dick. But 'tis I must manage you. Doctor. Ac- knowledge this, and, between ourselves, I'll find means to double your pay. Pang. Double my — Dick. Do you hesitate? Why, man, you have set up for a modern tutor without knowing your trade. Pang. Double \wy pay ! say no more — done — " actum est." — Terence. Hem ! — Waiter ! [Bawling. Dick. That 's right. Tell him to pop my clothes into the carriage. They are in that bundle. Enter Waiter, r. Pa7ig. Waiter, hei*e ! put up the Honorable Mr. Dowlas's clothes and linen into his father's, Lord Duberly's chariot. PANG LOSS. 123 Wait. Where ure they all, sir? Pang. All wrapped iip in the Honorable Mr. Dowlas's pocket-handkerchief. \_Exit Waiter with bundle, l. Dick. See 'em safe in, Doctor. Pang. I go, most worthy pupil. — Six hundred pounds a year! However deficient in the classics, his knowledge of arithmetic is admirable. '■^ I've often wished that I had clear, For life, six hundred pounds a year.'' — Dick. Nay, nay ; don't be so slow. Pang. Swift. Hem ! — I 'm gone. [_Exeunt, l. COSTUMES. Daniel Dowlas. — Green coat, richly embroidered; flowered waistcoat, silver button-holes ; salmon-colored breeches ; white silk stockings; shoes; paste buckles; lace ruffles; cornered hat, etc. Dick DowL.AS. — Green coat; white waistcoat; light breeches; white silk stockings; dress shoes. Doctor Pangloss. — Black velvet coat, with glass buttons; black cloth breeches; silk stockings; shoes and buckles; small cane; ruffles; three-cornered hat. AVaiter. — Plain blue coat; yellow waistcoat and breeches; white stockings and shoes. Lady Duberly. — AVhite satin petticoat; lace apron; loose pink satin gown, ornamented ; short sleeves; old-fashioned head- dress ; high-heeled shoes. 124 INKLE AND YARICO. INKLE AND YARICO. By Geo. Colman the Elder. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Inkle, an avaricious speculator. Sir Christopher Curry, Governor of Barbadoes. Captain Campley, a brave young officer. Medium, father to Inkle; a trader. Trudge, Inkle's attendant. Mate. Yarico, an Indian maiden. Narcissa, Inkle's intended., hut married to Campley. WowsKi, an Indian girl attending Yarico. Patty, a servant girl. Time — The Seventeenth Century. Scene : — The Quay at Barbadoes. Enter Sir Christopher Curry, r. Sir C. Od's my life ! I can scarce contain my happiness. I have left them safe in church, in the middle of the ceremony. I ought to have given Narcissa away, they told me ; but I capered about so much for joy, that old Spintext advised me to go INKLE AND YARICO. 125 and cool 1113' heels on the quti}^ till it was all over. Oh, I 'ni so happy ! and the}' shall see, now, what an old fellow can do at a wedding. Enter Inkle, l. 1. e. Inkle, (l.) Now for dispatch ! Hark'ee, old gen- tleman ! [To the Governor. Sir C. (r.) Well, j'oung gentleman ! Inkle. If I mistake not, I know your business here. Sir C. Egad, I believe half the island knows it by this time. Inkle. Then to the point : I have a female whom I wish to part with. Sir C. Yery likel}'^ ; it 's a common case, now-a- days, with many a man. Inkle. If 3'ou could satisf}' me you Avould use her mildly, and treat her with more kindness than is usual — for I can tell you she 's of no common stamp — perhaps avc might agree. Sir C. Oho! a slave! Faith, now I think on 't, my daughter mjiy want an attendant or two extra- ordinary ; and as you say she 's a delicate girl, above the common run, and none of your thick-lipped, flat- nosed, squabby, dumpling dowdies, I do n't much care if — Inkle. And for her treatment — Sir C. Look yo, young man ; I love to be plain : I shall treat her a good deal better than you would, I fancy ; for, though I witness this custom every day, 126 INKLE AND YARICO. I can't help thinking the only excuse for buj'ing our fellow-creatures, is to rescue 'em from the hands of those who are unfeeling enough to bring them to market. Inkle. Fair words, old gentleman ; an Englishman Avon't put up with an affront. Sir C. An Englishman ! more shame for you ! Men who so fully feel the blessings of liberty, are doublj^ cruel in depriving the helpless of their freedom. Inkle. Let me assure you, sir, 'tis not my occu- pation ; but for a private reason — an instant pressing necessity — Sir 0. Well, well, I have a pressing necessity, too ; I can't stand to talk now; I expect company here presently ; but if you '11 ask for me to-morrow, at the Castle — Itikle. The Castle! Sir C. Ay, sir, the Castle — the Governor's Castle ; known all over Barbadoes. Inkle. \_Aside'] 'Sdeath ! this man must be on the Governor's establishment — his steward, perhaps — and sent after me, while Sir Christopher is impa- tientl}^ waiting for me. I 've gone too far ; my secret may be known. As 'tis, I '11 win this fellow to my interest. [^To Sir C] One word more, sir: my busi- ness must be done immediately; and, as you seem acquainted at the Castle, if j'ou should see me there — and there I mean to sleep to-night — Sir C. Oh, you do? Inkle. Your finger on your lips ; and never breathe a syllable of this transaction. INKLE AND YARICO. 127 Sir C. No ! Why not ? Inkle. Because, for reasons which, perhaps, you '11 know to-morrow, I might be injured with the Gov- ernor, whose most particular friend I am. Si7' C. \_Asicle^ So ! here 's a particular friend of mine, coming to sleep at my house, that I never saw in my life. I '11 sound this fellow. — I fancy, young gentleman, as you are such a bosom friend of the Governor's, you can hardly do any thing to alter your situation with him ? Inlde. Oh ! pardon me ; but you '11 find that here- after. Besides, you doubtless know his character? Sir C. Oh, as well as I do my own. But let's understand one another. You may trust me, now you 've gone so far. You arc acquainted with his character, no doubt, to a hair? Inkle. I am — I see we shall vinderstand each other. You know him, too, I see, as well as I — a very touchy, testy, hot old fellow. Sir C. [_AsicIe'\ Here 's a scoundrel ! I hot and touchy! I can hardly contain my j^assion ! — But I won't discover myself I '11 see the bottom of this. \_To Inkle.'] Well, now, as we seem to have come to a tolerable explanation, let's proceed to business; bring me the woman. Inkle. No ; there you must excuse me. I rather would avoid seeing her more ; and wish it to be settled without my seeming interference. My pres- ence might distress her — you conceive me? Sir C. [^Aside'j What an unfeeling rascal ! The poor girl's in love with him, I suppose. — No, no; 128 INKLE AND YARICO. fair and open. 3Iy dealing 's with you, and 3'ou only. I sec her now, or I declare off. Inkle. Well, then, you must be satisfied. Yonder 's my servant. — Ha ! a thoug'ht has struck me. Come here, sir. Enter Trudge, l. I '11 write VL\y purpose, and send it her by him. It 's lucky that I taught her to decipher characters; my labor now is paid. [^Takes out his pocket-book and writes, still talking to himself.'] Tliis is somewhat less abrupt; 'twill soften matters. [Tb Trudge] Give this to Yarico ; then bring her hither with you. Trudge. I shall, sir. [^Going, L. Inkle. Stay; comeback. [J^suZe] This soft fool, if uninstructed, may add to her distress: his drivel- ling sympathy may feed her grief, instead of soothing it. — When she has read this paper, seem to make light of it ; tell her it is a thing of course, done purely for her good. I here inform her that I must part with her. D'3'e understand your lesson? Trudge. Pa-part with Ma-Madam Ya-ric-o ! Inkle. Why does the blockhead stammer? — I have my reasons. No muttering — and let me tell you, sir, if 3'our rare bargain were gone, too, 'twould be the better : she may babble our story of the forest, and spoil my fortune. Trudge. I 'm sorry for it, sir. I have lived with you a long Avhile ; I 've half a year's wages, too, duo the 25th ult., for dressing your hair and scribbling INKLE AND YARICO. 129 your parchments; but take ni}" sei^ibbling, take my frizzing, take my wages, and I and Wows will take ourselves off together : she saved my life, and nothing but death shall part us. Inkle. Impertinent ! go and deliver your message. Trudge. I 'm gone, sir. I never carried a letter with such ill-will in all my born days. [Exit, l. Sir C. Well, shall I see the girl ? Inkle. She'll be here jiresently. One thing I had forgot: when she is yours, I need not caution you, after the hints I 've given, to keep her from the Castle. If Sir Christopher should see her, 'tAvould lead, you know, to a discovery of what I wish concealed. Sir C. Depend upon me; Sir Christopher will know no more of our meeting than he does at this moment. Inkle. Your secrecy shall not be unrewarded; I'll recommend you particularly to his good graces. Sir C. Thank ya, thank 3'c ; but I 'm pretty much in his good graces as it is : I do n't knoAV any body he has a greater respect for. 'He-enter Trudge, l. Inkle. Now, sir, have you performed your message ? Trudge. Yes, I gave her the letter. Inlde. And where is Yarico ? Did she say she'd come? Did n't you do as you were ordered ? Didn't you speak to her? 180 INKLE AND YARICO. Trudge. I could n't, sir, I could n't. I intended to say what you bid me ; but I felt such a pain in my throat, I could n't speak a word for the soul of me ; and so, sir, I fell a-crying. hikle. (c.) Blockhead ! Sir C. (r.) 'Sblood ! but he 's a very honest block- head. Tell me, my good fellow, what said the girl? Trudge, (l.) Nothing at all, sir. She sat down, with her two hands clasped on her knees, and looked so pitifully in my face I could not stand it. Oh, here she comes. I '11 go and find Wows. If I must be melancholy, she shall keep me company. [JS'xiY, l. Sir C. Od's my life ! as comely a girl as ever I saw ! Enter Yarico, l., who looks for some time in Inkle's face, bursts into tears, and falls on his neck. Inkle, (c.) In tears! Nay, Yarico, why this? Yar. (L.) Oh, do not — do not leave me ! Inkle. Why, simple girl ! I 'm laboring for your good. My interest here is nothing; I can do nothing from myself. You are ignorant of our country's customs. I must give way to men more powerful, who will not have me with you. But see, my Yarico, ever anxious for j-our welfare, I've found a kind, good person who will protect 3-ou. Yar. Ah ! why not you protect me ? Inkle. I have no means. — How can I ? Yar. Just as I sheltered you. Take me to yonder INKLE AND YARICO. 131 mountain, where I see no smoke from tall, high liouses, filled Avith your cruel countrymen. None of your princes there will come to take me from you. And should they stray that way, we '11 find a lurking-i>lace just like my own poor cave, where many a day I sat beside you, and blessed the chance that brought you to it, that I might save 3'our life. Sir C. (R.) His life! Zounds! my blood boils at the scoundrel's ingratitude ! Yar. Come, come, let us go. I always feared these cities. Let's fly and seek the woods; and there we '11 wander hand in hand together. No cares shall vex us then : we '11 let the day glide by in idleness ; and you shall sit in the shade, and watch the sunbeam playing on the brook, Avhile I sing the song that pleases you. No cares, love, but for food ; and we '11 live cheerily, I warrant. In the fresh, early morning, you shall hunt down our game, and I Avill pick 3'ou berries. And then, at night, I '11 trim our bed of leaves, and lie down in peace. — Oh ! we shall be so happy! In/de. Hear me, Yarico. My countrymen and yours differ as much in minds as in complexions. We were not born to live in woods and caves — to seek subsistence by pursuing beasts. We Christians, girl, hunt money — a thing unknown to you. But, here, 'tis money which brings us ease, plentj-, com- mand, power — every thing; and, of course, happi- ness. You are the bar to my attaining this ; there- fore, 'tis necessary for my good — and which I think you value — 132 INKLE AND YARICO. Yar. You know I do; so much, that it would break my heart to leave you. Likle. But we must j^art. If you arc seen with me, I shall lose all. Yar. I gave up all for you — m}- friends, my country — all that was dear to me; and still grown dearer, since 3'ou sheltered there — all, all was left for you ; and were it now to do again, again I 'd cross the seas, and follow you all the world over. Inkle. We idle time, sir : she is yours. See you obey this gentleman ; 'twill be the better for you. [Going. Puts Yarico across to c. Yar. Oh, barbarous! Do not, do not abandon me! Inkle, (l.) No more. Yar. Stay but a little : I sha'n't live long to be a burden to you : your cruelty has cut me to the heart. Protect me but a little. Or J '11 obey this man, and undergo all hardships for your good : stay but to witness them: I soon shall sink with grief: tarry till then, and hear me bless your name when I am dying; and beg you, now and then, when I am gone, to heave a sigh for your poor Yarico. Inkle. I dare not listen. You, sir, I hope, will take good care of her. \_Going. Sir C. Care of her ! that I will. I '11 cherish her like ni}' own daughter, and pour balm into the heart of a poor, innocent girl that has been wounded by the artifices of a scoundin^l. Inkle. Ha! 'Sdeath, sir, how dare 3'ou ! Sir C. 'Sdeath, sir, how dare you look an honest man in the face ! [^Crosses, c. INKLE AND YARICO. loo Inkle, (l.) Sir, yoii shall feel — Sir C. (c.) Feci! — It's more than ever j'oii did, I believe. Mean, sordid wretch ! dead to all sense of honor, gratitude, or humanity ! I never heard of such barbarit}' ! I have a son-in-LiAv who has been left in the same situation ; but if I thought him cajDable of such cruelty, I would return him to sea, Avith a peck loaf, in a cockle-shell! — Come, come; cheer up, my girl ! You sha'n't Avant a friend to pro- tect you, I warrant you. \_Tokincj Yarico by the hand. Inkle. Insolence ! The Governor shall hear of this insult. Sir C. The Governor ! — Liar ! cheat ! rogue ! impostor! — breaking all ties j^ou ought to keep, and pretending to those you have no right to. The Governor never had such a fellow in the whole cata- logue of his acquaintance. The Governor disowns you — the Governor disclaims you — the Governor abhors you! and, to jour utter confusion, here stands the Governor to tell you so ! here stands old Curry, who never talked to a rogue without telling him what he thought of him. Inkle. Sir Christopher ! — Lost and undone ! Medium. IWithoiit, l.] Hollo! young Multiplica- tion ! Zounds! I have been peeping in every cranny of the house. Why, j^oung Eule-of-thi-ec ! [Enters from the inn, L. s. e.] Oh ! here you are, at last. — Ah, Sir Christopher ! what, are you there ! Too impatient to wait at home. But here's one that will make you eas}', I fancy. [Clapping Inkle on the shoulder. 134 INKLE AND YARICO. Sir C. (c.) How came you to know him? MM. Ha, ha ! Well, that 's curious enough, too. So you have been talking here without finding out each other? Sir C. No, no; I have found him out, with a vengeance. Med. Not you. Why, this is the dear boy. It's my nef)hew, that is; your son-in-law, that is to be. It 's Inkle. Sir C. It's a lie! and you're a purblind old booby! and this dear boy is a scoundrel ! Med. Heyday, what 's the meaning of this? One was mad before, and he has bit the other, I suppose. Sir C. But here comes the dear boy — the true boy — the jolly boy, piping hot from church, with my daughter. JSnter Campley, Narcissa, and Patty, r. Med. Campley ! Sir C. Who? Campley? It's no such thing. Camp. That 's my name, indeed. Sir Christoplicr. Sir C. And how came you, sir, to impose upon me, and assume the name of Inkle? — a name which Qwevj man of honesty ought to be ashamed of Camp. \_Crosses to Sir C] I never did, sir. Since I sailed from England with your daughter, my affec- tion has daily increased ; and when I came to explain myself to you, by a number of concurring circura- INKLE AND YARICO. 135 stances, which I am now partly acquainted with, you mistook me for that gentleman. Yet, had I even then been aware of your mistake, 1 must confess, the regard for my own happiness would have tempted me lo let you remain undeceived. Sir G. And did you, Narcissa, join in — Nar. How could I, my dear sir, disobey you? Patty. But, your Honor, what young lady could refuse a capital n ? Camp. I am a soldier, Sir Christopher. Love and war is the soldier's motto. Though my income is trifling to your intended son-in-law's, still the chance of war has enabled me to support the object of my love above indigence. Her fortune. Sir Chris- topher, I do not consider myself by any means enti- tled to. Sir C. 'Sblood ! but you must, though . Gwe me your hand, my young Mars, and bless you both to- gether. Thank you, thank you, for cheating an old fellow into giving his daughter to a lad of spirit, when he was going to throw her away upon one in whose breast the mean passion of avarice smothers the smallest spark of affection or humanity. JVar. I have this moment heard a story of a trans- action in the forest, which, I own, would have ren- dered compliance with your former demands very disagreeable. Patty. Yes, sir ; I told my mistress he had brought over a Hotty-pot gentlewoman. Sir C. [To Narcissa] Yes, but he Avould have left her for you, and you for his interest ; and sold you. 13G INKLE AND VARICO. perhaps, as ho has this j^oor girl to mc, as a requital for preserving his life. Nar. How ! Enter Trudge and Wowski, l. Trudge. Come along, Wows ! take a long last leave of your poor mistress : throw your pretty ebony arms about her neck. Woics. No, no ; she not go. You not leave poor Wowski ? \^Throicing Iter arms about Yarico. Sir C. Poor girl ! A companion, I take it. Trudge. A thing of my own, sir. I couldn't help following m}^ master's example in the woods. "Like master, like man," sir. Sir C. But you would not sell her, you dog, would you ? Trudge. Hang me, like a dog, if I would, sir! Sir C. So say I to every fellow that breaks an obligation due to the feelings of a man. But, old Medium, what have you to say for your hopeful nephew ? Med. I never speak ill of my friends, Sir Chris- topher. Sir C. PshaAv ! Inkle. [Comes rfo?r7!, L.] Then let mc speak: hear me defend a conduct — ;S7/- C. Defend! Zounds! plead guilty at once: it 's the onl}^ hope left of obtaining mercy. Inkle. Suppose, old gentleman, j^ou had a son. Sir C. 'Sblood ! Then I 'd make him an honest INKLE AND YARICO. 137 fellow; and teach him that the feeling heart never knows greater pride than when it's employed in giving succor to the unfortunate. I 'd teach him to be his father's own son to a hair. Inkle. Even so my father tutored me from infanc}', bending my tender mind, like a J^oung sapling, to his Avill. Interest was the grand prop round which ho twined my pliant, green affections. Taught me in childhood to repeat old sayings, all tending to his own fixed principles : and the first sentence that I ever lisped was, " Charity begins at home." Sir C. I shall never like a proverb again, as long as I live. Inkle. As I grew up, he'd prove — and by exam- ple — were I in want, I might e'en starve for what the world cared for their neighbors; why, then, should I care for the world? Men now lived for themselves. These were his doctrines. Then, sir, what would you say, should I, in spite of habit, precept, education, fly in my father's face and spurn his counsels? Sir C Say? AVhy, that you were an honest, un- dutiful fellow. Oh, away with such principles ! — principles Avhich destroy all confidence between man and man ; principles which none but a rogue could instil, and none but a rogue could imbibe. Principles — Inkle. Which I renounce ! Sir a Eh ! Inkle. Renounce entirely. Ill-founded precept too long has steeled my breast ; but still 't is U. S.— 12. 138 INKLE AND YARICO. vulnerable. This trial was too much. Nature, 'gainst habit, combating within me, has penetrated to my heart — a heart, I own, long callous to the feelings of sensibility : but now it bleeds, and bleeds for my poor Yarico. Oh, let me clasp her to it while 't is glowing, and mingle tears of love and penitence ! Trudge. \_Capering abouf^ Woavs, listen to that! [WowsKi goes to Trudge. Yar. And shall we, shall we be happy ? Inkle. Ay — ever, ever, Yarico. Yar. I knew we should — and yet I feared. But shall I still watch over you ? Oh, love, you surely gave your Yarico such pain only to make her feel this happiness the greater. Woics. [^Going to Yarico] Oh, Wowski so happy! and 3'et I think I not glad, neither. r Trudge. Eh, Wows! How? — why not? Wows. 'Cause I can't help cry. Sir C. Then, if that's the case, bless me if I think I'm very glad, either. What is the matter with my eyes? — Young man, your hand ; I am nowl proud and happy to shako it. Med. Well, Sir Christopher, what do you say to my hopeful nephew now? Sir C. Sa}' ! wh}-, confound the fellow, I say that it is ungenerous enough to remember the bad action of a man who has virtue left in his heart to repent it. \_To Trudge] As for you, my good fellow, I must, with your master's permission, employ you myself. Trudge. Oh, rare! Bless your honor! Wows, you '11 -be lady to a Governor's factotum. '. _ /. INKLE AND YARICO. 139 Wows. Iss — I Lach' Jactotum. Sir C. And noAV, m}- young folks, wo '11 drive home and celebrate the wedding. Od's my life ! I long to be shaking a foot at the fiddles ; and I shall dance ten times the lighter for reforming an Inkle, while I have it in my power to reward the innocence of a Yarico. Tableau. Curtain. COSTUMES. Inkle. — Nankeen trowsers and jacket; white waistcoat; light hat; white stockings; black belt and hanger. Sir Christopher. — Blue coat, embroidered button-holes; white waistcoat and breeches; white hat, gold button and loop; knee and shoe buckles; and white silk stockings. Campley. — Regimental coat; white trowsers ; sash, sword, hat etc. Medium. — Plain brown coat and waistcoat; blue striped trowsers; white stockings; shoes; black leather belt and hanger. Trudge. — Nankeen trowsers and jacket; white waistcoat and stockings; shoes; hat; black leather belt and hanger. Yarico. — AVhite and colored striped muslin dress, with colored feathers and ornaments; leopard's skin di-apery across one shoulder; dark flesh-colored stockings and arms; sandals; various-colored feathers in head; a quantity of colored beads around the head, neck, wrists, arms, and ankles. WowsKi. — Black skin, arms and legs; sandals; plain white dress, with small skin hung across shoulder; beads, etc. Narcissa. — Handsome white trimmed dress, with ornamented head, satin hat, etc. Patty. — White muslin dress, trimmed with blue and pink ribbon; apron, hat. etc. 140 THE DECEIVED BRIDE. THE DECEIVED BEIDE. From The Honeymoon^ by John Tobin. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Duke Aeanza. Juliana. Balthazar. Scene I : — A Cottage. A table and tico chairs. A door at 1. e. l. Enter the Duke, leading in Juliana, l. d. Duke. [^Brings a chair foncard, c, and sits doivnl You are welcome home. Jul. \_C7'osses, R.] Home! You are merry. This retired spot AVould be a palace for an qwl ! Duke. 'T is ours. Jul. Ay, for the time we stay in it. Duke. By Heaven, This is the noble mansion that I spoke of! Jid. This ! — You are not in earnest, though 3'ou bear it With such a sober broAV. ^- Come, come, you jest. Duke. Indeed, I jest not. Were it ours in jest. We should have none, wife. THE DECEIVED BRIDE. 141 Jul. Arc 3'ou serious, sir ? Duke. I swear, iis I'm your liusband, and no duke. Jul. No duke? Duke. But of my own creation, lad}'. Jul. Am I betrayed? — Nay, do not play the fool ! It is too keen a joke. Duke. You '11 find it true. Jul. You are no duke, then ? Duke. None. Jul. Have I been cozened ? And have you no estate, sir? No palaces, nor houses? Duke. None but this: — A small, snug dwelling, and in good repair. Jul. Nor money, nor effects ? Duke. None that I know of Jul. And the attendants who have waited on us — Duke. The}' were my friends ; who, having done my business, Are gone about their own. Jul. \_A.ude~\ Why, then, 'tis clear. — That I was ever born ! — What are you, sir? Duke. [Rises] I am an honest man ; that may content you : Young, nor ill-favored; should not that content you? I am your husband ; and that must content you. Jul. I will go home! [Going, l. Duke. Y^ou are at home already. [Staying her. Jul. I '11 not endure it ! — But remember this, Duke or no duke, I '11 be a duchess, sir. [Crosses, l. Duke. A duchess ! j'ou shall be a queen — to all 142 THE DECEIVED BRIDE, Who, by the courtesy, will call you so. Jul. And I will have attendance. Duke. So you shall, . . When you have learned to wait upon yourself. Jul. To wait upon myself .! Must I bear this ? I could tear out my eyes, that bade you woo me, And bite my tongue in two, for saying yes ! [Crosses, R. Duke. And if 3'ou should, 'twould grow again. — I think, to be an lion est' yeoman's wife, (For such, m}^ would-be duchess, you will find me,) You were cut out b}' nature. Jul. You will find, then, That education, sir, has spoiled me for it. — Why! do you think I '11 work? Duke. I think 't will happen, wife. Jul. What ! rub and scrub Your noble palace clean ? Duke. Those taper fingers Will do it daintily. Jul. And dress yOur victuals (If there be any) ? — Oh, I could go mad ! \_CrosseSy l._' Duke. And mend xwy hose, and darn niy night- caps neatl}' : Wait, like an echo, till j'ou '^rc spoken to — Jul. Or, like aclock, talk only once ah hour? Duke. Or like a dial ; for that quietly Performs its 'work, and never speaks at all. Jul. To feed your poultry and your hogs! — 6b, monStrQus ! ■ .■ ' : .; ' And when I stir abroad. On great occasions, THE DECEIVED BRIDE. 143 Cany a squeaking tithe pig to the vicar; Or jolt with higglers' wives the market trot, To sell your eggs and butter! [^Crosses, l. Duke. Excellent ! How well you sum the duties of a wife ! Wh}', Avhat a blessing I shall have in j^ou ! ^ Jul. A blessing! Duke. When they talk of you and me, Darby and Joan shall no more be remembered : — We shall be happy. Jul. Shall we? Duke. Wondrous happy ! Oh, you will make an admirable Avife I Jul. I'll make a devil ! Duke. What ? Jul. A very devil! .. , Duke. Oh, no; we'll have no devils. Jul. I '11 not bear it ! I "11 to my father's ! — Duke. Gently: you forget You are a perfect stranger to the road. J}il. Mj' wrongs will find a way, or make one. Duke. Softly!^ You stir not hence, except to take the air ; And then I '11 breathe it with you. Jul. What, confine me? Duke. 'T would be unsafe to trust you "yet abroad. Jul. Am I a truant schoolboy ? Duke. Nay, not so ; But you must keep your bounds. ; :. '. Jul: And if :! break them, 144 THE DECEIVED BRIDE. Perhaps you '11 beat me. Duke. Beat 3'ou ! The man that lays his hand upon a woman, Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward. — I '11 talk to you, lad}-, but not beat you. Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father, I may write to him, surely! — and I will, If I can meet, within your spacious dukedom, Three such unhoped-for miracles at once, As pens, and ink, and paper. Duke. You will find them In the next room. — A word before you go: You are my wife, by ever}' tie that 's sacred; The partner of my fortune and my bed — Jul. Your fortune ! Duke. Peace ! — No fooling, idle woman ! Beneath the attesting eye of Heaven, I 've sworn To love, to honor, cherish, and jM-otect you. No human power can part us. What remains, then? To fret and worry and torment each other, And give a keener edge to our hard fate By sharp upbraidings and pei'petual jars? — Or, like a loving and a patient pair, (Waked from a dream of grandeur, to depend Ujion their daily labor for support,) To soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness With sweet consent, and mutual fond endearment? — Now to your chamber — write whate'er jow jjlease ; But pause before you stain the spotless paper With Avords that may inflame, but can not heal. THE DECEIVED BRIDE. 145 Jul. Wh}', what a patient worm you take me for! Duke. I took you for a Avife ; and ere I 've done, I '11 know you for a good one. J\d. You shall know me For a right woman, full of her own sex; AVho, when she suffei's wrong, will speak her anger ; Who feels her own prerogative, and scorns. By the jiroud reason of superior man, To be taught joatiencc Avhen her swelling heart Cries out revenge ! \_Exit at door in c. Duke. Why, let the flood rage on ! There is no tide in woman's wildest passion But hath an ebb. I 've broke the ice, however. Write to her father ! She may Avrite a folio — But if she send it ! — 'T will divert her spleen — The flow of ink may save her blood-letting. Perchance she may have fits! — They are seldom mortal. Save when the doctor's sent for. Though I have heard some husbands say, and ■wisely, A woman's honor is her safest guard, Yet there 's some virtue in a lock and key. [Locks the door. So, thus begins our honeymoon. 'T is well ! For the first fortnight, ruder than March Avinds She '11 blow a hurricane ; the next, perhaps, Like April, she may wear a changeful face Of storm and sunshine ; and, Avhen that is past. She Avill break glorious as unclouded May; And where the thorns grew bare, the spreading blossoms D. s.— la. 146 THE DECEIVED BRIDE. Meet with no lagging frost to kill their sweetness. Whilst others, for a month's delirious joy, Buy a dull age of penance, we, more wisely, Taste first the wholesome bitter of the cup, That after to the verj- lees shall relish ; And to the close of this frail life prolong The pure delights of a well-governed marriage. lExit, R. Scene II : — The Cottage. Tic o chairs. J xjliat^ a sitting at her needle; the Duke steals in behind, through D. in flat. Duke. Come, no more work to-night : \sits by her'\ it is the last That we shall spend beneath this humble roof Our fleeting month of trial being past, To-morrow you arc free. Jul. Nay, now you mock me. And turn my thoughts upon my former follies. You know that, to be mistress of the world, I would not leave you. Duke. No ! Jul. No, on my honor. Duke. I think you like me better than you did : And yet 'tis natural. Come, come, be honest; You have a sort of hankering — no wild wish. Or vehement desire — yet a slight longing, A simple preference, if you had your choice, To be a duchess, rather than the wife Of a low peasant? THE DECEIVED BRIDE. 147 Jul. No; indeed you wrong mo. Duke. I marked 3-011 closely at the palace, wife : In the full tcmijest of your speech, your ojg Would glance to take the room's dimensions, And pause upon each ornament; and then There would break from you a half-smothered sigh, Which spoke distinctl}^, ''These should have been mine: " And therefore, though with a Avell-tempered spirit, You have some secret swellings of the heart When these things rise to your imagination. Jul. No, indeed : sometimes in ni}^ di'eams, I own — You know we can not help our dreams — Duke. What then ? Jul. Why, I confess, that sometimes, in my dreams, A noble house and splendid equipage, Diamonds and pearls and gilded furniture, W^ill glitter like an empt3' pageant b}^ me ; And then I am apt to rise a little feverish : But never do my sober Avaking thoughts — As 1 'm a woman worthy of belief — Wander to such forbidden vanities. Yet, after all, it was a scurvy trick — Your palace and your pictures and your plate ; Your fine plantations ; your delightful gardens, That were a second Paradise — for fools ; And then j'our grotto, so divinely cool ; Your Gothic summer-house and Roman temple — 'T would puzzle much an antiquarian To find out their remains. Duke. No more of that ! 148 THE DECEIVED BRIDE. Jul. You had a dozen spacious vineyards, too ; Alas ! the grapes are sour ; and, above all, The Barbary courser that was breaking for me — Duke. Nay, you shall ride him yet. J\d. Indeed ! Duke. Believe me, "We must forget these things. Jul. They are forgot; And, by this kiss, we '11 think of them no more, But when we want a theme to make us merry. Duke. It was an honest one, and spoke thy soul ; And by the fresh lip and unsullied breath, Which joined to give it sweetness — Enter Balthazar, l. Jul. [Crosses, c.'] How! My father! Duke. Signior Balthazar ! You arc welcome, sir, To our poor habitation. Bal. Welcome! Villain, I come to call your dukeship to account, And to reclaim my daughter. Duke. [Aside'] You will find her Eeclaimed already, or I have lost my pains. Bal. Let me come at him ! Jul. Patience, my dear father ! Duke. Nay, give him room. Put up your weapon, sir — 'T is the worst argument a man can use ; So let it be the last. As for your daughter. THE DECEIVED BRIDE. 149 She passes by another title here, In whieh your Avhole authority is sunk — My lawful wife. Bal. Lawful ! — his lawful wife ! I shall go mad ! Did not you basely steal her Under a vile pretense? Duke. What I have done I '11 answer to the law. Of w^hat do you complain ? Bal. Why, are you not A most notorious, self-confessed impostor? Duke. True; I am somewhat dwindled from the state In which you lately knew me : nor alone Should my exceeding change provoke your wonder ; You 'II find your daughter is not what she was. Bal. How, Juliana? Jul. 'T is, indeed, most true: I left you, sir, a froward, foolish girl. Full of capricious thoughts and fiery spirits, Which, Avithout judgment, I would vent on all: But I have learned this truth indelibly — That modesty in deed, in word, and thought. Is the prime grace of woman ; and with that. More than by frowning looks and saucy speeches. She may persuade the man that rightly loves her, Whom she was ne'er intended to command. Bal. Amazement ! Wh}', this metamorphosis Exceeds his own ! What spells, what cunning witch- craft Has he employed? 150 THE DECEIVED BRIDE. Jul. None : he has sinipl}' taught me To look into myself: his powerful rhetoric Hath with strong influence impressed \nj heart, And made me see at length the thing I have been, And what I am, sir. Bed. Are you, then, content To live with him? Jul. Content ? I am most happy. Bed. Can you forget your ciying wrongs ? Jxd. Not quite, sir; They sometimes serve to make us merry with. Bal. How like a villain he abused your father ! Jul. You will forgive him that, for my sake. Bal. Never ! Duke. Why, then, 'tis plain you seek your own revenge, And not your daughter's happiness. Bal. No matter: I charge you, on your duty as my daughter, Follow me ! Duke. On a wife's obedience, I charge you, stir not ! Jul. You, sir, are my fatlier : At the bare mention of that hallowed name, A thousand recollections rise within me. To witness you have ever been a kind one : — This is my husband, sir. Bal. Thy husband ; well — Jul. 'T is fruitless now to think upon the means He used — I am irrevocably his : And when he plucked me from my parent tree. THE DECEIVED BRIDE. 151 To graft me on himself, he gathered with me My love, my duty, my obedience : And, by adoption, I am bound as strictly To do his reasonable bidding now As once to follow yours. Duke. [Aside] Most excellent ! Bal. Yet I will be revenged ! Duke. You would have justice? Bal. I will : so forthwith meet me at the duke's. [Crosses, l. Duke. I am the duke. Bal. The jest is somewhat stale, sir. Duke. You '11 find it true. Bal. Indeed ! Jul. [Aside'] Be still, my heart! Bal. I think you would not trifle with me now. Duke. I am the Duke Aranza ! [Throws off a disguise, and appears in a splendid dress. And what 's my greater pride, this lady's husband. You now must see [Leads Juliana l. c. The drift of what I have been lately acting. And what I am. And though, being a woman Giddy with youth and unrestrained fancy, The domineering spirit of her sex I have rebuked too sharply ; yet 't was done As skillful surgeons cut beyond the wound. To make the cure complete. Bal. You have done most wisely. And all my anger dies in speechless wonder. Duke. What says my Juliana? Jxd. I am lost, too. 152 THE DECEIVED BRIDE. In admiration, sir; my fearful thoughts Else, on a trembling wing, to that rash height Whence, growing dizzy once, I fell to earth. Yet since your goodness for the second time AVill lift me, though unworthy, to that pitch Of greatness, there to hold a constant flight, I will endeavor so to bear myself, That in the Avorld's eye and my friends' observance — And what 's far dearer, your most precious judg- ment — I may not shame your dukedom. Duke. Bravely spoken ! Why, now you shall have rank and equipage — Servants, for 3'ou can now command 3'ourself — Glorious api)arel, not to swell joxw pride. But to give luster to your modesty : All pleasures, all delights that noble dames Warm their chaste fancies with, in full abundance Shall flow upon you ; — and it shall go hard But you shall ride tlic Barbarj' courser, too. Tableau. Curtain. COSTUMES. Duke. — First dress — plain, rather coarse suit: second dress — splendid satin ducal vest; rich velvet robe, trimmed with green and silver; white silk pantaloons; white shoes, etc. Balthazar. — Plain suit. Juliana. — First dress — splendid bridal attire : second dress — neat white muslin. THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. 153 THE GEEEK GIEL AND THE BAEBAEIAN. From Tnffomar, as translated from the German by Maria Lovell. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. IxGOMAK, leader of a band of Alemanni. Partiienia, a Massilian girl. 154 THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. Scene : — In the Cevennes. A Wood, densely arched icith trees ; where the bushes are less thick, a 7nass of wild rock. Ingomar is seen, leaning upon a spear. Ingomar. "With us is Freedom. She lives in the open air; In woods she dwells ; upon the rocks she breathes ; Now here, now there ; not caring for to-day — No, nor providing for to-inorrow : Freedom is hunting, feeding, fighting, danger : That, that is freedom : that it is which makes The veins to swell, the breast to heave and glow : Ay, that is freedom ; that is pleasure — life ! Enter Parthenia, r. u. e. Ah ! this must be the captive. Woman, Thou seekest Ingomar : this is he. The}^ say thou 'rt come to treat for this man's ransom : What is thy offer? Par. Jewels of more value Than all the gold of earth : — a faithful wife's Prayers to lier latest breath ; a daughter's tears ; A rescued household's deathless gratitude ; The blessing of the gods, whose liberal hands Recompense deeds of mercy thousand-fold. Look : kneeling at your feet, a fainting child Implores a gray-haired father's liberty, lie is infirm, old, valueless to j'ou ; Bat, oh ! how precious to his widowed home ! Give him, then, up — oh, give him up to me ! THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. 155 Ing. Woman, thy father is booty to our tribe : Were he but mine, I 'd give him to thee freely. If onl}' to be rid of liis tears and sighs. But if thou hast deceived us, and dost dare — Par. [^Suddenly rising'] Enough ! — There need no threats. I but misunderstood you, Thinking you laad human hearts ; I '11 mend of that, And speak now to your intei*ests. You ask gold for his ransom — he has none; But he has strength and skill that yet may earn it, With opportunity afforded him. Here there is none — he can not pay a drachma. Keep him, and slavery, gnawing his free heart, In a few weeks shall leave you but his bones. But, set him free, mj- mother and myself Will labor with him ; we will live on crusts, And all the sui-plus of our daily toil Be 3"oui-s, till the full ransom be accomplished. Ing. That 's not without some sense ; but where is our surety The compact should be kept ? Par. It shall not fail For lack of that : I '11 leave with you a pledge Dearer to him than liberty or life. Ing. Hast brought it Avith thee? Par. Ay. Ing. Show it. Par. Myself Ing. Thyself? Par. If you but knew How pi'ccious to him is his child, you 'd not 15G TIIK GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. Despise the hostage. Ing. It 's a strange fancy ; and yet — j)''^^^'^^' ' i^Oj no — Burden iis with a woman ! Par. No — no burden ; I 'II be a help to you : tliese willing hands Shall do more work than twenty pining slaves. You do not guess my usefulness : I spin, Can weave ^^our garments, and prejjare your meals. Am skilled in music, and can tell brave tales, And sing sweet songs to lull you to repose. I am strong, too — healthy both in mind and body; And when my heart 's at case, my natural temper Is always joyous, happ}", gay. Oh, fear not ! Ing. Troth, there 's some use in that ; thy father can Only cry. Par. Say yes — say yes, and set him free ! Ing. I'd counsel with my comrades. Staj' thou here. \^Exit Ingomar, l. Parthenia gazes anxiously after him. Par. Father, it must be so ; my mother grieves — Oh, dry her tears. I am yd young and strong; I could bear easil}' what Avould kill thee. Father, thou shalt be free, thou shalt be free ! Be-enter Ingomar, l. Parthenia appi'oaehes him eagerly. Ing. Woman, your wish is granted; we take thee As hostage for the other, and he is free. THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. 157 Far. Be thanked, ye gods ! — My lather, O fare- well ! He is gone, and I shall never see him more ! [^Clasping her hands before her face, sobbing. Ing. \_Standing on a rock, looking, l., at his foUowers'] No violence ! Ho, how he runs ! and now He stof)s and cries again ! Poor, fearful fool ! It must be strange to fear. Now, by my troth, I should like to feel, for once, what 't is to fear ! — But the girl. [^Leaning forward'] Ha ! do I see right? [ To Parthenia] You weep ! Is that the happy temper that you boast? Par. Oh, I shall never see him more ! Ing. What ! have wc. For a silly old man, got now a foolish And timid, weeping girl? I have had enough Of tears. Par. Enough, indeed, since you but mock them. I will not — no, I '11 weep no more ! \_She quickly dries her eyes, and retires to the background. Ing. That's good; come, that looks well. She is a brave girl : she rules herself; and if She keep her word, we have made a good exchange : " I '11 weep no more." Aha ! I like the girl. And if — Ho ! whither goest thou ? \_To Parthenia, who is going off with two goblets. Par. Where should I go? to yonder brook, to cleanse the cups. Ing. No ; stay and talk with me. Par. I have duties to perform. [^Going. Ing. Stay — I command 3'ou, slave! 158 THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN, Par. I um no slave ! your hostage, but no slave. I go to cleanse the cujis. [_Exit, l. Ing. Ho! here's a self-willed thing — here is a spirit ! \_Mimicking her. " I will not ! 1 am no slave ! I have duties to perform ! Take me for hostage ! " and she flung back her head As though she brought with her a ton of gold ! " I '11 weep no more ! " — Aha ! an impudent thing : She pleases me. I love to be opposed : I love my horse when he rears, my dogs when they snai-1, The mountain torrent, and the sea, when it flings Its foam uj) to the stars : such things as these Fill me Avith life and joy. Tame indolence Is living death ! the battle of the strong Alone is life ! [^During this speech, Parthenia has retitrmd with the Clips and some field flowers. She sits on a rock in front. Ing. Ah ! she is here again. [He ai^ptroaches her. What art thou making there ? Par. I? garlands. Ing. Garlands? \_Musing'\ It seems to me as I before had seen her, In a dream. How ! Ah, my brother ! — he who died A child — yes, that is it: m}^ little Folko. She has his dark brown hair, his sparkling Qya : Even the voice seems known again to me. I '11 not to sleep — I '11 talk to her. \_Returns to her. These you call garlands : And wherefore do you weave them? THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. 159 Par. For these cups. Ing. How ? Par. Is it not with you u custom ? With us At home, we love to intertwine with flowers Our cups and goblets. Ing. What use is such a plaything? Par. Use ? they are beautiful ; that is their use : The sight of them makes glad the eye ; their scent Refreshes, cheers. There ! [Presents him the garland and cup. Is not that, now, beautiful ? Ing. Ay, by the bright sun ! That dark green mixed uj) With the gay flowers ! Thou must teach our women To weave such garlands. Par. That is soon done : th}^ wife Herself shall soon weave wreaths as well as I. Ing. [Laughing heartily'] My wife ! my wife ! A woman, Dost thou say? I thank the gods, not I ! This is my Avife: [Pointing to his accoutrements. My spear, my shield, my sword. Let hini who Avill Waste cattle, slaves, or gold to buy a woman : Not I — not I ! Par. To buy a woman? — how? Ing. What is the matter? why dost look so strangely ? Par. How! did I hear aright? bargain for brides As you would slaves? — buy them like cattle? Ing. Well, I think a woman tit only for a slave : 160 THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. We follow our own customs, as you yours. How do you in your city there ? Par. Consult our hearts. Massilia's free-born daughters ai-e not sold, But bound by choice, with bands as light and sweet As these I hold. Love o\\\y buys us there. Ing. Marry for love ! What, do you love your husbands ? Par. Why marry else? Ing. Marry for love ! that 's strange ; I can not comprehend. I love my horse, My dogs, ni}'" brave companions — but no woman ! What dost thou mean by love? what is it, girl? Par. What is it? 'T is of all things the most sweet — The heaven of life — or, so my mother says : I never felt it. Ing. Never ? Par. No, indeed. [Looking at garland. Now look ! How beautiful ! Here would I Aveave Red flowers, if I had them. Ing. Yonder there. In that thick wood they grow. Par. How sayest thou ? [^Looking off. Oh, what a lovely red ! Go, pluck me some. Ing. \_Starting at the suggestion'] I go for thee ! the master serve the slave ! \_Gazing on her with increasing interest. And yet, why not? I '11 go ; the poor child 's tired. Par. Dost thou hesitate ? Ing. No ; thou shalt have the flowers, THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. 161 As fresh and dewy as the bush aifords. \_CToes off, R. Far. [^Holding out the icreath'] I nevei- yet succeeded half 80 well : It will be charming ! — Charming? and for whom? Here among savages ! No mother here Looks smiling on it : I am alone, forsaken ! — But no, I '11 weep no more ! No, none shall say I fear! He-enter Ingomar ivith flowers for Parthenia. Ing. [^AsiJe"] The little Folko, when in his play he wanted Flowers or fruit, would so cry, " Bring them to me ; Quick ! I will have them : these I will have or none ! " Till somehow he compelled me to obey him : And she, with the same spirit, the same fire — Yes, there is much of the bright child in her. Well, she shall be a little brother to me. — There are the flowers. \_Ite hands her the flowers. Par. Thanks, thanks ! Oh, thou hast broken them Too short off in the stem ! [She throws some of them on the ground. Ing. Shall I go and get thee more? Par. No, these will do. Ing. Tell me now about your home : I will sit here, Near thee. Par. Not there : thou art crushing all the flowers ! Ing. [Seating himself at herfeef] Well, well; I Avill sit here, then. And now tell me, What is your name? Par. Parthenia. Ing. Parthenia ! D. S.— 14. 162 THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. A pretty name! And now, Purthenia, tell me How that which you call love grows in the soul; And what love is. 'T is strange, but in that word There's something seems like yonder ocean — fath- omless. Par. How shall I say? Love comes, my mother says. Like flowers in the night — reach rac those violets — It is a flame a single look will kindle, But not an ocean quench. Fostered by dreams, excited by each thought, Love is a star from heaven, that j^oints the way And leads us to its home — a little sjjot In earth's drj'' desert, where the soul may rest — A grain of gold in the dull sand of life - A foretaste of Elysium : but when. Weary of this world's woes, the immortal gods Flew to the skies, with all their richest gifts, Love stayed behind, self-exiled for man's sake. Ing. I never jQi heard aught so beautiful ! But still I comprehend it not. Par. Nor I ; For I have never felt it : yet I know A song my mother sang, an ancient song, That plainly speaks of love, at least to me : How goes it? Stay — \_SloicIy, as trying to recollect. What love ?.s, if thou icouldst be taught, Thy heart must teach alone, — Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one. THE GREEK GIRL AND THE BARBARIAN. 163 And whence comes love? Like morning's light, It comes icithout thy call : And how dies love? A spirit bright, Love never dies at all. And when — and ichen — [^Hesitating, as unable to continnc. Ing. Go on. Par. I know no more. Ing. [Impatiently'] Try, try. Par. I can not now ; but at some other time I may remember. Ing. [Somewhat authoritatively'] Noav go on, I say! Par. [Sjmnging up in alar7n] Not now ; I want more roses for my wreath : Yonder they grow ; I will fetch them for myself Take care of all m^^ flowers and the wreath. [Throws the flowers into Ingomar's lap and runs off. Ing. [After a pause, without changing his position, speaking to himself in deep abstraction] Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one. Curtain. COSTUMES. Ingomar. — Leather breastplate, with copper bosses; brown, loose shirt; wolf's skin hung to back ; helmet, shield, spear; fleshings and sandals. Partiienia. — -White merino dress, with Grecian trimming; amber Gi-ecian drapery and trimming. 164 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEEOK. From Dryden^s All for Love. DRAMATIS PERSONS, Marc Antony, Emperor of Egypt. Ventidius, his General. Two Roman Gkntlemen. Prologue. The somewhat lengthy dialogue which we are about to render for your entertainment, is an extract from Dryden's best ti'agedy, entitled All for Love. The scene is laid in the Temple of Isis, at Alexandria, and the characters represented are Marc. Antony and Ventidius, his lieutenant, than whom A braver Roman never drew a sioord ; Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave. Antony, bound in the silken fetters of Cleopatra's love, Shrunk from the vast extent of all his honors, had commanded that none should be admitted to his presence but the Egyptian Queen. It was Antonj-'s birthday, and Cleopatra had proclaimed that labor VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 165 should ceatfe, tmd thiit Eomiins and Egyptians should give themselves over to general rejoicings. At this juncture Ventidius makes his appearance. He holdly aceosts one of the queen's attendants: Go tell thj queen, Ventidius is arrived to end her charms. He makes his way to Antony, regardless of orders to the contrary, and engages him in the scene Avhich our actors will attempt to rehearse before you — a scene which Dr3'den himself preferred to any thing else he had written, of the dramatic kind. Scene: — The Temple of Isis, at Alexandria. Enter Yentidius a7id tico Gentlemen of Marc Antony. 2d Gent. The Emperor approaches, and commands, On pain of death, that none presume to stay. l5^ Gent. I dai'e not disobey him. [E.veunt the two Gentlemen. Vent. Well, I dare : But I '11 observe him first, unseen, and find Which way his humor drives : the rest I '11 venture. [ Withdraws. Enter Antony, walking icith a disturbed motion before he speaks. Ant. They tell me 'tis my birthday; and I'll keep it With double pomp of sadness. 166 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 'T is what the day deserves which gave me breath. Why was I raised the meteor of the world, Hung in tlie skies, and blazing as I traveled, Till all my fires were spent, and then cast downward, To be trod out by Caesar ? Vent. \_Aside] On my soul, 'T is mournful — wondrous mournful ! Ant. Count thj^ gains. Now, Antony, Avouldst thou be born for this ? Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth Has starved thy wanting age. Vent. \_Aside] How sorrow shakes him! So now the tempest tears him up by th' roots, And on the ground extends the noble ruin. Ant. [^Having thrown himself down'] Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor ! The place thou pressest on thy mother earth, Is all thy empire now : now it contains thee : Some few days hence, and then 'twill bo too large; When thou 'rt conti-acted in thy narrow urn. Shrunk to a few cold ashes : then Octavia — (For Cleopatra will not live to see it,) Octavia then will have thee all her own, And bear thee in her Avidowed hand to Csesar ; Caesar will weep — the crocodile will weep — To see his rival of the universe Lie still and peaceful thei-e. I'll think no more on't. Give me some music ; look that it be sad : I '11 sooth my melancholy, till I swell And burst myself with sighing. \^Soft music. 'T is somewhat to my humor. Stay ! I fancy VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 167 I 'm now turned wild, a commonei* of nature ; Of all forsaken, and forsaking all ; Live in a shady forest's sj^lvan scene ; Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak, I lean my head upon the mossy bark, And look just of a piece, as I grew from it : My uncombed locks, matted like mistletoe, Hang o'er my hoary face ; a murmuring brook Euns at my foot. Vent. l_Aside'] Methinks I fancy Mj'-self there, too. Ant. The herd come jumping by me, And fearless quench their thirst, while I look on. And take me for their fellow-citizen. More of this image, more; it lulls my thoughts. \^Soft music, again. Vent. [^AsicWl I must disturb him ; I can hold no longer. [Stands before Mm. Ant. [Starting u}')] Art thou Ventidius? Vent. Are you Antony? I 'm liker what I was, than you to him I left you last. Ant. I 'm angry. Vent. So am I, Ant. I would be private : leave me. Vent. Sir, I love you ; And therefore will not leave you. Ant. Will not leave me? Where have j^ou learned that answer? Who am I? Vent, ^iy emperor; the man I love next heaven. If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin : 168 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. You 're all that 's good and godlike. Ant. All that 's wretched. You will not leave me, then ? Vent. 'T was too presuming To say I would not ; but I dare not leave you : And 't is unkind in 3'ou to chide me hence So soon, Avhen I so far have come to see you. Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied ? For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough ; And, if a foe, too much. Vent. Look, Emperor, this is no common dew : [ Weeping. I have not wejjt these forty years : but now My mother comes afresh into my ej-es ; I can not help her softness. Ant. By Heaven, he weeps ! poor, good old man, he weeps ! The big round drops course one another doAvn Tiie furrows of his cheeks. Stop them, Ventidius, Or I shall blush to death : they set my shame, That caused them, full before me. Vent. I '11 do my best. Ant. Sure, there 's contagion in the tears of friends : See, I have caught it, too. Believe me, 't is not For my own griefs, but thine — nay, father ! Vent. Emperor ! Ant. Emperor ! why, that 's the style of victory : The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds, Salutes his general so ; but never more Shall that sound reach my ears. Vent. I Avarrant you. VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 169 Ant. Actium, Actium ! Oh! — Vent. It fits too near you. Ant. Here, here it lies : a lump of lead by day, And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers, The hag that rides my dreams — Vent. Out with it ; give it vent. Ant. Urge not my shame : 1 lost a battle ! Vent. So has Julius done. Ant. Thou favor'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st : For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly ; But Antony — Vent. Nay, stop not. Ant. Anton}^ (Well, thou wilt have it,) like a coward, fled ! Fled while his soldiers fought; fled fii'st, Ventidius ! Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave : I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. Vent. I did. Ant. I'll help thee. I have been a man, Yentidius. Vent. Yes, and a brave one; but — A7\t. I know thy meaning: But I have lost m}^ reason ; have disgraced The name of soldier with inglorious ease: In the full vintage of my flowing honors, Sate still, and saw it pressed by other hands. Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it; And purple greatness met my ripened years. When first I came to empire, I was borne On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs ; D. S.-15. 170 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. The wish of nations ; and the willing world Received me as its pledge of future peace : I was so great, so hapj^y, so beloved, Fate could not ruin me ; till I took pains And worked against my fortune, chid her from me, And turned her loose ; yet still she came again : My careless days, and my luxurious nights, At length have wearied her, and now she 's gone — Gone, gone ; divorced forever ! Help me, soldier, To curse this madman, this industrious fool. Who labored to be wretched ! prithee, curse me I Vent No. Ant. Why? Ve7it. You are too sensible already Of what you 've done, too conscious of your failings ; And, like a scorpion, whipped by others first To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. I would bring balm and pour it in your Avounds, Cure your distempered mind, and heal your fortunes. Ant. I know thou would'st. Ve7it. I will. Ant. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Vent. You laugh. Ant. I do, to sec officious love Give cordials to the dead. Vent. You would be lost, then. Ant. I am. Vent. I say you are not. Try your fortune. Ayit. I have, to th' utmost. Dost thou think me desperate Without just cause ? No ; when I found all lost VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 171 Beyond repair, I hid me from the Avorld, And learned to scorn it here ; which now I do So heartily, I think it is not worth The cost of keeping. Vent. Caesar thinks not so: He 'II thank you for the gift ho could not take. You would be killed, like Tully, would you ? Do : Hold out your throat to Csesar, and die tamely. A7it. No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. Ve7it. I can die with you, too, when time shall serve ; But fortune calls ujjon us now to live, To fight, to conquer. Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Yentidius. Vent. No, 't is you dream ; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. Ui), up, for honor's sake ! twelve legions wait you. And long to call you chief By painful journeys, I led them, patient both of heat and hunger, Down from the Parthian marshes to the Nile. 'T will do you good to see their sun-burned faces, Their scarred cheeks, and chapped hands : there 's virtue in them : They '11 sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates Than j'on trim bands can bu}'-. A7it. Where left j^ou them ? Vent. I said, in lower Syria. Ant. Bring them hither; There inny be life in these. Vent. They will not come. 172 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. A7it. Why didst thou mock my hopes with prom- ised aids, To double my despair? They are mutinous. Vent. Most firm and loyal. Ant. Yet they will not march To succor me — O trifle r ! Vent. They petition You would make haste to head them. Ant. I am besieged. Vent. There is but one way shut up. How came I hither? Ant. I will not stir. Vent. They would, perhaps, desire A better reason. Ant. I have never used My soldiers to demand a reason of My actions. Why did they refuse to march ? Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Ant. What was it they said ? Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Why should they fight, indeed, to make her conquer, And make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms, AYhich, for a kiss, at your next midnight feast. You'll sell to her? then she new names her jewels, And calls this diamond such or such a tax ; Each pendant in her ear shall bo a pi'ovince. Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free license On all my other faults ; but, on your life, No word of Cleopatra ! she deserves More worlds than I can lose. Vent. Behold, you powers, VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 173 To Avhoni 3-011 have intrusted humankind ! See Europe, Afric, Asia put in balance, And all weighed down by one light, worthless woman ! I think the gods are Antonies, and give, Like prodigals, this nether world away To none but wasteful hands. Ant. You grow jDresumptuous. Ve7it. I take the privilege of plain love to speak. Ant. Plain love! — plain arrogance! plain inso- lence ! Thy men are cowards ! thou, an envious traitor, Who, under seeming honesty, hath vented The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall ! Oh, that thou wert my equal ! great in arms As the first Caesar was, that I might kill thee Without a stain to honor ! Vent. You may kill me : You have done more already — called me traitor ! Ant. Art thou not one? Vent. For showing you yourself, Which none else durst have done? But had I been That name, which I disdain to sjDeak again, I needed not have sought your abject fortunes ; Come to partake your fate ; to die with you. What hindered me to 've led my conquering eagles To fill Octavia's bands? I could have been A traitor then — a glorious, happy traitor — And not have been so called. Ant. Forgive me, soldier! I 've been too passionate. Vent. You thought me false ; 174 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. Thought my old age betra^^ed you. Kill me, sir ; Pra}', kill me : j'et you need not; your unkindness Has left your sword no work. Ant. I did not think so ; I said it in my rage ; prithee, forgive me : Why did'st thou tempt my anger, by discovery Of what I would not hear ? Vent. 'No prince but you Could merit that sincerity I used, Nor durst another man have ventured it : But you, ere love misled your wandering eye, Were sure the chief and best of human race; Framed in the verj^ pride and boast of nature ; So perfect, that the gods who formed you Avondered At their own skill, and cried, "A lucky hit Has mended our design." Their envy hindered. Else you had been immortal, and a pattern. When Heaven would Avork for ostentation's sake, To copy out again. Ant. But Cleopatra — Go on ; for I can bear it now. Vent. No more. Ant. Thou darest not trust my jiassion, but thou mayest : Thou only lovest; the rest have flattered me. Vent. Heaven's blessing on your heart for that kind word ! May I believe you love me? Speak again. Ant. Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this. [^Hugging him. Thy praises Avere unjust, but I '11 deserve them, VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. 175 And yet mend all. Do with me Avhat thou wilt ; Lead me to victory ; thou knowest the waj*. Vent. And will you leave this — Ant. Prithee, do not curse her, And I will leave her ; though, Heaven knows, I love Beyond life, conquest, empire — all but honor : But I will leave her. Ve7it. That 's my royal master ! And shall we fight? Ant. I warrant thee, old soldier, Thou shalt behold me once again in iron ; And at the head of our old troops, that beat The Parthians, cry aloud, " Come, follow me ! " Vent. Oh, now I hear my Emperor ! in that word Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day ! And if I have ten years behind, take all : I 'II thank you for the exchange. Ant. Oh, Cleopatra ! Vent. Again ! Ant. I 've done ; in that last sigh she went. Cajsar shall know what 'tis to force a lover From all he holds most dear. Vent. Methinks you breathe Another soul; 3'our looks are more divine; You speak a hero, and you move a god. Ant. Oh, thou hast fired me ! My soul is up in arms, And mans each part about me ! Once again That noble eagerness of fight has seized me ; That eagerness with which I darted upward To Cassius' camp. In vain the steepy hill 176 VENTIDIUS AND THE EMPEROR. Opposed my way ; in vain a war of spears Sung round my head, and planted all my shield : 1 won the trenches, while my foremost men Lagged on the plain below. Vent. Ye gods, ye gods, For such another hour ! Ant. Come on, my soldier ! Our hearts and arms are still the same. I long Once more to meet our foes ; that thou and I, Like Time and Death, marching before our troops, Ma}^ taste fate to them; mow them out a passage. And entei'ing Avhere the foremost squadrons yield, Begin the noble harvest of the field. l^Exeunt. COSTUMES. Makc Antony. — Magnificent scarlet and gold Roman uniform, and toga. Ventidius. — Roman generals armor. WILLIAM TELL. 177 WILLIAM TELL. ^ §rama, in ^\}xu ^ds. Abridged from J. S. Knowles's William Tell. DRAMATIS PERSONS. AUSTRIANS. Gesler, Governor of the Waldstaetten, Sarnem, his Lieutenant. RODOLPH, '\ LuTOLD, V his Castellans. Gerard, J Officers, Archers, Soldiers, etc. SWISS. William Tell. Albert, his son. Melcthal, ErnV s father. Erni, ~\ FiiRST, v patriots in league with Tell: Verner, j Michael, ~\ Pierre, I inhabitants of Altorf. Theodore, J Emma, TelVs wife. Savoyards, Burghers, Mountaineers, Women, etc. Scene: — Altorf and the neighboring mountains. 178 WILLIAM TELL. ACT I. Scene I : — The Field of Griltli ; a Lake and Mount- ains. Enter Tell with a long bow. Tell. Ye crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again ! I hold to you the hands j'ou first beheld. To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in jovly echoes answer me, And bid your truant welcome home again. Hail ! hail ! Oh, sacred forms, how proud you look ! How high you lift your heads into the sky! How huge you are, how might}'', and how free ! How do you look, for all your bared brows. More gorgeously majestical than kings, "Whose loaded coronets exhaust the mine! Ye are the things that tower, that shine ; whose smile Makes glad ; whose frown is terrible ; whose forms, Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear Of awe divine ; whose subject never kneels In mocker}', because it is your boast To keep him free. Ye guards of libert}'-, I 'm with you once again ! I call to you With all my voice ; I hold my hands to you, To show they still ai-e free ; I rush to you, As though I could embrace you. Erni. IWithoKf] William! William! Tell. \_Looks ouf] Here, Erni, here ! Enter Erni. Erni. Thou 'rt sure to keep the time, That comest before the hour. WILLIAM TELL. 179 Tell. The hour, my friend, Will soon be here. Oh, when Avill liberty Be liere? My Brni, that 's my thought, which still I find beside. Scaling yonder peak, 1 saw an eagle wheeling near its brow: 0"er the abyss, his broad, expanding wings Lay calm and motionless upon the air, As if he floated thei*e without their aid, — By the sole act of his unlorded will. That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively I strung my bow ; yet kept he rounding still His airy circles, as in the delight Of measuring the ample range beneath. And round about, absorbed, he heeded not The death that threatened him. I could not shoot! 'T was liberty ! I turned the shaft aside. And let him soar away ! Verner. [TFiYAowf] Tell! Tell! Enter Verner. Tell. Here. Verner ! Furst. [Withoxiq Tell! Enter Furst. Tell. Here, friends ! well met. Do we go on ? Yer. AVe do. Tell. Then j^oii can reckon on the friends you named ? Yer. On every man of them. Furst. And I on mine. 180 WILLIAM TELL. Erni. Not one I sounded but did rate his blood As water in the cause. Then fix the day Before Ave part. Ver. No, Erni ; rather wait For some new outrage to amaze and rouse The common mind, which does not brood so much On wrongs gone by, as it doth rankle with The sense of present ones. Tell. \_To Verner] I wish with Erni, But I think with thee. Yet, when I ask myself On whom the wrong shall light for which we wait. Whose vineyard they '11 u^Jroot, whose flocks the}" 'II ravage, "Whose threshold they '11 profane, whose hearth pol- lute. Whose roof they'll fire — when this I ask myself, And think upon the blood of pious sons, The tears of venerable fathers, and The shrieks of pious mothers, fluttering round their spoiled And ncstless young — I almost take the part Of generous indignation, that o'erboils At such expense to wait on sober prudence. Furst. Yet it is best. Tell. On that we 're all agreed. Who fears the issue, when the day shall come? Ver. Not I. Furst. Nor I. Frni. Nor I. Tell. I 'm not the man To mar this harmony — Nor I, no more WILLIAM TELL. 181 Than any of you. You commit to me The wiirning of the rest: remember, then, My dagger sent to any one of 3'ou — As time may pret?s — is word enough ; the others I '11 see myself. Our course is clear. Dear Erni, Eemember me to Melcthal. Furst, provide "What store you can of arms. Do you the same. [ Jb Erni and Verner. The next aggression of the tyrant is The downfall of his power ! — Remember me To Melcthal, Erni, — to my flxther. Tell him He has a son that was not born to him. Farewell ! When next we meet upon this theme, All Switzerland shall witness what we do. [^Exeunt. Scene II : — Tell's Cottage on the right of a mountain ; a distant vieiv of a lake, backed by mountains of stupendous height, their tops covered with S7iow, and lighted at the very -points by the rising sun, the rest of the distance being yet in shade ; on one side, a vineyard. Enter Emma, from the cottage. Emma, (c.) Oh, the fresh morning! Heaven's kind messenger. That never empty-handed comes to those Who know to use its gifts. Praise be to Him Who loads it still, and bids it constant run The errand of His bounty! — Praise be to Him! AVe need His care that on the mountain's cliff Lodge by the storm, and can not lift our eyes. 182 WILLIAM TELL. But piles on piles of everlasting snows, O'erhanging us, remind us of His mercy. Albert appears on an eminence, l. u. e. Alh. My mother ! Emma. Albert ! Alb. [^Descending and approaching'E^i^A] Bless thee ! Emma. Bless thee, Albert ! How early were you up ? Alb. Before the sun. Emma. Ay. strive with him. He never lies a-bed When it is time to rise. He ever is The constant'st Avorkman, that goes through his task, And shows us how to work, by setting to 't AVith smiling face; for labor's light as ease To him that toils with cheerfulness. Be like The sun. Alb. (c.) What you would have me like, I '11 be like, As far as Avill, to labor joined, can make me. Emma. Well said, my boy ! Knelt you when you got UJ) To-day ? Alb. I did ; and do so every day. Emma. I know you do. And think you, when 30U kneel, To whom you kneel? Alb. To Him who made me, mother. Emma. You have been early up, when I, that played The sluggard in comparison, am up WltLIAM TELL. 183 Full early; for the highest peaks alone As yet behold the sun. Now tell me what You ought to think on, Avhen you see the sun So shining on the j^eak ? Alb. That as the peak Feels not tlie pleasant sun, or feels it least, So they who highest stand in fortune's smile Are gladdened by it least, or not at all. Emma. And what 's the profit you should turn this to? Alb. Eather to place my good in what I have, Than think it worthless, wishing to have more : For more is not more happiness so oft As less. Emma. I 'm glad you husband what you learn : That is the lesson of content, my son ; He who finds which, has all ; who misses, nothing. ' Alb. Content is a good thing. Emma. A thing the good Alone can profit by. Alb. My father 's good. Emma. What say'st thou, boy? Alb. I say, rny father 's good. Emma. Yes, he is good. What then? Alb. I do not think He "is content — I 'm sure he 's not content ; Nor Avould I be content, were I a man. And Gesler seated on the rock of Altorf! A man may lack content and yet be good. Emma. I did not say all good men find content. I would be busy : leave me. 184 WILLIAM TELL. Alb. You 'rc not angry ? Emma. No, no, my boy. Alb. You '11 kiss nie? Emma. Will I not? The time will come j^ou will not ask your mother To kiss 3'ou. Alb. Never! Emma. Not when j' ou 're a man ? Alb. I would not be a man to see that time : I 'd rather die, now that I am a child, Than live to be a man and not love you ! Emma, (c.) Live — live to be a man, and love your mother! [They embrace. Albert eiiters cottage, r. Why should my heart sink ? 't is for this we rear them ; Cherish their tiny limbs ; pine if a thorn But mar their tender skin ; gather them to us Closer than miser hugs his bag of gold ; Bear more for them than slave, who makes his flesh A casket for the rich, purloined gem — To send them forth into a Avintr}^ world, To brave its flaws and tempests ! — They must go : Far better, then, they go with hearty will ; Be that my consolation. Nestling as He is, he is the making of a bird Will own no cowering wing. 'T was fine — 't was fine To see my eaglet on the verge o' the nest, Rufiling himself at sight of the huge gulf He feels anon he '11 have the wing to soar! \_Ee-enter Alsert from cottage, loith boiv, arrows, and a target, which he sets up near r. u. e. WILLIAM TELL. 185 What have you there ? Alb. My bow and arrows, mother. Emma. When will you use them like your father, boy? Alb. Some time, I hope. Emma. You brag ! There 's not an archer In all Helvetia can compare Avith him. Alb. But I 'm his son ; and when I am a man, I may be like him. Mother, do I brag. To think I some time may be like my father? If so, then is it he that teaches me ; For ever, as I wonder at his skill, He calls me boy, and says I must do more Ere I become a man. Emyna. May you be such A man as he ! — if Heaven wills, better ! — I '11 Not quarrel with its work ; yet 'twill content me, If you are ovAy such a man. Alb. I '11 show you How I can shoot. \_Shoots] Look, mother ! there 's within An inch ! Emma. Oh, fie ! it wants a hand. [^Going into the cottage, r. Alb. A hand 's An inch for me. I '11 hit it yet. Now for it ! \_Shoots again. While he continues to shoot, the light gradually approaches the base of the mount- ains in the distance, and spreads itself over the lake and valley. D. S.-16. 186 • WILLIAM TELL. Enter Tell, l., watching Albert some time in silence. Tell. \_Aside'\ Tluit 's scarce a miss, that comes so near the mark. Well aimed, young arclier ! With what ease he draws The bow ! To see those sinews, who 'd believe Sucli vigor lodged in them ? Well aimed again ! There plays the skill will thin the chamois' herd, And bring the lammergeir from the cloud To earth. Perhaps do greater feats — perhaps Make man its quarry, when he dares to tread Upon his fellow-man ! That little arm, His mother's palm can span, may help, anon. To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat. And from their chains a prostrate people lift To liberty ! I 'd be content to die, Living to see that day! — [^Alond] What, Albert! Alb. (c.) Ah! My father ! [Running to Tell, who embraces him. Emma. [Rxuining from the cottage, r.] William ! — Welcome, welcome, William ! I did not look for you till noon. Jo}' is double joy That comes before the time : it is a debt Paid ere 'tis due, which fills the owner's heart With gratitude, and yet 'tis but his own. And are you well ? And has the chase pi-oved good? How has it fared with you? Come in; I 'm sure You want refreshment. Tell. No ; I shared A hei-dsman's meal, upon whose lonely chalet WILLIAM TELL. 187 I chanced to light. I 'vc had bad sport. My track Lay with the wind, Avhich to tlie startlish game Betrayed nie still. One only prize ; and that I gave mine humble host. [Tb Albert, trAo has returned to his practice'] You raise the bow Too fast. Bring it slowly to the eye. [Albert shoots. You 've missed. How often have you hit the mark to-day ? Alb. Not once yet. Tell. You 're not steady ; I perceived You wavered now. Stand firm ! Let every limb Be braced as marble, and as motionless. Stand like the sculptor's statue on the gate .Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes Nor stirs. [Albert shoots'] That 's better ! Einma. William, William ! Oh ! To be the parents of a boy like that! Why speak you not? and wherefore do j^ou sigh? What 's in your heart, to keep the transport out That fills up mine, when looking on our child. Till it o'erflows mine eye? [Albert shoots. Tell. You 've missed again ! Dost see the mark ? Rivet your eye to it ! There let it stick, fast as the arrow w^ould, Could you but send it there. Einma. Why, William, do n't You answer me ? [Albert shoots. Tell, (c.) Again ! How would you fare. Suppose a wolf should cross your path, "and you Alone with but your bow, and only lime 188 WILLIAM TELL. To fix a single arrow ! 'T w^ould not do To miss the wolf! Yoii said, the other daj^, Were you a man, you 'd not let Gesler live. 'Twas easy to say that. Suppose jon, now, Your life or his dejjended on that shot! — Take care! that's Gresler ! — Now for liberty! Eight to the tyrant's heart ! [Albert shoots'] Well done, my boy ! Come here! — -Now, Emma, I will answer you: Do I not love you ? do I not love our child ? Is not that cottage dear to me, where I Was born? How many acres would I give That little vineyard for, which I have watched And tended since I was a child ! Those crags And peaks — what spired city would I take To live in, in exchange for them? — Yet what Are these to me? What is this boy to me? What art thou, Emma, to me, when a breath Of Gesler's can take all? [^Crosses, r. [ While Tell speaks these last lines, Emma draics Albert fondly to her. Emma. Oh, William ! Tell. Emma, let the boy alone; Do n't clasp him so — 't will soften him. Go, sir : Sec if the valley sends us visitors To-day. Some friend, perchance, may need thy guidance. Away ! [^E.iit Albert, l.] He 's better from thee, Emma : the time Is come, a mother on her breast should fold Her arms, as they had done with such endearments ; WILLIAM TELL. 189 And bid her children go from her to hunt For danger, which will presently hunt them, — The less to heed it. Emma, (c.) William, you are right: The task you set me I will try to do. I would not live mj^self to be a slave — I would not be the dam of one ! No ! woman as I am, I would not, William ! Then choose my course for me : whate'er it is, I will say ay, and do it, too : suppose To dress my little stri2)ling for the war, And take him by the hand to lead him to 't ! Yes, I would do it at thy bidding, William, Without a tear : I say that I would do it — But, now I only talk of doing it, I can't help shedding one ! Tell. When I Avedded thee, The land w^as free. Oh, with what pride I used To walk these hills, and look up to my God, And bless Him that it was so ! It was free — From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free ! Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks, And plow oiir valleys without asking leave ; Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow In very presence of the regal sun ! How happy was I in it then ! I loved Its very storms ! Yes, Emma, I have sat In mj boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake. The stai's went out, and down the mountain gorge The wind came roaring : I have sat and eyed The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 190 WILLIAM TELL. To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, And think I had no master save his own. You know the jutting cliff, round which a track Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow To such another one, with scant}' room For two abreast to pass? O'ertaken there By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along, And while gust followed gust more furiously, As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink : And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wished me there — the thought that mine was free, Has checked that Avish, and I have raised my head, And cried in thralldom to that furious wind, Blow on ! This is the land of liberty! [^Crosses, R. Emma. I almost see thee on that fearful pass ; And yet, so seeing thee, I have a feeling Forbids me wonder that thou didst so. Tell. 'T is A feeling must not breathe where Gesler breathes, But may within these arms. List, Emma, list! A league is made to pull the tja-ant down, E'en from his seat upon the rock of Altorf! Four hearts have staked their blood upon the cast, And mine is one of them ! Emma. I did not start : — Tell me more, William. Tell. I will tell thee all — Alb. IWithouf] Oh, father! Old Melcthal. [Witlwut] Tell! Tell !— William ! WILLIAM TELL. 191 Emma. Do n't 3^011 know That voice ? Fnter Old Melcthal, l., hlincl, led by Albert. Old M. W h ere art thou, Wi 1 1 i am ? Tell. Who is it? Emma. Do you not know him? Tell. No ! — It can not be The voice of Melcthal ! Alh. Father, it is Melcthal. Emma. What ails you. Tell? Alb. Oh, father, speak to him ! Emma. What passion shakes you thus? Tell. His eyes — where are they? — Melcthal has eyes. Old M. Tell! Tell! Tell. 'T is Melcthal's voice : Where are his ej^es ? Have the}' put out his ej'es? Has Gesler turned the little evening of The old man's life to night before its time? To such black night as sees not with the day All round it ! Father, speak ! Pronounce the name Of Gesler ! Old M. Gesler ! Tell, (c.) Gesler has torn out The old man's eyes! — Support thy mother! — Erni — Where 's Erni ? Where 's thy son ? Is he alive ? And are his father's eyes torn out? Old M. He lives, my William. But knows it not. 192 WILLIAM TELL. Tell. When he shall know it ! — Heavens ! When he shall know it ! — I am not thy son, Yet — Emma. \_Alarmed at his increasing vehemence'] Wil- liam ! William ! Alb. Father ! Tell Could I find Something- to tear — to rend — were worth it! some- thing Most ravenous and blood}- ! — something like Gesler ! — a wolf! — no, no ! a wolf's a lamb To Gesler ! 'T is a natural hunger makes The wolf a savage : and, savage as he is, Yet with his kind he gently doth consort. 'T is but his lawful prey he tears ; and that He finishes — • not mangles, and then leaves To live! I 'd let the wolf go free for Gesler ! — Water ! M}' tongue cleaves to its roof! [Emma goes out, R. Old M. What ails thee, William ? I pray thee, William, let me hear thy voice: That 's not th}" voice. Tell. I can not speak to thee ! Emma. \_Retiirning, r., ivith a cup of loater] Here, William ! Tell. * Emma ! Etnma. Drink ! Tell. I can not drink ! Emma. Your eyes are fixed ! Tell. Melcthal — he has no eyes ! [^Bursts into tears. The poor old man ! \^Falls on Melcthal's neck. WILLIAM TELL. 193 Old M. I feel thee, Tell ! I care not Tluit I have lost my eyes. I feel thy tears — They're more to me than eyes ! When 1 had eyes, I never knew thee, William, as I know Thee now without. I do not want m}' eyes ! Tell. How came it, father? briefly, father! quick And briefly ! Action ! action ! I 'm in such glee For work — so eager to be doing — have Such stomach for a task, I 've scarcely patience To wait to know what 'tis ! — Here, here; sit down. Now, fother ! [Old Melcthal sits down, c. ; Tell kneels, l. ; Emma and Albert, r. Old M. Yesterdaj^, when I and Erni Went to the field, to bring our harvest home, Two soldiers of the tyrant came upon us ; And, without cause alleged, or interchange Of word, proceeded to unyoke the oxen. Tell. Go on. Old M. As one stunned by a thunder-clap Stand;? sudden still, nor for a while bethinks him Of taking shelter from the storm, so we, Confounded by an act so bold, a while Looked on in helpless silence ; till, at length, Erni, as sudden as the hurricane. That lays the oak uprooted ere j^ou see Its branches quiver, bounding on the spoilers. Wrenched from their grasp the yoke, and would have smote Them dead, had the}' not ta'en to instant flight. Tell. Did he pursue them ? D. S.— 17. 19J: WILLIAM TELL. Old M. No : I threw myself Between. Tell. Why didst thou save them? Old M. 'T was my son I saved ! I clasped his knees ; I calmed his rage : I forced him from me to the caverns of Mount Faigel, William, till the tyrant's wrath Might cool or be diverted. 'Twas my son I saved ; for, scarcely was he out of sight. And I within my cottage, when the cries Of Gesler's bands beset it, calling for The blood of Eriii ! William, he was safe — Clear of their fangs ! My son was safe ! Oh, think — Think, William, what I felt to see his lair. His very lair beset, and know m}^ boy. My lion boy was safe ! Enough : they seized me, And dragged mo before Gcsler. Tell. Say no more ! His life cost you your eyes 'T is worth a pair Of eyes, but not your eyes, old man. No, no ; He would have given it ten times over for But one of them. — But one ! but for a hair Of the lash ! — My bow and quiver ! [Emma obeys his directions'] He was by? Old M. Was by. Tell. More arrows for my quiver. — And looking on? Old M. And looking on. Tell. [Putting arrows into his quiver] 'T will do ! He would dine after that, and say a grace — He would ! to tear a man's eyes out, and then WILLIAM TELL. 195 Thank God ! — My staff! — He 'd have his wine, too. How The man could look at it, and drink it off, And not grow sick at the color on 't ! [Emma's expression, as she equips him, catches his eye. Emma, I thank thee for that look ! Now seem'st thou like some kind, o'ersceing angel. Smiling as he prepares the storm, that, Avhile it Shakes the earth, and makes its tenants pale. Doth smite a pestilence. Thou w^ouldst not stay me? Emma. No. Tell. Nor thy boy, if I required his service ? Emma. No, William. Tell. Make him ready, Emma. Old M. No ; Not Albert, William. Emma. Yes; even Albert, father. Thy cap and wallet, boy — thy mountain staff— Where hast thou laid it? Find it — haste! Don't keep [^Leading Albert xijy to Tell. Thy fother waiting. He is ready, AVilliam. Tell. (L.) Well done — w^ell done! I thank you, love, I thank you ! Now mark me, Albert : dost thou fear the snow. The ice-field, or the hail-flaw? Carest thou for The mountain mist, that settles on the peak When thou'rt upon it? Dost thou tremble at The torrent roaring from the deep ravine, Along whose shaking ledge th}'- track doth lie ? Or foint'st thou at the thunder-clap, Avhen on The hill thou art o'crtakcn by the cloud, 196 WILLIAM TELL. And it doth burst around thee? Thou must travel All night. Alb. I 'm read}^ Say all night again. Tell. The mountains are to cross; for thouinust reach Mount Faigel by the dawn. Alb. Not sooner shall The dawn be there than I. Tell. Heaven speeding thee! Alb. Heaven speeding me ! Tell. Show me thy staff. Art sure Of the point? I think 'tis loose. No — stay — 'twill do! Caution is speed when danger's to be passed. Examine well the crevice ; do not trust The snow ! 'T is well there is a moon to-night. You ai'c sure of the track? Alb. Quite sure. Tell. The buskin of That leg's untied : stoop down and ftisten it. You know the point where you must round the cliff? Alb. I do. Tell. Thy belt is slack : draw it tight. Erni is in Mount Faigel : take this dagger, And give it him. You know its caverns well: In one of them you '11 find him. Bid thy mother Farewell. Come, boy; we go a mile together. Father, thy hand. \_Shakes hands icith Old Melcthal. Old M. How firm thy grasp is, AVilliam ! Tell. There is a resolution in it, father, Will keep. AVILLIAM TELL. 197 Old M. I can not see thine eye, but I know How it looks. Tell. I '11 tell thee how it looks. List, father, List. Father, thou shalt bo revenged ! My Emma, Mclcthal 's thy ftxther : that is his home till I Ueturn. Yes, father, thou shalt be revenged! Lead him in, Emma, lead him in ; the sun Gi'ows hot ; the old man 's weak and faint. Mind, father. Mind, thou shalt bo revenged ! In, Avife ; in, in ! — Thou shalt be sure revenged ! Come, Albert. [Em^ia and Melcthal enter the cottage^ r. — Exeunt Tell and Albert hastily, l. E}id of Act 7. ACT II. Scene I: — A Mountain loith mist. Gesler is seen descending the rnou7itain icith a hunting jJole, R. u. e. Ges. (c.) Alone, alone ! and every step the mist Thickens around me ! On these mountain ti-acks To lose one's Avay, they say, is sometimes death. What, ho ! hollo ! — No tongue replies to me ! No thunder hath the horror of this silence ! I dare not stoji ! The day, though not half run, Is not less sui*e to end in night; and night. Dreary when through the social haunts of men 198 WILLIAM TELL. Her solemn darkness Avalks, in sucli u place As this, comes wrapped in most appalling fear! I dare not stop ; nor dare I, yet, proceed, Begirt with hidden danger. If I take This hand, it carries me still deeper into The wild and savage solitudes I 'd shun, Where once to faint with hunger is to die; If this, it leads me to the precij)icc, Whose brink with fatal horror rivets him That treads upon it, till, drunk with fear, he i*eels Into the gaping void, and headlong down Plunges to still more hideous death ! Cursed slaves! To let me wander from them! \_Th(nder'] Ho! hollo! My voice sounds weaker to mine ear : I 've not The strength to call I had ; and through my limbs Cold tremor runs, and sickening faintness seizes On my heart ! Oh, Heaven, have mercy ! Do not see The color of the hands I lift to thee ! Look only on the strait wherein I stand. And pity it! Let me not sink ! Uphold — Support me ! Mercj' ! mere-}' ! I shall die ! [i/e leans against a rock, exhausted; it grows darker ; the rain pours down in torrents, and a furious wind arises. Albert is seen descending by the side of one of the streams^ ivhich he crosses U'ith the help of his pole, l. Alb. I '11 breathe upon this level, if the wind Will let me. Ha ! a rock to shelter me ! Thanks to it! — A man, and fainting! — Courage, friend. Courage ! — A stranger that has lost his way ! ; — WILLIAM TELL. 199 Take heart, take heart ; you 're safe. How feel you now? \_Ga-es him drink from a flask. Ges. Better. Alb. (l. c.) You 've lost 3'our way upon the hill ? Ges. I liave. Alb. And whither would you go ? Ges. To Altorf Alb. I 'II guide 3'ou thither. Ges. You 're a child. Alb. I know The way. The track I 've come is harder far To find. Ges. (r. c.) The track you 've come ! What mean you ? Sure Y''ou have not been still farther in the mountains .-* Alb. I 've traveled from Mount Faigel. Ges. No one Avith thee ? Alb. No one but God. Ges. Do you not fear these storms? Alb. God 's in the storm. Ges. And there are torrents, too, That must be crossed. Alb. God 's by the torrent, too. Ges. Yoxi 're but a child. Alb. God will be with a child. Ges. You 're sure you know the way? Alb. 'T is but to keep The side of yonder stream. Ges. But guide me safe, I '11 give thee gold. Alb. I'll ffuide thee safe without. 200 WILLIAM TELL. Ges. Here's earnest for thee. \_Offers gold] Here. I '11 double that — Yea, treble it — but let me see the gate Of Altorf Why do you refuse the gold ? Take it. Alb. No. Ges. You shall. Alh. I will not. Ges. Why ? Alh. Because I do not covet it; and, though I did, It would be wrong to take it as the price Of doing one a kindness. Ges. Ha! who taught Thee that? Alh. My father. Ges. Does he live in Altorf? Alb. No; in the mountains. Ges. How ! — a mountaineer? He should become a tenant of the city : He 'd gain by it. Alh. Not so much as he might lose by it. Ges. What might he lose b}' it? Alh. Liberty. Ges. Indeed ! He also taught thee that? Alh. He did. Ges. His name? Alb. This is the way to Altorf, sir. Ges. I 'd know Thy father's name. WILLIAM TELL. 201 Alb. The day is wasting : we Have far to go. Ges. Tliy father's name, I say ? Alb. I Avill not tell it thee. Ges. Not tell it me? Why? Alb. You ma}' be an enemy of his. Ges. May be a friend. Alb. May be : but should you be An enemy, although I would not tell you My father's name, I 'd guide you safe to Altorf Will 3'ou follow me? Ges. Ne'er mind th}' fixther's name : What would it profit me to know it? Thy hand ! We are not enemies. Alb. I never had An enemy. Ges. Lead on. Alb. Advance your staff As you descend, and fix it well. Come on. Ges. What, must Ave take that steep ? Alb. 'T is nothing. Come, I '11 go before. Ne'er fear. Come on ! come on ! [^Exeinit, L. Scene II : — The Gate of Altorf. Enter Gesler and Albert, r. Alb. You 're at the gate of Altorf \_ReturnLng, k. Ges. Tarry, boj- ! Alb. I would be gone — I 'm waited for Ges. Come back ! 2U2 WILLIAM TELL. Who waits for thee? Come, tell me ; I am rich And powerful, and can reward. ; Alb. (R.) 'T is close j On evening : I have far to go : I 'm late. Ges. (c.) Stay! I can punish, too. j Alb. I might have left 3'ou, When on the hill I found you fainting, with The mist around you : but I stopped and cheered you, Till to yourself j'ou came again. I offered To guide 3'ou, when you could not find the way ; And I have brought you to the gate of Altorf Ges. Boy, do 3'Ou know me ? Alb. No. Ges. Wh}' fear you, then, To trust me with your father's name? — Speak. Alb. Why Do you desire to know it? Ges. You have served me, And I would thank him, if I chanced to pass His dwelling. Alb. 'T would not please him that a service So trifling should be made so much of Ges. Trifling? You 've saved my life. Alb. Then do not question me, But let me go. Ges. When I have learned from thee Thy father's name. What, ho ! [^Knocks at gate, c. r. Sentinel [ Withini Who 's there ? Ges. Gesler ! [ The gate is opened. Alb. Ha, Gesler ! WILLIAM TELL. 203 Ges. \_To Soldiers] Seize him ! — Wilt tliou tell me Thy father's name ! Alb. No! Ges. I can bid them east thee Into a dungeon ! Wilt thou tell it now? Alb. No! Ges. I can bid them strangle thee ! Wilt tell it ? Alb. Never! Ges. Away with him ! Send Sarnem to me. [Soldiers take off Albert through the gate. Behind that boy I see the shadow of A hand must wear my fetters, or 'tAvill tiy To strip me of my power. I have felt to-day What 't is to live at others' mercy. I Have tasted fear to very sickness, and Owed to a peasant boy my safety — ay, My life ! and there does live the slave can say Gesler's his debtor! How I loathed the free And fearless air with which he trod the hill I Yea, though the safety of his steps was mine, Oft as our pathway brinked the precipice, I wished to see him miss his footing, and Roll over ! But he 's in my power ! — Some way To find the parent nest of this fine eaglet, And harrow it ! I 'd like to clip the broad And full-grown wing that taught his tender pinion So bold a flight! Enter Sarnem through the gate, c. F. Ho, Sarnem ! Have the slaves Attended me, returned? 204 AVILLIAM TELL. >SV/r. The}^ have. Ges. You '11 see I That every one of them be laid in chains ! j, Sar. I will. Ges. Didst see the boy ? Sar. That passed me ? 6^65. Yes. Sar. A mountaineer. Ges. You 'd say so, saw you him Upon the hills : he walks them like their lord ! I tell thee, Sarnem, looking on that boy, I felt I was not master of those hills. He has a father ! Neither promises Nor threats could draw from him his name — a father Who talks to him of liberty ! I fear That man. Sar. He may be found. Ges. He must; and, soon As found, disposed of I can see the man ! He is as palpable to my sight as if He stood like you before me. I can see him Scaling that rock ; yea, I can feel him, Sarnem, As I were in his grasp, and he about To hurl me o'er yon parapet! I live In danger till I find that man. Send parties Into the mountains, to explore them far And wide ; and if they chance to light upon A father who expects his child, command them To drag him straight before us. Sarnem, Sarnem, They are not yet subdued ! Some way to prove Their spirit! — Take this cap, and have it set WILLIAM TELL. 205 Upon a pole in the market-place, and see That one and all do bow to it : whoe'er Resists, or pays the homage sullenly, Our bonds await him ! Sarnem, see it done. \_Exit Sarnem through the gate, c. We need not fear the sjjirit that would rebel. But dares not. That Avhich dares, we will not fear. [^Exit, accompanied by Soldiers, through the gate, c. Scene III : — The Market-place. Burghers and Peas- ants, with Pierre, Theodore, and Savoyards, discovered. chorus. Pierre, (o.) Come, come, another strain. The. (r.) a cheerful one. Sav. (l.) What shall it be ? The. No matter, so 'tis gay. Begin ! Sav. You '11 join the burden? The. Never fear. Go on ! [Savoyard plays and sings, during which Tell and Verner enter, l. s. e. Tell leans upon his how, and listens gloomily. The Savoyard, from clime to clime, Tunes his strain and sings his rhyme ; And still, ichatever clime he sees, His eye is bright, his heart 's at ease : 206 WILLIAM TELL. For gentle^ simple — all reward The labors of the Savoyard. The rich forget their pride, the great Forget the splendor of their state, Whenever the Savoyard they meet, And list his song, and say 'tis sweet ; For titled, wealthy — none regard The fortune of the Savoyard. But never looks his eye so bright, A7id never feels his heart so light, As when in beauty's smile he sees His strain is sweet, his rhyme doth please: Oh, that 's the praise doth best reward The labors of the Savoyard. But though the rich retained their pride. And though the great their praise denied, Though beauty pleased his song to slight, His heart would smile, his eye be bright : Mis strain itself would still reward The laboi's of the Savoyard. {_They shout, and laughingly accompany the Sa- voyards to R. u. E. Tell. "What's the heart worth that lends itself to glee, With argument like theirs for bitterness? Or is it the melancholy sport of grief To look on pleasures, and to handle them, That, when it lays the precious jewels down, It may perceive its poverty the more? [A laugh. WILLIAM TELL. 207 Methinks those cheeks are not exactly dressed To please the hearts that own them. Ver. Doubt it not: They feel their thralldom. Tell, (l.) So they should — that 's hope : I 'd have it gall them — eat into their flesh ! Long as they fester, there's a remedy : But for your callous slave I know no cure ! To-morrow brings the test Avill surely prove them. You '11 not forget the hour? [^Crosses, c. Ver. Be sure I will not. Tell. Erni is warned ei*e this ; and Furst, I 'vc said, Is ready. Fare you well. [^Going, r. Ver. Stay, William ! Now Observe the people. [TAe people have gathered to one side, and look in the opposite direction uith apprehension and trouble; those who had gone off, return, r. u. e. Tell. Ha ! they please me now : That's honest — that 's sincere. I still preferred The seasons like themselves. Let summer laugh, But give me winter with a hearty scowl : None of 3"our hollow sunshine — fogs and clouds Become it best. I like them now : their looks Are just in season. There has surely been Some shifting of the wind, upon such brightness To bring so sudden lowering. Ver. ~We shall see. Pierre. 'T is Sarnem ! The. [^Looking out, r. u. e.] What is that he brings with him ? 208 "WILLIAM TELL. Pierre. A pole ; and on the top of it, a cap That looks like Gesler's. I could pick it from A hundred ! The. So could I : my heart hath oft Leaped at the sight of it! What comes he now To do? Enter Sarnem, r. u. e., icith Soldiers, hearing Ges- ler's eap upon a pole, which he fixes into the ground, c, the peopjle looking on in silence and amazement. The guards station themselves behind the pole. Sar. Ye men of Altorf! Behold the emblem of your master's power And dignity ! This is the cap of Gesler, Your Governor. Let all bow down to it Who owe him love and loj-alty. To such As shall refuse this lawful homage, or Accord it sullenly, he shows no grace. But dooms them to the penalty of bondage. Till they're instructed. 'Tis no less their gain Than duty to obey their master's mandate. Conduct the people hither, one by one. To bow to Gesler's cap. Tell. Have I my hearing? [Peasants pass from l. to r., taking off their hats and bowing to Gesler's cap as they pass. Ver. Away ! aAvay ! Tell. (R.) Or sight? — They do it, Ycrner, They do it ! — Look ! — ■ Ne'er call me man again ! WILLIAM TELL. 209 I '11 herd with baser animals ! They keep Their stations : still the dog 's a dog ; the reptile Doth know his proper rank, and sinks not to The uses of the grade below him. — Man ! Man ! that exalts his head above them all, Doth ape them all ! He 's man and he 's the reptile ! Look ! — Look ! Have I the outline of that caitiflp, Who to the tyrant's feather bends his crown, The while he loathes the tyrant? Ver. Come away, Before they mark us. Tell. No ! no ! Since I 've tasted, I '11 e'en feed on. I 'gin, raeLhinks, to like it. [Pierre passes the cap, smiles, and boivs slightly. Sar. (l.) What smiled you at? Pierre. I bowed as low as he did. Sar. Nay, but j^ou smiled. How dared you smile? Take that! [^Striking him. Eemember, when you do smile again, to do it In season. Tell. Good, good ! Ver. \_Takes hold of Tell's ar7n'] Come away. Tell. Not yet — not yet. Why would you have me quit. The feast, methinks, Grows richer and richer? Ver. You change color. Tell. Do I? And so do you. ASVrr. [^Striking another'] Bow lower, slave ! Tell. Do you feel D. S.— 18. 210 WILLIAM TELL. That blow? My flesh doth tingle Avith it. Well done! How pleasantly the rascal lays it on ! Well done ! well done ! I would it. had been I ! Ver. You tremble, William. Come, you must not stay. Tell. Why not? What harm is there? I tell thee, Verner, I know no difference 'twixt enduring wi'ong. And living in the fear on 't. I wear The tyrant's fetters, when it only wants His nod to put them on ; and bear his stripes. When, that I suffer them, he needs but hold His finger up. Yerner, you 're not the man To be content because a villain's mood Forbears. You 're right — you 're right ! Have with 5'ou, Yerner. [Going, ii. Enter Michael, l. Sar. Bow, slave ! [Tell stops and turns. Mic. For what? [Laughs. Sar. Obey, and question then. Mic. I'll question now; perhaps not then obey. Tell. A man ! a man ! Sar. 'T is Gesler's will that all Bow to that cap. Mic. Were it th}- lady's cap, I 'd courtesy to it. Sar. Do you mock us, friend? Mic. Not I. I '11 bow to Gesler, if you please. But not his cap ; nor cap of any he In Christendom ! [Crosses, c. WILLIAM TELL. 211 Sar. I see you love a jest ; but jest not now, Else you may make us mirth, and pay for it, too. Bow to the cap ! Do j-ou hear ? 3Iic. I do. Tell. Well done ! A man ! I swear, a man ! The lion thinks as much of cowering As he does. Sar. Once for all, bow to that cap ! Tell. Verner, let go my arm ! . Sar. Do you hear me, slave ? Mic. Slave ! Tell. Let me go ! Ver. He is not worth it. Tell : A wild and idle gallant of the town. Tell. A man ! — I 'U swear, a man ! — Do n't hold mo, Verner! Yerner, let go my arm ! Do you hear me, man ? You must not hold me, Yerner. Sar. Yillain, bow To Gesler's cap ! Mic. No — not to Gesler's self! [Crosses, l. Sar. Seize him! Tell. [Bushing forward, c] Off, off, you base and hireling pack ! Lay not your brutal touch upon the thing God made in his own image ! Crouch yourselves 1 'T is your vocation, which you should not call On free-born men to share with you, who stand Erect, except in presence of their God Alone ! Sar. What! shrink you, cowards? Must I do 212 WILLIAM TELL. Your duty for you ? Tell. Let them but stir ! — I 've scattered A flock of hungry wolves outnumbering them — • For sport 1 did it — sport! I scattered them Witli but a staff not half so thick as this. \_^Yresfs Sarnem's iceopon from him. Sarnem and Soldiers fly^ r. u. e. What! Ha! beset bj' hares! Ye men of Altorf, What fear ye? Sec what things you fear — the shows And surfaces of men ! Why stand you wondering there? Wliy look you on a man that's like yourselves, And see him do the deeds yourselves might do, And act them not? Or know j-ou not yourselves? Wh}^ gaze you still with blanched checks upon me? Lack you the manhood even to look on. And see bold deeds achieved by others' hands? Or is it that cap still holds you thralls to fear? Be free, then ! There ! Thus do I trample on The insolence of Gesler ! [Throu-s doicn the jjole. Sai'. [^Suddenly entering xcith Soldiers, r.] Seize him ! [.-!// the people, except Yerner and Michael, fly. Tell. Surrounded ! 3ric. stand ! — I '11 back thee ! Ver. Madman! [Forces Michael q^, l. Sar. Upon him, slaves! — upon him all at once! [Tell, after a struggle, is secured and thrown to the ground, where they chain him, breathless with indignation. WILLIAM TELL. 213 Tell: (c.) Slaves ! Sar. Rail on : thy tongue has yet its freedom. Tell. Slaves ! >SV/r." On to the castle with him — forward! Tell. Slaves ! Sar-. Away with him ! Tableau. E7id of Act II. ACT III. Scene I : — A Chamber in the Castle. Enter Gesler, with RoDOLPH, LuTOLD, Gerard, and Officers, r. Ges. (c.) [To Eodolph] Double the guards! — Stay ! Place youY trustiest men At the postern! — Stop! You'd go with half 3'our errand : I '11 tell you Avhen to go. Let every soul Within the walls be under arms! the sick That do not keep their beds, or can rise from them, Must take a weapon ; can they only raise A hand, we 've use for them. Away, now ! Tumult [^Exit Rodolpii, c. d. f. Under our very brows ! The slaves will come In torrents fi-om the hills, and, like a flood, O'erwhelm us! [To Lutold] Lutold, 'tis om- tinal order, 214 AVILLIAM TELL. On 2)a,in of death, no quarter shall be given ! Another word : let them be men this once, I promise them the sacking of the town! Without reserve, I give it them — of 25i*oi)ert5' Or soul! I've nothing further, sir. I '11 raze \_Exit Lutold, c. d. f. Their habitations, hunt them from their hills, Exterminate them, ere I '11 live in fear ! What word now? [jTo Eodolph, icho re-enters, c. d. f. Eod. (R. c.) 'T was a false alarm. The people Paid prompt submission to your order : one Alone resisted, whom they have secured, And bring in chains before you. Ges. (L. c.) So! — I breathe Again ! 'T was false, then, that our soldiers fled? Bod. 'T was but a party of them fled, my lord ; Which, reinforced, returned and soon o'erpowered The rash off'ender. Ges. What! fled they from one — A single man ? How many were there ? Eod. Four, With Sarnem. Ges. Sarnem ! Did he fly ? Bod. He did ; But 'twas for succor. Ges. Succor ! — One to four, And four need succor ! I begin to think We're sentineled by effigies of men, Not men themselves. And Sarnem, too ! What kind Of man is he can make a tiger cower? Yea, and with backers ! I should like to see WILLIAM TELL. 215 That man. Rod He 's here. [Door in f. opens. Ges. I 'm on the hills again ! I see their bleak tops looking down upon me, And think I hear them ask me, Avith a scowl. If I would be their master. Do not sheathe Your swords! — Stand near me! — Beckon some of those About me : I would be attended. If He stirs, dispatch him ! Rod. He 's in chains, my lord. Ges. I see — I see ho is. Enter Sarnem and Soldiers, icith Tell in chains, c. D. F. Sar. Down, slave ! Behold the Governor ! Down ! down ! and beg For mercy! Ges. [Seated, r.] Does he hear? tSar. Debate it not : Be prompt. Submission, slave! Thy knee! thj- knee! Or with thy life thou playest ! Rod. (r.) Let's force him to The ground. Ges. Can I believe my eyes ? He smiles ! Rod. Why don't j'^ou smite him for that look? Ges. He grasps His chains, as he would make a weapon of them To lay the smiter dead ! Behold ! 216 WILLIAM TELL. He has brought them to a jiause ; and there they stand Like things entranced b}' some magician's speH. They must not sec me [^Eises. So lost. Come, draw thy breath with ease. Thou 'rt Geslcr • — Their lord ; and he 's a slave thou look'st upon ! Why speak'st thou not ? Tdl. (c.) For wonder. Ges. Wonder? Tell. Yes : That thou shouldst seem a man. Ges. What should I seem ? • Tell. A monster ! Ges. Ha ! beware ! Think on thj' chains. Tell. Thongli they were doubled, though they w^eighed me down Prostrate to the earth, methinks I could rise up Erect, wnth nothing but the honest pride Of telling thee, usurper, to the teeth, Thou art a monster ! Think upon my chains! Show me the link of them, which, could it speak, Would give its evidence against my word. Think on my chains ! think on my chains ! How came they on me ? Ges. Barest thou question me ? Tell. Barest thou not answer? Ges. Do I hear ? Tell. Thou dost. Ges. Beware my vengeance ! Tell. Can it more than kill ? •WILLIAM TELL. 217 Ges. Enough — it can do that. Tell. No, not enough : It can not take iiway the grace of life, Its comeliness of port that virtue gives. Its head erect with consciousness of truth, Its rich attire of honorable deeds. Its fair report that 's rife on good men's tongues ; It can not lay its hands on these, more Than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, Or -with polluted finger tarnish it. Ges. But it can make thee writhe Tell. It may. Ges. And groan. Tell. It may ; and I may cr}^ : Go on, though it should make me groan again. Ges. Whence comest thou? Tell. From the mountains. Wouldst thou learn "What news from them? Ges. Canst tell me any? Tell. Ay : They watch no more the avalanche. Ges. Why so ? Tell. Because they look for thee ! The hurricane Comes unawares upon them : from its bed, The torrent breaks and finds them in its track — Ges. What do they then? Tell. Thank Heaven, it is not thou ! Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked ; The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce Ecturn his smile ; their flocks and herds increase, D. S.-19. 218 WILLIAM TELL. And thc}^ look on as men who count a loss; Tlicy hear of thriving children born to them, And never shake the teller by the hand ; AVhile those they have, they see grow up and flourish, And think as little of caressing them, As they were things a deadly plague had smit : — There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but The thought of thee converts into a curse ; As something they must lose, and richer were Forever to have lacked. Ges. That pleases me ! I 'd have them like their j)eaks That never smile though joyous summer tempt Them e'er so much. Tell. Nay, but they sometimes smile. Ges. Ay! when is that? \_Cross€s^ l. Tell. When they discourse of vengeance ! Ges. Vengeance ! Dare They talk of that ? Tell. Ay, and ex^ject it, too. Ges. From whence? Tell. From Heaven ! Ges From Heaven? Tell. And from the hands Which they lift up to it on every hill, For justice on thee. Ges. Where 's thy abode ? Tell. I told thee : in the mountains. Ges. How lies it — north or south? Tell. ISTor north, nor south. Ges Is it to the east or west, then ? AVILLIAM TELL. 219 Tell. Where it lies, Concerns thee not. Ges. It does. Tell. And if it does, thou shalt not learn. Ges. Art married ? Tell. Married ! — Yes. Ges. And hast a family? Tell. A son. Ges. A son! \_Crosses, r., and sits. Sarnem ! \_Calls Sarnem, who crosses to him. Bar. My lord! The boy? [Ctesler signs Sarnem to keep silence, and, ivhis- pei'ing, sends him off, l. Tell. \_Aside'\ The boy ! — What boy? Is it mine ? and have they netted my young fledgeling? Now Heaven support me, if they have ! He '11 own me. And share his father's ruin ! But a look Would put him on his guard; yet how to give it! Now, heart, thy nerve! Forget thou'rt flesh — be rock ! They come — they come ! That step — That step— so light upon the ground, How heavy does it foil upon my heart ! I feel my child ! — 'tis he! We can but perish. Enter Sarnem xcith Albert, whose eyes are riveted on Tell's how, which Sarnem carries, l. Alb. ^Asidel I was right: it is my father's bow; For there 's my father. I '11 not own him, though. 220 WILLIAM TELL. Sar. See ! Alb. What? Sar. Look there ! Alh. "What Avould roii have Ale see? Sar. Thy father. Alh. That is not my father, sir. Tell. \^Aside] My boy ! my boy ! — my own brave boy ! He 's safe ! Sar. [^Aside to Gesler] They re like each other. Ges. Yet I see no sign Of recognition to betray the tie That binds a fother and his child. Sar. My lord. I 'ra sure it is his father. Look at them : The boy did spring from him, or never cast Came from the mold it fitted. It may be A preconcerted thing 'gainst such a chance, That they survey each other coldly thus. Besides, with those who lead the mountain life. The passions ai-e not taken by surprise As ready as with us. Ges. IRlses] We shall try. Lead forth the caitifi'. Sar. To a dungeon ? Ges. Xo : Into the coui't. Sar. The court, my lord? Ges. And tell The headsman to make i-eady. — Quick ! He dies I The slave shall die ! — You marked the boy ? AVILLIAM TELL. 221 Sar. I did : He started. — ^T is his father ! Ges. We shall see. — Away with him ! Tell. Stop ! — stay ! Ges. What would j'ou ? Tell. Time — A little time, to call my thoughts together. Ges. Thou shalt not have a minute ! Tell. Some one, then, To speak with. Ges. Hence with him ! Tell. A moment — stop ! Let me speak to the boy. Ges. Is he thy son ? Tell. And if He were, art thou so lost to nature as To send me forth before his face to die? Ges. Well, speak with him. — Now, Sarnem, mark them well. [Albert goes to Tell. Tell. Thou dost not know me, boy ; and well for thee Thou dost not. I am the father of a son About thy age. I dare not tell thee where To find him, lest he should be found of those 'T were not so safe for him to meet with. Thou, I see, wast born, like him, upon the hills. If thou shouldst 'scajie thy present thralldom, thou May'st chance to cross him : if thou should'st, I jjray thee, Kelate to him Avhat has been passing here, 222 WILLIAM TELL. And say I laid my hand iqjon thy head, And said to thee — if he were here, as thou art — Thus would I bless him : May'st thou live, my boy, To see thy country free, or die for her, As I do! [_Crosses, l. Sar. Mark ! — He weeps ! Tell. Were he my son. He would not shed a tear : he would remember The cliff where ho was bred, and learned to scan A thousand flithoms' depth of nether air; Where he was trained to hear the thunder talk. And meet the lightning e^-e to e3'e ! Avhere last We spoke together — when I told him death Bestowed the brightest gem that graces life. Embraced for virtue's sake. — He shed a tear ! \_Crosses, c. Now, were ho b}^, I'd talk to him; and his cheek Should never blanch, nor moisture dim his eye: I'd talk to him — Sar. He falters. Tell. l^Aside'] 'T is too much ! And yet it must be done ! — I 'd talk to him — Ges. Of what? Tell. ^Tirns to Gesl'ek] The mother, tj-rant, whom thou dost make A Avidow of! I 'd talk to him of her. \_Turns to Albert. I 'd bid him tell her, next to libert}', Her name was the last word my lips pronounced : And I would charge him never to forget To love and cherish her, as he would have WILLIAM TELL. 223 His father's dying blessing rest npon him ! Sar. Yon see, what one suggests, the other acts. Tell. \_Aside] So well he bears it, I almost give way. My boy ! my boy ! — Oh, for the hills — the hills ! To see him bound along their tops again. With liberty, so light upon his heel. That, like the chamois, he flings behind him — Sar. Was there not all the father in that look ? Ges. Yet 't is against nature. tSar. Not if he believes Owning the boy, the son belike might share The father's flite. Ges. I did not think of that. I thank thee, Sarnem, for the thought. — 'T is well The boy is not thy son : he is about To die along with thee. Tell. To die! for what? Ges. For having braved my power, as thou hast. Lead them forth ! Tell. He 's but a child. Ges. (r.) Away with them ! Tell. (r. c.) Perhaps an only child. Ges. No matter. Tell. He May have a mother. Ges. So the viper hath ; And yet who spares it for the mother's sake? Tell. I talk to stone ! I talk to it as though 'T were flesh, yet know 't is none. No wonder : I 've An argument might turn as hard a thing To flesh —to softest, kindliest flesh that e'er 224 WILLIAM TELL. Sweet Pity chose to lodge her fountain iii — But still 'tis nought but stone. I '11 talk to it No more. — Come, ni}- boy! I taught thee how to live. I '11 show thee how To die ! Ges. He is thy child ? Tell. \_Emhraces Albert] He is w\y child ! Ges. I 've wrung a tear from him ! — Thy name. Tell. My name ! [^5iV7e] It matters not to keep it from him now. — ]\Jy name is Tell. Ges. What! William Tell? Tell. The same. Ges. What ! he so famed 'bove all his countrymen, For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat? And such a master of his bow, 't is said His arrows never miss! — Indeed, I'll take Exquisite vengeance ! — Mark ! I '11 spare thj'- life, Thy boy's, too — both of you are free — on one Condition, Tell. Name it. Ges. I would see you make A trial of your skill with that same bow You shoot so well with. Tell. Please j'ou name the trial You would have me make. [ioo/.-.s on Albert. Ges. You look upon your bo}', As though instinctively you guessed it. Tell. ^Look Upon my \)oy\ What mean you? Look upon My boy as though I guessed it ! Guessed the trial WILLIAM TELL. 225 You would have me make ? Guessed it instinctively? Instinctively! You do not mean — No, no — You would not have me make a trial of My skill upon my child ! Impossible ! I do not guess your meaning. Ges. ' I would see Thee iiit an apple at the distance of A hundred paces. Tell. Is my boy to hold it? Ges. No. Tell. No ! — I '11 send the arrow through the core ! Ges. It is to rest upon his head. Tell. Oh, Nature ! Thou hcarcst him ! Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give : Such trial of the skill thou 'rt master of, Or death to both of jon, not otherwise To be escaped. Tell. Oh, monster ! Ges. Wilt thou do it? Alb. He will ! he will ! Tell. Ferocious monster ! Make A father mui'der his own child ! Ges. Take oif His chains, if lie consents. > - , Tell. With his own hand ! Ges. Does he consent? Alb. He does ! [Gesler signs to his Officers, icho take off Tell's chains ; Tell xinconscious of what they do. Tell, (c.) With his own hand ! 22G WILLIAM TELL. Murder his child with his own hand ! The hand I 've led him, when an infant, by! 'T is bc}' ond horror — 't is most horrible ! — Amazement ! — 'T is too much for flesh and blood To bear — I should be made of steel to stand it: And I believe I am almost about To turn to some such thing ; for feeling grows Benumbed within me. \_IIis chains fall off. Villains! \_To the Guards] put on my chains again! My hands Arc free from blood, and have no gust for it, That they would drink my child's ! — Here ! here! I '11 not Murder my boy for Gesler ! Alb. Father — father! You will not hit me, father ! Tell. Hit thee ! send The arrow through thy brain ! or, missing that, Shoot out an eyo ! or, if thine eye escapes, Mangle the cheek I 'vc seen thy mother's lij)S Cover with kisses ! — Hit thee ! hit a hair Of thee, and cleave thy mother's heart! Who is ho That bids me do it? Show him me — the monster ! Make him jjerceptible unto my reason And heart! In vain my senses vouch for it: I hear he lives — I see it — but it is A prodigy that nature can't believe ! Ges. (r.) Dost thou consent? Tell. Give me my bow and quiver. Ges. For what? Tell. To shoot my boy ! WILLIAM TELL. 227 Alb. No, father! no: To save me! You'll be sure to hit the apple. Will you not save me, father? Tell. Lead me forth — I '11 make the trial ! Alb. . Thank you ! Tell. Thank mc! Do You know for what? — I will not make the trial. To take him to his mother in ni}- arms. And la}' him down a corse before her ! [Crosses, l. Ges. Then He dies this moment; and you certainly Murder the child whose life you have a chance To save, and Avill not use it. Tell. Well, I '11 do it : I '11 make the trial. Alb. \_liuns to TelIj cnid embraces him'] Father! Tell. Speak not to me ! Let me not hear thy voice — thou must be dumb! And so should all things be : earth should be dumb. And Heaven, unless its thunders muttered at The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it! Give mo My bow and quiver. Ges. When all is ready. Tell. Well ! Lead on ! l£Jxeu7it Gesler and Sarnem, r. ; Tell, Albert, and Guards, c. d. f. 228 WILLIAM TELL. Scene II : — Without the Castle. Enter, slotchj, several Citizens, as if observing something following them, Yerner and Theodore, l. u. e. Ver. (o.) The pace tliey 're moving at is that of men About to do the work of death. Some wretch Is doomed to suffer. Should it be my friend — Should it bo Tell ! The. (l. c.) No doubt 't is some good man. Ver. Poor Switzerland ! poor country ! Not a son Is left thee now that 's worth the name of one ! 'T is not a common man, with such jiarade, Thej' lead to death : I count four castellans Already. The. There 's a fifth. Ver. And Sarnem, too. Do 3'^ou see him? The. Yes ; and Gesler folloAvs him. Who can it be ? Ver. Wo '11 see. He 's coming now. — 'T is William Tell ! The. Yerner, do you know the boy That follows him? Ver. A boy ! It is his son ! What horror is to be acted? Do you see The headsman ? The. No, I see no headsman there ; No apparatus for the work of death. Perliaps they 're not to suffer. Ver. Lo you how The women clasp their hands, and now and then WILLIAM TELL. 229 Look up to Heaven I You see that some do weep. No headsman is there ; but Gesler 's at no loss For means of cruelty, because there lacks A headsman. Enter Pierre, r. u. e. Pierre. [^Rushing ?";»] Horrible ! — most horrible Decree ! — To save his own and Albert's life. Tell is to hit an apple resting on the head Of his own child ! Enter, slowly, Burghers and Women, Lutold, Eo- DOLPH. Gerard, Sarnem, Gesler, Tell, Albert, and a Soldier bearing Tell's bow and quiver, another with a basket of ajrples; Soldiers, etc., r. The Soldiers form on r., the Villagers on l. Ges. (l. c.) That is your ground. Now shall they measure thence A hundred paces. Take the distance. Tell. \_Advancing to the front, r.] Is The line a true one? Ges. True or not, what is it To thee ? Tell. What is it to me ? A little thing, A very little thing ; a yard or two Is nothing liere or there, were it a wolf I shot at. Never mind. Ges. Be thankful, slave. Our grace accords thee life on any teiMns. Tell. I will be thankful, Gesler ! — Villain, stop ! 230 WILLIAM TELL. You measure to the sun. Ges. And what of that ? What matter, whether to or from the sun? Tell. I 'd have it at my back. The sun should shine Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots. I can not see to shoot against the sun — I will not shoot against the sun ! Ges. Give him his way. Thou hast cause to bless my mercy. Tell. I shall remember it. I 'd like to see The apple I 'm to shoot at. Ges. (c.) Show me The basket. — There ! \_Gives a very small apple. Tell. (l. c.) You 've picked the smallest one. Ges. I know 1 have. Tell: Oh ! do you ? But you see The color on it is dark : I 'd have it light. To see it better. Ges. Take it as it is : Thy skill will be the greater if thou hit'st it. Tell. True, true ; I did n't think of that : I wonder I did not think of that. — Give me some chance To save my boj^ ! \_Throics away the apple icith all his force'] I will not murder him, If I can help it ! — for the honor of The form thou wearest, if all the heart is gone. Ges. Well, choose thyself [^Hands a basket of apples ; Tell takes one. Tell. Have I- a friend among The lookers-on? WILLIAM TELL. 231 Ver. Here, Tell ! Tell. I thank thco, Verner ! He is a friend that does not mind a storm To shake a hand Avith us. I must be brief: When once the bow is bent, Ave can not take The shot too soon. Verner, whatever be The issue of this hour, the common cause Must not stand still. Let not to-morrow's sun Set on the tyrant's banner. — Yerner — Verner! The boy — the boy ! Think'st thou he has the courage To stand it ? Ver. Yes. Tell. Does he tremble? Ver. No. Tell. Art sure ? Ver. I am. Tell. How looks he ? Ver. Clear and smilingly. If you doubt it, look yourself. Tell. No, no, my friend ! To hear it is enough. Ver. He bears himself So much above his years — Tell. 1 know — I knoAv! Ver. With constancy so modest — Tell. I was sure He would — Ver. And looks Avith such relying love And reverence upon you — Tell. Man ! man ! man ! No more ! Already I 'm too much the father 232 WILLIAM TELL. To act the man. — Yerner, no more, my friend! I Avould be flint — flint — flint! don't make me feci I 'm not. You do not mind me. Take tlie boy And set him, Verner, with his back to me: Set him upon his knees; and pUice the apple Upon his head so that the stem may front me — Thus, Verner. Charge liim to keep steady: tell him I '11 hit the apple. Verner, do all this More briefly than I tell it thee. Ver. Come, Albert. \_Leading him behind. Alb. May I not speak with him before I go ? Ver. No — Alb. I Avould only kiss his hand. Ver. You must not. Alb. I must! I can not go from him without! Ver. It is his will you should. Alb. (l. c.) His will, is it? I am content, then. Come! 2\dl. M_y boj^ ! [^Holding out his arms to him. Alb. M}^ father! \_Eunning into Tell's (ums. Tell. If thou canst bear it, should not I ? Go, now, My son, and keep in mind that I can shoot. Go, boy — be thou but stead}' : I shall hit The apple. \_Kisses hijnl^ Go! — God bless thee ! — go. My bow ! [Sarnem gives the bow. Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou? Thou Hast never failed him 3^et, old servant. No, I 'm sure of thee ; I know th}- honesty : Thou 'rt stanch — stanch! 1 'd deserve to find thee treacherous, Could I suspect thee so. Come, I will stake WILLIAM TELL. 233 My all upon tlicc! — Let me see my quiver. Ges. Give him a single arrow. Tell. Do you shoot ? Lut. I do. Tell. Is it so you i^ick an arrow, friend ? The point, you see, is blunt ; the feather jagged : That's all the use 'tis fit for. \_Breahs it. Ges. Let him have Another. [Tell examines another. Tell. Why, 't is better than the first. But yet not good enough for such an aim As I'm to take. 'T is heavy in the shaft: 1 '11 .not shoot Avith it! \_Throics it away'] Let me sec my quiver ; Bring it! 'tis not one arrow in a dozen I 'd take to shoot with at a dove, much less A dove like that! What is it you fear? I 'm but A naked man — a wretched, naked man ! Your helpless thrall, alone in the midst of j'ou ; With every one of you a Avcapon in His hand ! What can I do, in such a strait. With all the arrows in that quiver? Come, AVill you give it me or not? Ges. It matters not : Show him the quiver. You're resolved, I sec, Nothing shall please 3'ou. [Tell kneels and j)icks out an arrow. Tell. Am I so? That 's strange — That 's ver}' strange ! — Is the boy read}^ ? [^While Tell, unobserved, secures an arrow in his breast, Lutold goes out, 'L.,and returns immediately. D. S.-20, 234 WILLIAM TELL. Lut. The boy is ready. Tell. I 'm ready, too ! — Keep silence, every one ! And stir not, for my child's sake : and let me have Your prayers — your j)i'ayers: and be my witnesses, That if his life's in peril from my hand, 'Tis only for the chance of saving it. [Tell raises the how as if to shoot, btit, overcome tcitli agitation, he lets the bow fall. Ges. Go on ! go on ! Tell. I will! I will! Now friends, for mercy's sake, keep motionless And silent! \_Shoots from r. c, and a shout of e.vidta- tion bursts from the crowd. Tell drops on the stage. Yerner rushes in with Albert, l. Ver. Thy boy is safe! no hair of him is touched ! Alb. Father, I'm safe! your Albert's safe! Dear father. Speak to me — speak to me! Ver. He can not. bo}'. Alb. [Tb Gesler] You grant him life? Ges. I do. Alb. And we are free ? Ges. You arc. \_Crossing angrily behind to l. c. Alb. Thank Heaven ! thank Heaven ' Ver. Open his vest. And give him air. [Albert opens his father' s vest, and an arrow drops out. Tell starts, f.ves his eyes on Albert, and. clasps him to his breast. Tell, (c.) My boy ! my boy ! Ges, For Avhat WILLIAM TELL. 235 Hid you that arrow in 3'our breast? Speak, slave! Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had 1 slain my son ! And now, beware ! \_Suddenly takes aim at Gesler. Stir thou, or any stir, This shaft is in thy heart ! [Tell retreats slowly, while Yerner removes Al- bert ; Gesler and the rest, following Tell with their eyes, remain in breathless and motionless suspense. Sar. He shoots ! Ges. Oh ! [^Falls dead, transfixed with the arroxo. Sar. Pursue him! — Hold! A host of friends have joined him', And all in arms! They now advance! L\(t. On this side Another speeds ! Sar. Back to the castle ! Lxit. Look ! [Michael and his friends appear on the ramparts. The castle is betrayed ! Mic. We thank you, friends. For changing quarters with us ! Sar. Ha l" Shut out ! Surrounded ! [^Enter, on one side, Swiss, led by Tell, etc., and, on the other, Emma, followed by Swiss, led by Erni. Tell. Yield ! Kesistance now is hopeless ! Your lives are spared : the tyrant 's will suffice ! Emma, your child ! — "VVe are free, my countrymen ! Our country is free ! — Austrians, you'll quit the land 236 WILLIAM TELL. You never had a right to ! And remember, The country 's never lost that 's left a son To struggle with the foe that w^ould enslave her ! COSTUMES. Gesler. — Green velvet tunic and cloak, trimmed with ermine; flesh legs and sandals; black cap and feathers. Sarnem. — llussct-colored body, cloak, and trunks, trimmed with yellow, and brass buttons; white leggings and russet boots; black cap and feathers. LuTOLD. — Same — green. Melcthal. — Light brown tunic and cloak; flesh legs and san- dals; gray hair; hat to match suit. Pierre. — Brown tunic; blue hose; russet shoes; blackcap. Theodore. — Same — gray. Officers. — Red tunics; flesh-coloreil legs and arms; sandals; caps with bright rims round them; swords and bands. Archers, Soldiers. — Same — green and red. Savoyards. — Plum-colored jackets and trunks, trimmed with red binding; white shirts; Swiss braces and hats. Peasants. — Diff"ereut-colored tunics ; gray and red or blue hose; blue-black hats; russet shoes. William Tell. — Dark brown jacket and trunks; flesh legs and sandals; loose cloak to throw across his shoulders; white shirt to draw close round the throat ; cap to matcii suit. Verner. — Light gray tunic; cloak to throw across shoulders; cap of same; flesh legs and sandals; white shirt. Ernt. — Same — light blue. FiiRST. — Same — dark brown. Albert. — Same— drab-colored. E.MMA. — Slate-colored body and petticoat, trimmed with fur; sandals, flesh stockings, etc. JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 237 JAFFIER AND BELVIDEEA. Frovi Otway 's Venice Preserved, DRAMATIS PERSONS. Belvideua. Priuli. Jaffier. The Duke of Venice. Pierre. Senators. Guards. Scene I :—A Street. Enter Belvidera and Jaffier, l. 238 JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. Jaf. Where dost thou lead me ? Every step I move, Methinks I tread upon some mangled limb Of a racked friend. Oh, my dear, charming ruin ! AVhere are we wandering ? Bel. (r. c.) To eternal honor ! To do a deed shall chronicle thy name Among the glorious legends of those few That have saved sinking nations. Every street Shall be adorned with statues to thy honor ; And at thy feet this great inscription written : " Remember him that propped the fall of Venice ! " Jaf. Kather, remember him who, after all The sacred bonds of oaths and holier friendship, In fond comjjassion to a woman's tears. Forgot his manhood, virtue, truth, and honor. To sacrifice the bosom that relieved him ! Why wilt thou damn me ? Bel. Oh, inconstant man ! How will you promise ! how will you deceive! Do return back; replace me in my bondage; Tell all thy friends how dangerously thou lov'st me ; And let ihj dagger do its bloody office ! Or, if thou think'st it nobler, let me live Till I'm a victim to the hateful will Of that infernal devil ! Last night, my love — Jaf. Name — name it not again ! Destruction, swift destruction, Fall on m}^ cowai'd head, if I forgive him! Bel. Delay no longer, then, but to the senate, JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 239 And tell the dismalcst story ever uttered ; Tell them what bloodshed, rapines, desolations Have been prepared ; how near is the fatal hour. Save thy poor eountr}-; save the reverend blood Of all its nobles, which to-morrow's dawn Must else see shed ! Jaf. Oh ! Bel. Think what then may prove My lot: the ravisher may then come safe, And, 'midst the terror of the public ruin. Do a black deed. Jaf. By all Heaven's powers, projjhetic truth dwells in thee ! For every Avord thou speakest strikes through my heart Like a new light, and shows it how it has wandered. Just what thou 'st made me, take me, Belvidera, And lead me to the place where I 'm to say This bitter lesson ; where I must betra}^ My truth, my virtue, constancy, and friends. Must I betray my friends ? Ah ! take me quickly, Secure me well, before that thought is renewed : If I relapse once more, all 's lost forever. Bel. Hast thou a friend more dear than Belvidera ? Jaf. No: thou 'rt my soul itself — wealth, friend- ship, honor ! All present joys, and earnest of all future, Are summed in thee. \_Going., R. Enter Captain ayid Guards, r. s. e. Capt. Stand ! — Who goes there? 240 JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. Bel. Friends. Capt. But what friends are you? Bel. Friends to the senate and the state of Venice. Capt. My orders are to seize on all I find At this late hour, and bring them to the council, Who are now sitting. Jiif. Sir, you shall bo obeyed. Now the lot is cast, and, Fate, do what thou wilt. [^Exeunt Jafpier and Belvidera, guarded. Scene II : — The Senate House. The Duke op Venice, Priuli, and other Senators discovered, sitting. Duke. Antony, Priuli, senators of Venice, Speak : wh}^ are we assembled here this night? What have you to inform us of, concerns The state of Venice's honor or its safety ? Priuli. (R.) Could words express the story I 've to tell you. Fathers, these tears were useless — these sad tears That fall from my old eyes : but there is cause We all should weep, tear off these purple robes, And wrap ourselves in sackcloth, sitting down On the sad earth, and cr^^ aloud to Heaven. Heaven knows if yet there be an hour to come Ere Venice be no more ! Duke. How ! Priuli. Nay, we stand Upon the ver}' brink of gaping ruin ! Within this city is formed a dark conspiracy JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 241 To massacre us all — our Avives and children, Kindred and friends ; our palaces and temjiles To lay in ashes : nay, the hour, too, fixed ; The swords, for aught I know, drawn even this moment. And the wild waste begun. From unknown hands I had this warning. But, if we are men. Let 's not be tamely butchered, but do something That may inform the world, in after ages. Our virtue Avas not ruined, though we were. [A noise icithin, l. Capt. [ Within'] Room, room ! make room there for some prisonei's ! Enter Officer, l. Duke. Speak, speak, there ! What disturbance? Officer. A j^risoner have the guards seized in the street, "Who says he comes to inform this reverend council About the present danger. Enter Officer, Jaffier, Captain, and Guards, l. All. Give him entrance. \_Exit Officer] Well, who are you ? Jaf. (l.) a villain ! Would every man that hears me - Would deal so honestly, and own his title ! Duke. 'T is rumored that a j^lot has been contrived Against the state, and you 've a share in it, too. D. S.-21. 242 JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. If you 're a villain, to redeem your honor, Unfold the truth, and be restored with mercy. Jaf. Think not that I to save my life came hither ; I know its value better ; but in pity To all those wretches whose unhappy dooms Are fixed and sealed. You see me here before you, The sworn and covenanted foe of Venice : But use me as my dealings may deserve, And I may prove a friend. Duke. The slave capitulates! Give him the tortures ! Jaf. That you dare not do ; Your feai-s won't let j^ou, nor the longing itch To hear a story which you dread the truth of: Truth, which the fear of smart shall ne'er get from me. Cowards arc scared Avith threat'nings ; boys are whipped Into confessions ; but a steady mind Acts of itself — ne'er asks the body counsel. Give him the tortures ! Name but such a thing Again, by Heaven, I'll shut these lips forever! Nor all your racks, your engines, or j-our wheels Shall force a groan away that you may guess at ! [Crosses, R. Duke. Name your conditions. Jaf. For myself full ]mrdon, Besides the lives of two-and-twenty friends, Whose names I have enrolled. Nay, let their crimes Be ne'er so monstrous, I must have the oaths And sacred promise of this reverend council. JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 24!^ Thut, in a full assembl}' of the senate, The thing I ask be ratified. Swear this, And I '11 unfold the secrets of 3'our danger. Duke. Propose the oath. Jaf. (c.) B3' all the hopes You haye of peace and happiness hereafter, Swear ! Duke. We swear ! Jaf. And, as ye keep the oath, May you and your posterity be blessed Or cursed forever ! Duke. Else be cursed forever ! Jaf. Then hei-e 's the list, and with it the full dis- closure [^Delivers two papers to the Officer, who Of all that threaten you. hands them to the Duke. Now, Fate, thou hast caught me ! Duke. Give order that all diligent search be made To seize these men : their characters are public. The paper intimates their rendezvous To be at the house of the famed Grecian courtesan, Called Aquilina : see that place secured. You, Jaifier, must Avith patience bear till morning To be our prisoner. Jaf. Would the chains of death Had bound me fast ere I had known this minute! Duke. Captain, withdraw your prisoner. Jaf. [Tb Officer] Sir, if possible. Lead me where my own thoughts themselves may lose me ; Where I may doze out what I 've left of life ; Forget myself and this day's guilt and falsehood. 244 JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. Cruel remembrance! how shall I appease thee? [-EriY, guarded^ r. Officer. [Withouf] More traitors! Eoom, room, room ! make room there ! Duke. How is this? The treason is Already at the doors ! Enter Officer and Captain, l. Officer. My lords, more traitors ! Seized in the very act of consultation ; Furnished with arms and instruments of mischief. — Bring in the prisoners ! Enter Pierre and other Prisoners in chains., l. Pierre, (l.) You, my lords and fathers, (As 3'ou are pleased to call yourselves,) of Yenice ! If you set here to guide the course of justice. Why these disgraceful chains upon the limbs That have so often labored in your service ? Are these the Avreaths of triumph you bestoAV On those that bring jow. conquest home, and honors? Duke. Go on : you shall be heard, sir. Pierre, (l. c.) Are these the troi^hies I 've deserved for fighting Your battles with confederated powers? When winds and seas conspired to overthrow you. And brought the fleets of Spain to your own harbors ; JAFPIER AND BELVIDERA. 245 When you, great duke, shrunk trembling in your palace, Stepped not I forth and taught your loose Venetians The task of honor and the way to greatness ? Eaised you from your capitulating fears, To stipulate the terms of sued-for peace ? And this my recompense ! If I 'm a traitor, Produce my charge ; or show the wretch that 's base And brave enough to tell me I 'm a traitor ! [Goes to the table. Duke. Know you one Jaffier? Pierre. Yes, and know his virtue. His justice, truth, his general worth, and sufferings From a hard father, taught me first to love him. Duke. See him brought forth. Enter Captain icith Jaffier in chains, r. Pierre. My friend, too, bound ! Nay, then. Our fate has conquered us, and we must fall. Why droops the man whose welfare's so much mine. They're but one thing? These reverend tyrants, Jaffier, Do call us traitors. Art thou one, my brother? Jaf. (r. c.) To thee I am the falsest, veriest slave That e'er betrayed a generous, trusting friend, And gave up honor to be sure of ruin. All our fair hopes, which morning was to've crowned, Has this cursed tongue o'erthrown. Pierre, (c.) So, then, all's over! Yenice has lost her freedom, I my life. 246 JAFPIER AND BELVIDERA. No more ! \_Crosses, l. Duke. Siiy, will you make confession Of your vile deeds, and trust the senate's mercy? Pierre. [^Returns to c] Cursed be your senate ! cursed your constitution ! The curse of growing factions and divisions Still vex 3'our councils, shake your public safety, And make the robes of government you wear Hateful to you as these base chains to me ! Duke. Pardon or death ! Pierre. Death ! — honorable death ! Prisoner. Death 's the best thing we ask or you can give. Duke. Break up the council. Captain, guard 3'our jirisoners. Jaffier, you 're free ; but these must wait for judgment, \_E.veunt Duke, Senators, Conspirators, and Officer. Pierre, (c.) Come, where 's m}- dungeon ? Lead me to my straw : It will not be the first time I 'vc lodged hard To do 3'our senate service. Jaf. (r. c.) Hold — one moment! Pierre. Who 's he disputes the judgment of the senate? Presumptuous rebel ! — ■ on ! — [^Strikes Jaffier. Jaf. (c.) By Heaven, you stir not ! \_E.veunt Captain and Guards, u. I must be heard ! I must have leave to speak ! Thou hast disgraced me, Pierre, by a vile blow: Jlad not a dagger done thee nobler justice? JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 247 But use me as thou wilt, thou canst not wrong me, For I am fallen beneath the basest injuries: Yet look upon me with an eye of mercy, And as there dwells a godlike nature in thee, Listen with mildness to my supplications. Pierre, (r. c.) What whining monk art thou? what holy cheat, That wouldst encroach upon my credulous ears. And cantest thus vilely ? Hence ! I know thee not ! Jaf. Not know me, Pierre ! Pierre. No — know thee not! What ai-t thou? Jaf. Jaffier, thy friend — thy once-loved, valued friend ; Though now deservedly scorned and iised most hardl}'. Pierre. Thou Jaffier ! thou my once-loved, valued fi'iend ! By Heavens, thou liest ! the man so called my friend Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant; Noble in mind, and in his person lovely; Dear to my eyes and tender to my heart : But thou, a wretched, base, false, Avorthless coward ; Poor even in soul, and loathsome in thy aspect; All eyes must shun thee, and all hearts detest thee. Prithee, avoid, nor longer cling thus round me, Like something baneful that my nature 's chilled at. Jaf. I have not wronged thee ; by these tears, I have not ! Pierre. Hast thou not wronged me? Dar'st thou call thyself That once-loved, honest, valued friend of mine, 248 JAPFIER AND BELVIDERA. And swear thou hast not wronged me? Wlicnce these chains? Whence the vile death which I may meet this mo- ment ? Whence this dishonor, but from thee, thou fiilse one? Jaf. All's true: yet grant one thing, and I've done asking. Pierre. What's that? Jaf. To take thy life on such conditions The council have jiroposed. Thou and thy friends May yet live long, and to be better treated. Pierre. Life ! — ask my life ! — confess ! — record myself A villain for the privilege to breathe, And carry up and down this cursed city A discontented and repining spirit, Burdensome to itself, a few j-ears longer! To lose it, may be, at last, in a lewd quarrel For some new friend, treacherous and false as thou art! No ! this vile world and I have long been jangling. And can not part on better terms than now. When only men like thee are fit to live in it. Jaf. By all that 's just — Pierre. Swear by some other power ; For thou hast broke that sacred oath too lately. Jaf. Then by that hell I merit, I '11 not leave thee Till to th3'self, at least, thou'rt reconciled. However thy resentments deal with me. Pierre. Not leave me ! Jaf. No : thou shalt not force me from thee. JAPFIER AND BELVIDERA. 249 Use me reproachfull}' and like a slave ; Tread on me, buffet me, lieap wrongs on wrongs On my poor head : I '11 bear it all with patience ; Shall weary out thy most unfriendly cruelty ; Lie at thy feet, [falls on his knees'] and kiss them though they spurn me ; Till, wounded by my sufferings, thou relent. And raise me to thy arms Avith dear forgiveness. Pierre. Art thou not — Jaf. What? Pierre. A traitor? Jaf. Yes. Pierre. A villain? Jaf. Granted. Pierre. A coward — a most scandalous coward ? Spiritless ? void of honor ? one who has sold Thy everlasting fame for shameless life? Jaf. [Rising and turning, r.] All, all, and more, much more ; my faults are numberless. Pierre. And wouldst thou have me live on terms like thine? Base as thou 'rt false — Jaf. [lieturning'] No ; 't is to me that 's granted. The safety of thj'- life was all I aimed at. In recompense for faith and trust so broken. Pierre. I scorn it more because preserved by thee; And as when first my foolish heart took pity On thy misfortunes, sought thee in thj'- miseries, Eelieved thy wants, and raised thee from the state Of wretchedness in which thy fate had j^lunged thee, To rank thee in my list of noble friends ; 250 JAFPIER AND BELVIDERA. All I received in surety for thy truth Were unregarded oaths, and this, this dagger, Given with a Avorthless pledge thou since hast stolen : So I restore it back to thee again, Swearing by all those powers which thou hast vio- lated, Never, from this cursed hour, to hold communion, Friendship, or interest with thee, though our years Wore to exceed those limited the world ! Take it — farewell — for now I owe thee nothing. Jaf. Say thou wilt live, then. Pierre. For ni}- life, dispose it Just as thou wilt, because 'tis what I'm tired with. Jaf. Oh, Pierre ! Pierre. No more. [^CToing^ r. Jaf. My ej^es won't lose the sight of thee, \_Following . But languish after thine, and ache with gazing. Pierre. Leave me ! Nay, then, thus, thus I throw thee from me ! And curses, great as is th}' falsehood, catch thee ! [^Drives him bach. Exit, r. Jaf. [Pausing'] He 's gone — my father, friend, preserver ; And here's the portion he has left me — This dagger. Well remembered! with this dagger I gave a solemn voav of dire importance: Parted w'ith this and Belvidera together. Have a care, memory ! drive that thought no farther! No, I '11 esteem it as a friend's last legacy ; Treasure it up within this wretched bosom JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 251 Where it may grow acquainted with my heart, That, when they meet, they start not from each other. So, now for thinking. — A blow — called traitor, vil- lain, Coward, dishonorable coward — fliugh ! Oh, for a long, sound sleep, and so forget it! — Down, busy devil ! Enter Belvidera, l. Bel. (L.) Whither shall I fly? Where hide me and my miseries together? Where's now the Roman constancy I boasted? Sunk into trembling fears and desperation ; Not daring to look up to that dear face AVhich used to smile even on my faults; but down, Bending these miserable e^-es to earth, Must move in penance and implore much mercy. Jaf. (r. c.) Mercy! kind Heaven has surely end- less stores Hoarded for thee of blessings yet untasted : Let wretches loaded hard with guilt as I am. Bow with the weight, and groan beneath the burden, Before the footstool of that Heaven they've injured. Oh, Belvidera ! I 'm the wretchedest creature E'er craAvled on earth ! Bel. (l. c.) Alas! I know thy sorrows are most mighty. Jaf. M}' friend, too, Belvidera, that dear friend Who, next to thee, was all my heart rejoiced in. Has used me like a slave — shamefull}' used me : 252 JAFriER AND BELVIDERA. 'T would break thy pitying heart to hear the story. Bel. What has he done ? Jaf. Oh, my dear angel ! in that friend I 've lost All my soul's i)cace ; for every thought of him Strikes my sense hard, and deads it in my brain ! Wouldst thou believe it? Before we parted, Ere yet his guards had led him to his prison, Full of severest sorrows for his sufferings. As at his feet I kneeled and sued for mercy, With a repi'oachful hand he dashed a blow — He struck me, Belvidera ! by Heaven, he struck me, Buffeted, called mc traitor, villain, coAvard ! Am I a coward? am I a villain ? tell me : Thou 'rt the best judge, and mad'st me, if I am so ! Coward ! Bel. Oh, forgive him, Jaffier ! And if his sufferings wound thy heart already. What will the}' do to-morrow? Jaf. Ah ! Bel. To-morrow, When thou shalt sec him stretched in all the agonies Of a tormenting and a shameful death ! What will thy heart do then? Oh, sure 'twill stream Like ni}^ eyes now ! Jaf. What means thy dreadful story? Death and to-morrow ! Bel. (c.) The faithless senators, 'tis they've de- creed it : They say, according to our friends' request, They shall have death, and not ignoble bondage ; JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 253 Declare their promised mercy all as forfeited: False to their oaths, and deaf to intercession, Warrants are passed for public death to-morrow. Jaf. Death ! doomed to die ! condemned unheard, unpleaded ! Bel. Nay, crudest racks and torments are pre- paring, To force confession fi'om their dying jjangs ! Oh, do not look so terribly upon me! HoAV your lips shake, and all your face disordered ! What means my love? Jaf. Leave me — I chai"ge thee, leave me ! Strong temjDtations Wake in my heart ! Bel (L.) For what? Jaf. No more, but leave me ! Bel. Why ? Jaf. (l. c.) Oh, by Heaven, I love thee with that fondness, I would not have thee stay a moment longer Near these cursed hands ! [^Pxdls the dagger half out of his bosom, and puts it back again. Art thou not terrified? Bel. No. Jaf. Call to mind What thou hast done, and whither thou hast brought me. Bel. Ha ! Jaf. Where's my friend — my friend, thou smil- ing mischief? 254 JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. Nay, shrink not, now 't is too late ; for dire revenge Is up, and raging for my friend ! — He groans ! Hark, how he groans ! His screams are in my ears ! Ah-eady, see, they 've fixed him on the wheel ! And now they tear him ! — Murder ! perjured senate ! Murder — oh ! Hark thee, traitoress, thou hast done this ! Thanks to thy tears and false, persuading love. HoAV her ej^es speak ! Oh, thou bewitching creature ! Madness can't hurt thee ! Come, thou little trembler, Creep even into my heart, and there lie safe ; 'T is thy own citadel — ha ! yet stand off! [^Going, r. Heaven must have justice, and my broken vows "Will sink me else beneath its reaching mercy. I '11 wink, and then 'tis done ! — Bel. (c.) What means the lord Of me, my life, and lov(j? What is in thy bosom Thou graspest at so? [Jaffier draws the dagger^ and offers to stab her. Ah ! do not kill me, Jaffier ! Jaf. (r. c.) Know, Belvidera, when we parted last, I gave this dagger, with thee, as in trust, To be thy jiortion if I e'er proved false : On such condition was my truth believed ; But now 't is forfeited, and must be paid for. \_Offers to stab her again. Bel. Oh ! mercy ! Jaf. Nay, no struggling! Bel. Now, then, kill me, [^Falls on his neck and kisses him. While thus I cling about thy cruel neck, JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. 255 Kiss thy revengeful lips, and die in joys Greater tlian any I can guess hereafter. Jaf. 1 am, I am a coward ! witness, Heaven, Witness it, earth, and every being witness ! 'T is but one blow ; yet, by immortal love, I can not longer bear the thought to harm thee ! [^Throws away the dagger and embraces her. The seal of Providence is sure upon thee, And thou wast born for yet unheard-of wonders : Oh, thou wert born either to save or damn me ! By all the power that is given thee o'er my soul, By thy resistless tears and conquering smiles. By the victorious love that still waits on thee, Fl}' to thy cruel father, save my friend, Or all our future quiet 's lost forever ! Fall at his feet, cling round his reverend knees, Speak to him with thy eyes, and with thy tears Melt his hard heart, and wake dead nature in him ; Nor, till thy prayers are gi-anted, set him free. But conquer him, as thou hast vanquished me. [Exeunt Jafpier, r., Belvidera, l. COSTUMES. DcKE. — Ci'imson velvet dress, with purple robe, richly em- broidered with gold. Prtuli. — Purple velvet di-ess; scarlet mantle; black trunks, pufied with black satin; black silk stockings; shoes and roses; black sword; round black hat, and black plumes. Jaffiek. — Same as Priuli, except mantle. Pierre, — White doublet and blue Venetian ily, embroidered; 256 JAFFIER AND BELVIDERA. white pantaloons ; russet, boots; black sword ; round black hat, and scarlet plumes. Senatoes. — Black gowns, trimmed with ermine, and black caps. Conspirators. — Rich Venetian dresses. Guards. — Gray doublets, breeches, and hats. Belvidera. — First dress — white satin, trimmed with silver; long purple robe, richly embroidered with gold: second dress — white muslin. THE DUTIFUL SON. 257 THE DUTIFUL SOK. From The Rivals^ by Sheridan. DRAMATIS PERSON/E. Sir Anthony Absolute. Captain Absolute, Ids son. Fag, Errand-boy. Scene I : — Captain Absolute's Lodgings. Enter Captain Absolute and Fag, r. Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to sec you. Shall I show him into the parlor? Capt. A. Ay, you may. — Stay ! who is it, Fag? Fag. Your father, sir. Capt. A. You pujDp}^ ! why did n't you show him up directly? \^Exit Fag, r.] Now for a parental lecture. I hope he has heard nothing of the business that has brought mc here. I wish the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul ! Enter Sir Anthony, r. Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and looking so well ! Your sudden arrival at Bath made mc appre- hensive for your health. D. s.— 22. 258 THE DUTIFUL SON. Sir A. Very apjjrehensive, I dare say, Jack ! — What, you are recruiting here, hey? Cajit. A. Yes, sir; I. am on duty. Sir A. Well, Jack, 1 'm glad to see you, though I did not expect it ; for I was going to write to you on a little matter of business. Jack, I have been con- sidering that I grow old and infirm, and shall proba- bly not trouble you long. Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong and heart}" ; and I pray fervently that you may continue so. Sir A. I hope your ]5ra3^ers may be heard, with all my heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been consid- ering that I am so strong and hearty, I may continue to i)lague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. Capt. A. Sir, you are very good. Sir A. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy make some figure in the world. I have re- solved, therefore, to fix j^ou at once in a noble inde- pendence. Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, I presume 3'ou would not wish mo to quit the army ? Sir A. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. Capt. A. My wife, sir! Sir A. Ay, ay ; settle that between you — settle that between you. Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say? THE DUTIFUL SON. 259 Sir A. Ay, ti wife! Wh}', did not I mention her before ? Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir. *SVr A. Odd so ! I mus' n't forget her, though. — Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of, is by a marriage — the fortune is saddled with a wife : but I suppose that makes no difterence ? Capt. A. Sir, sir, you amaze me ! Sir A. Whj^, what the deuce is the matter with the fool? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. Capt. A. I was, sir: you talked to me of inde- pendence and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. Sir A. Wh}^ what difference does that make? Odds life, sir ! if you have the estate, }ou must take it with the live-stock on it, as it stands. Capt. A. Pra}', sir, who is the hidy? Sir A. What 's that to j^ou, sir? — Come, give mo your promise to love and to marr}- her directlj'. Caj)t. A. Sui-e, sir, this is not ver}- reasonable- — to summon my affections for a lady I knoAv nothing of! Sir A. I am sure, sir, 't is more unreasonable in you, to object to a lady you know nothing of. Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell j'ou, once for all, that in this point I can not obey 3'ou. Sir A. Hark ye. Jack ! I have heard you for some time Avith patience; I have been cool ^ — quite cool; but take care ! You know I am comjiliance itself — when I am not thwarted ; no one more easily led — when I have m}- own way ; — but do n't put me in a frenzy ! 260 THE DUTIFUL SON. Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it: in this, I can not obe}' you. Sir A. Now, confound me if ever I call you Jack again while I live ! Cajpt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me. Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word! not one word ! so give me your promise by a nod. And I'll tell you what, Jack — I mean, you dog — if 3"0U do n't, by — Cai^t. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness ! Sir A. Zounds, sirrah ! the lad}- shall be as ugly as I choose ! She shall have a hump on each shoul- der ; she shall be as crooked as the crescent ; her one C3'e shall roll like the bull's in the museum ; she shall have a skin like a mumni}^, and the beard of a Jew ! She shall be all this, sirrah, yet I'll make 3-ou ogle her all da}', and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty ! Caj)t. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed ! Sir. A. None of your sneering, puppy! — no grin- ning, jackanapes ! Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for mirth in ni}- life. Sir A. 'T is false, sir ! I know you are laughing in your sleeve ! I know you '11 grin Avhen I am gone, sirrah ! Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. Sir A. None of 3'our passion, sir ! none of your violence, if yoii please! — it won't do with me, I promise you. THE DUTIFUL SON. 261 Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never Avas cooler in my life. Sir A. 'T is u confounded lie ! I know 3'ou arc in n passion in j-our heart! I know you are, you hypo- critical young dog ! — but it won't do. Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word — Sir A. So, you will fl}' out! Can't you be cool, like me? What good can passion do? Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate ! — There, 3'Ou sneer again ! Do n't pro- voke me ! But you rely upon the mildness of my temper — you do, you dog ! you jjlay upon the meek- ness of my disposition ! Yet, take care ! the patience of a saint may be overcome at last. But, mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this : if 5-0U then agree, without any condition, to do every thing on earth that I choose, why, confound you, I may in time forgive you; if not — zounds! don't enter the same hemisphere with me I do n't dare to breathe the same air or use the same light with me, but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! I '11 strip you of your commission ! I 11 lodge a five-and- threepence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest! I'll disown you — I '11 disinherit you — and, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again ! [^Exit, R. Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father, I kiss your hands ! Enter Fag. r. Fag. Assuredly, sir, our father is wroth to a degree. He comes down stairs eight or ten steps 262 THE DUTIFUL SON. at a time, muttering, growling, and thumping the banisters all the way. I and the cook's dog stand bowing at the door — rap! he gives me a stroke on tlie head with his cane — bids me carry that to my master ; then, kicking the poor turnspit into the area, damns us all for a pappy triumvirate ! Upon my credit, sir, were I in your place, and found my father such very bad compan}-, I .should certainly drop his acquaintance. Capt. A. Cease your impertinence, sir ! did you come in for nothing more? Stand out of the way ! [^Pushes him aside, and exit, r. Fag. So ! — Sir Anthony trims ni}' master; he is afraid to reply to his father, then vents his spleen on poor Fag ! AVhen one is vexed by one person, to re- venge one's self on another, Avho happens to come in the way, shows the worst of temper, the basest — Enter Errand-boy, r. Boy. 3Ir. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you. Fag. Well, you little, dirty puppy ! you need n't baAvl so — the meanest disposition, the — Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag ! Fag. Quick, quick — you impudent jackanapes! Am I to be commanded by you, too, you little, im- pertinent, insolent kitchen-bred ! \_Kicks him off, r. Scene II : — The Same. Enter Captain Absolute, l. Caj)t. A. 'T is just as Fag told me, indeed — whim- sical enough, faith ! My father wants to force me to THE DUTIFUL SON. 263 many the very girl I am plotting to run away with ! He must not know of my connection with her yet awhile ; he has too summarj' a method of proceeding in these matters. However, I'll read my recantation instantly. My conversion is something sudden, in- deed ; but I can assure him it is very sincere. So, so; here he comes. He looks plaguy gruff! l_Steps aside^ l. I^rifcr Sir Anthony, r. Sir A. No — I'll die sooner than forgive him! Die, did I say? I'll live these fifty years to plague him! At our last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out of temper — an obstinate, passionate, self- willed boy! Who can he take after? This is my return for putting him, at twelve yeai'S old, into a marching regiment, and allowing him fiftj' pounds a year, besides his pa}', ever since. But I have done with him ; he 's any body's son for mc ; I never will see him more — never, never, never, never! Capt. A. Now for a penitential face ! \_Com.es forward on the l. Sir A. Fellow, get out of my way ! \_Crosses, r. Capt. A. Sir, you see a penitent before you. Sir A. I see an impudent scoundrel before me! Capt. A. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. Sir A. What's that? Ca2)t. A. I have been revolving and reflecting and 264 THE DUTIFUL SON. considering on j^our ptist goodness and kindness and condescension to me. Sir A. Well, sir? Capf. A. I have been likewise weighing and bal- ancing what you were pleased to mention concerning duty and obedience and authority. Sir A. Why, now 3-ou talk sense, absolute sense : I never heard any thing more sensible in my life. Confound you, you shall be Jack again ! Capf. A. I am happy in the appellation. *SV7' A. Why, then, Jack — m}' dear Jack — I will now inform you Avho the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and violence, you silly fellow, pre- vented iiie telling 30U at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture — prepare! What think you of Miss Lj^lia Languish? Cajyt. A. Languish ! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire? Sir A. Worcestershire ! — no. Did j-ou never meet Mrs. Malaprop, and her niece, Miss Languish, Avho came into our country just before 3'ou were last or- dered to 3'our regiment? Capt. A. Malaprop ! — Languish ! I do n't remem- ber ever to have heard the name before. — Yet, stay ! I think I do recollect something. Languish ! — Lan- guish ! She squints, don't she? — A little red-haired girl? Sir A. Squints !• — A red-haired girl ! Zounds ! — no ! Capt. A. Then I must have foi'got : it can't be the same person. THE DUTIFUL SON. 265 Sir A. Jack, Jack ! what think you of blooming, love-breathing seventeen ? Capt. A. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent: if 1 can please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. Sir A. Nay, but Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! — so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! — not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love ! Then, Jack, her cheeks ! — her cheeks. Jack ! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes ! Then, Jack, her lips ! — Oh, Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion ! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting — more lovely in sullenness ! Then, Jack, her nock ! — Oh, Jack ! Jack ! Capt. A. And Avhich is to be mine, sir — the niece or the aunt ? Sir A. Wh}', you unfeeling, insensible puppy! — I despise you ! When I was of your age, such a de- scription Avould have made me ^y like a rocket ! — The aunt, indeed ! Odds life ! When I ran away with your mother, I would not have touched any thing old or ugly to gain an empire ! Capt. A. Not to please your father, sir? Sir A. To please my father! — zounds! not to please — Oh! my father? Odd so! yes, yes! if my father, indeed, had desii'cd — that's quite another matter. Though he was n't the indulgent father that I am. Jack. Capt. A. I dare say not, sir. Sir A. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find j-oui- mistress is so beautiful ? Capt. A. Sir, I repeat it — if I please you in this ]). S.— 2V 266 THE DUTIFUL SON. affair, 't is all I desire. Not that I think a woman the AVor.se for being handsome; but, sir, if 3^011 please to recollect, you before hinted something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind. Now, without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine to have the usual num- ber of limbs, and a limited quantity of back : and though one eye may be very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always run in favor of two, I avouM not wish to affect a singularit}^ in that article. Sir A. What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Wh}', sirrah, you are an anchorite ! — a vile, insensible stock ! You a soldier ! you 're a walking block, fit only to dust the company's regimentals on ! — Odds life ! I've a great mind to marry the girl myself! Capt. A. I am entirely at your disjjosal, sir. If you should think of addressing Miss Languish your- self, I suppose you would have me marry the aunt ; or, if you should change your mind, and take the old lady, 'tis the same to me — I '11 marry the niece. Sir A. Upon my word. Jack, thou art either a very great hypocrite, or — but, come ; I know your indifference on such a subject miist be all a lie — I'm sure it must. Come, now — come, confess. Jack : you have been lying, ha'n't you? you have been l^lajnng the hypocrite, hey? I '11 never forgive j'^ou, if you ha'n't been Ijnng and playing the hjqiocrite. Capf. A. I am sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear to you should be so mistaken. Sir A. Hang your respect and duty ! —But come along with me. \_Ci'OSses to l.'] I'll write a note to THE DUTIFUL SON. 267 Mrs. JVtalaprop, and j^ou shall visit the lady directl}-. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to 3'ou. Come along: I'll never forgive you, if j'ou don't come back stark mad with rapture and impatience! If 3'ou don't, egad, I'll marry the girl myself! [^Exeunt, l. COSTUMES. Sir Anthony Absolute. — Light brown cloth suit, lined with crimson silk, and gold buttons ; a brown great-coat, black silk plush cuff's and collar, and gold vellum button-holes ; cocked hat, gold loop and cockade; white silk stockings; square-toed shoes, and buckles. Captain Absolute. — Scarlet regimental full-dress coat; white breeches; silk stockings; cocked hat. Fag. — Dark livery frock; buff waistcoat and breeches; glazed hat, with cockade and silver band; top boots. 268 THE POUND OF FLESH. THE POUND OF FLESH. From Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. The Duke of Venice. Magnificoes of Venice. Antonio, the Merchant of Venice. Bassanio, his friend. Gratiano, friend to Antonio and Bassanio. SiiYLOCK, a Jeiu. Portia, a rich heiress. Nerissa, her zoaitinff-maid. Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants. Scene : — A Court of Justice in Venice. The Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, and Attendants, discovered. Dulce. \_Seated, c] What, is Antonio here? Ant. Readj'-, so please your grace. Duke. I am soriy for thee : thon art come to an- swer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch THE POUND OF FLESH. 269 Incapable of pit}^, void unci empty From any dram of mercy. Ant. ■ I have heard Your grace hath ta'cn great pains to qualify His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose My patience to his fnry, and am armed To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his. Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. Servant. He is ready at the door : he comes, ni}^ lord. Eyiter Shylock, r. Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so, too, That thou but lead'st this fashion of thj^ malice To the last hour of act, and then, 'tis thought. Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse, moi'e strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; And where thou now exact'st the penalty, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture. But. touched with human gentleness and love. Forgive a moiety of the principal ; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses. That have of late so huddled on liis back, Enow to press a royal merchant down, 270 ■ THE POUND OF FLESH. And pluck commiseriition of his state From brass}' bosoms and rough liearts of flint; From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never trained To offices of tender courtesy. — We all exjiect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. (r.) I have possessed j^our grace of what I purpose ; And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn To have the due and forfeit of my bond: If you deii}" it, let the danger light Upon your charter and yowY city's freedom. You '11 ask me why I rather choose to have A. weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats. I '11 not answer that ; But saj'", it is my humor : is it answered? What if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned? What, are you answered yet? Some men there are love not a gaping pig; Some that are mad if they behold a cat: Masters of passion sway it to the mood Of what it likes or loathes. Now for your answer : As there is no firm reason to be rendered Why he can not abide a gaping pig, Why he, a harmless, necessary eat, So can I give no reason, nor I will not, More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Are 3'ou answered? Bass. (l. c.) This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. THE POUND OP FLESH. 271 Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my an- swers. Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? Shy. Hates an}' man the thing he would not kill? Bass, Every oifense is not a hate at first. Shy.- What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? Ant. (h. c.) I pray you, think you question with the Jew. You may as well go stand upon the beach. And bid the main flood bate his usual height; You may as Avell use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; YoLi may as well forbid the mountain 2>ines To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, When they are fretten with the gusts of Heaven: You may as well do any thing most hard. As seek to soften that — than which, what harder — His Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no farther means ; But with all brief and plain convcniency. Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. Bass. For thy three thousand ducats, here is six. Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. Duke How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none ? Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? You have among you many a purchased slave, 272 THE POUND OF FLESH. Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts. Because you bought them : shall I say to you, Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? AV^hy sweat they under burdens? let their beds Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates Be seasoned with such viands. — You will answer, The slaves are ours. So do I answer j'ou : The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought; 'tis mine, and I will have it. If you deny me, fie u])on your law ! There is no force in the decrees of Venice. I stand for judgment: answer, shall I have it? Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doct;)i- Whom I have sent for to determine this, Come here to-day. Gra. My lord, here stays without A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. [^E.rit Gratiano, r. Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man, courage yet! The Jew shall have mj' flesh, blood, bones, and all, Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death. The weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground ; and so let me. You can not better be employed, Bassanio, Than to live still and write mine epitaph. THE POUND OF FLESH. 273 Enter Gratiano with Nerissa, dressed like a Lawyefs Clerk, R., and goes to the Duke. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? Ner. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. [Presents a letter. Shylock kneels on one knee, and ivhets his knife on his shoe. Bass. "Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen. But no metal can — No, not the hangman's ax — bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers ^^ierce thee? Shy. \_Gets ?//>] No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. Gra. (r. c.) Oh, be thou damned, inexorable dog! And for thy life let justice be accused I Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, To hold opinion with Pj-thagoras, That souls of animals infuse themselves Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit Governed a wolf, who, hanged for human slaughter. Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet ; And Avhilst thou lay'st in thy unhallowed dam. Infused itself in thee ; for thy desires Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous ! Shy. (r. c.) [Holding up the bond, and tapping if ni'th the knife'] Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud. 274 THE POUND OP FLESH. Reimir thy wit, good 3'outh, or it will fall To endless ruin. — I stand here for law. JDuke. This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court. Where is he? Ner. He attendeth here hard by, To know your answer, Avhether you'll admit him. Duke. With all my heart. — Some three or four of you Go give him courteous conduct to this jjlace. \_Exit Gratiano and others, r. Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. Ner. \_Ileads'\ " Your grace shall understand, that at the receipt of your letter I am very sick : but in the instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome ; his name is Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio, the merchant: we turned o'er many books together : he is furnished with my opinion, which, bettered with his own learning, the greatness whereof I can not enough commend, comes with him, at my impor- tunity, to fill up your grace's request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of j^eai'S be no impediment, to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation." Duke. You hear the learned Bellario, Avhat he writes ; And here, I take it, is the doctor come. THE POUND OF FLESH. 275 Enter Portia, dressed like a Doctor of Laws : Gr atiano, R. Portia, advancing to c, hows to the Court, and then approaches toward the Buke. Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario? For. I did, my loi'd. Duke. You are welcome. Take your place. [Portia sits. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court ? For. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? Duke. Antonio and old Shj^lock, both stand forth. [ Tliey stand forth. Portia in c. of stage. For. Is your name Shylock? Shy. Shylock is my name. For. Of a strange nature is the suit j^ou follow ; Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law Can not imipugn j'^ou as you do proceed. — [To Ant.] You stand within his danger, do you not? Ant. Ay, so he says. For. Do you confess the bond? Ant. I do. For. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. For. The quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest — It blesseth him that gives and him that takes : 'T is mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : 276 THE POUND OF FLESH. His scepter shows the force of temi:)oral power, The attribute to awe and majesty, "VVlierein dotli sit the dread and fear of kings. But mercy is above this sceptcred sway : It is enthi'oned in the hearts of kings: It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest Gods, When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plen, consider this. That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy. And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mere}'. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea. Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law ; The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? Bass. Yes : here I tender it for him in the court — Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: If this Avill not suffice, it must appear That malice bears down truth ; and, I beseech 3'ou, Wrest once the law to your authority : To do a great right, do a little wrong. And curb this cruel devil of his will. Por. It must not be : there is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established. 'T will be recorded for a precedent, THE POUND OP PLESH. 277 And many an error, by the same example, "Will rush into the state. It can not be. Shy. \In ecstasy'] A Daniel come to judgment! — yea, a Daniel ! Oh, wise young judge, how do I honor thee! For. . I pray you, let me look ujjon the bond. Shy. Here 't is, most reverend doctor ; here it is. IGives it. For. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee. Shy. An oath, an oath : I have an oath in Heaven. Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 'No, not for Venice ! For. Why, this bond is forfeit; And lawfull}' b}' this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be hy him cut oif Nearest the merchant's heart. — Be merciful : Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. It doth appear you are a worthy judge : You know the law ; your exposition Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. Proceed to judgment. B}^ my soul I swear, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me ! I stay here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment. For. Why, then, thus it is : You must prepare your bosom for his knife ; — Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 278 THE POUND OF FLESH. For. — For the intent and purpose of the laAV Hath full relation to the penalty Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Shy. 'T is very true, O wise and upright judge ! How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! For. Therefore, lay bare 3'our bosom. Shy. Ay, his breast; So says the bond : — doth it not, noble judge? — Nearest his heart : those are the very woi-ds. For. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh The flesh? Shy. I have them ready. For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on j^our charge. To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death. Shy. It is not nominated in the bond. For. It is not so exjiressed ; but what of that? 'Twerc good you do so much for charity. Shy. I can not find it: 'tis not in the bond. For. Come, merchant, have jow any thing to say? Ant. But little : I am armed and well prepared. Give me your hand, Bassanio : fare you well ! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for 3'ou ; For herein Fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom: it is still her use To let the wretched man outlive his Avealth ; To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow An age of poverty : from which lingering penance Of such misery doth she cut me off. Commend me to your honorable wife; Tell her the process of Antonio's end; THE POUND OF FLESH. 279 Say how I loved 3^011 ; speak me fiiir in death : And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge Whether Bassanio had not once a love. Repent not you that you shall lose your friend ; And he rejients not that he pays your debt : For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. Bass. Antonio, I am married to a Avife Which is as dear to me as life itself; But life itself, my wife, and all the world. Are not with me esteemed above thy life : I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you. For. Your wife would give you little thanks for that. If she were by, to hear you make the offer. Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love : I would she were in Heaven, so she could Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. Wer. 'T is well you offer it behind her back : The wish would make, else, an unquiet house. Shif. \_Aside'\ These be the Christian husbands ! I have a daughter : Would any of the stock of Barrabas Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! [ To Portia] We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. Po?'. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine : The court awards it, and the law doth give it. Shy. Most rightful judge ! 280 THE POUND OF FLESH. For. And yoii must cut this flesh from off his breast : The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ! — Come, prepare ! For. Tarry a little : there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood : The words ex^iressly are, a pound of flesh. Take, then, thy bond — take thou thy j^ound of flesh : But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice. Gra. (r.) O upright judge! — Mark, Jew! — O learned judge ! Shy. Is that the law ? For. Thyself shalt sec the act : For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice — more than thou desirest. Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ! — A learned judge ! Shy. I take this offer, then : paj^ the bond thrice. And let the Christian go. Bass. Here is the money. For. Soft ! The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste : He shall have nothing but the penalty. Gra. O Jew ! — An upright judge I a learned judge ! For. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less nor more But just a pound of flesh : if thou tok'st more THE POUND OF FLESH. 281 Or less than a just pound, be it so much As makes it light or heavj^ in the substance Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple — nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair — Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Gra. A second Daniel ! — a Daniel, Jew ! Now, infidel, I have thee on the hij) ! Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? — Take thy for- feiture. Shy. Give me m}' principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee : here it is. Por. He hath refused it in the open court: He shall have merely justice, and his bond. Gra. A Daniel, still say I — a second Daniel! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why, then, the devil give him good of it! I '11 stay no longer question. Por. Tarry, Jew : The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien, That, by direct or indirect attempts. He seek the life of any citizen. The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive Shall seize one-half his goods ; the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; And the ofi'ender's life lies in the mei'cy u. S.— 24. 282 THE POUND OP FLESH. Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : P^'or it apjDcars, by manifest proceeding. That indirectly, and directly, too, Thou hast contrived against the very life Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred The danger formerly by me rehearsed. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke ! Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself: And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state. Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; Therefore, thou must be hanged at the state's charge. Duke. That thou shalt see the ditference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. Shy. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : You take my house when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house ; you take my life When you do take the means whereby I live. Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? Ant. So please ni}^ lord the duke and all the court, To quit the fine for one-half of his goods I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use, to render it. Upon his death, unto the gentleman That lately stole his daughter: I THE POUND OF FLESH. 283 Two things provided more — that, for this favor, He presently become a Christian; The other, that he do record a gift. Here in the court, of all he dies possessed, Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant The pardon that I late pronounced here. For. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say? Shy. I am content. For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence : I am not well. Send the deed after me. And I will sign it. Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. [J 5 Shylock sloicly leaves the stage, r., the curtain descends. COSTUMES. DrKE. — Crimson velvet jacket and breeches; purple robe; ermine cape; white shoes with crimson rosettes. Antonio. — Black velvet trunks, puffed with black satin; black silk stockings; shoes and rosettes; round black hat, and black plumes. Bassanio. — White tunic, trimmed with silver; blue satin waist- coat, embroidered ; blue sash belt ; white silk stocking pan- taloons; white shoes with rosettes. Gratiano. — Green velvet coat; white waistcoat; buff worsted pantaloons; russet boots. SiiYLOCK. — Black cloth gabardine, or long, flowing cloak; scarlet sash; blue stockings; black shoes with buckles. Portia. — Black silk stockings, black tunic, and lawyer's gown. Nerissa. — Same as Portia, but no gown. 284 THE BEQUEST. THE BEQUEST. From Bulwer^s Money. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Alfred Evelyn. Graves. Sir John Vesey. Captain Dudley Smooth. Lord Glossmore. Sharp. Sir Frederick Blount. Clara Douglas. Stout. Lady Franklin. Georgina, Scene I: — A draxdng-room in Sir John Yesey's house; folding doors at the bach-, ichich open on another drawing-room. To the right, a table with newspapers, books, etc. ; to the left, a sofa and writing-table. Sir John and Georgina, r. c. Sir J. \_Reading a letter edged with black'] Yea, he says at two precisely. — "Dear Sir John: As since the death of my sainted Maria" — lium ! that's liis wife : she made him a martyr, and now he makes her a saint ! Geor. Well, as since her death ? — Sir J. [^Reading'] " I have been living in chambers, THE BEQUEST. 285 where I can not so well invite ladies, yoii will allow me to bring Mr. Sharp, the lawyer, to read the will of the late Mr. Mordaunt, (to Avhich I am appointed executor,) at your house — your daughter being the nearest relation. I shall be with you at two pre- cisely. Henry Graves." Geor. And you really feel sui'e that poor Mr. Mordaunt has made me his heiress? Sir J. A}', the richest heiress in England. Can you doubt it? arc you not his nearest relation? — niece by your poor mother, his own sister. I feel that I may trust you with a secret. You sec this fine house, our fine servants, our fine plate, our fine dinners: — every one thinks Sir John Vesey a rich man. Geor. And are you not, papa? Sir J. Not a bit of it — all humbug, child; all humbug, upon my soul ! There are two rules in life : first, men are valued not for what ihej are, but what they seem to be; secondl}^, if you have no merit or monej^ of 5'our own, you must trade on the merits and money of other people. M}^ father got the title by services in the army, and died penniless. On the sti'cngth of his services, I got a pension of £400 a year; on the strength of £400 a year, I took credit for £800 ; on the strength of £800 a year, I married your mother, with £10,000 ; on the strength of £10,000, I took credit for £40,000, and paid Dickey Gossip three guineas a week to go about every- where calling me " Stingy Jack." Geor. Ha! ha! — a disagreeable nickname. 286 THE BEQUEST. Sir J. But a valuable reputation. When a man is called stingy, it is as much as calling him rich; and Avhen a man 's called rich, why, he 's a man uni- versally respected. On the strength of my respecta- bility, I wheeled a constituency, changed my j^olitics, resigned my seat to a minister, who, to a man of such stake in the country, could offer nothing less in return than a jiatent office of £2,000 a year. That 's the way to succeed in life. Humbug, my dear ! — all humbug, upon my soul ! Geor. I must say that you — Sir J. Know the world? — to be sure. Now, for your fortune, as I spend all that I have, I can have nothing to leave j'ou : 3'et, even without counting your uncle, you have always passed for an heiress, on the credit of your expectations from the savings of " Stingy Jack." The same with your education : I never grudged any thing to make a show; never stuffed your head Avith histories and homilies ; but you draw, you sing, you dance, j^ou walk well into a room; and that's the way young ladies are edu- cated, nowadays, in order to become a pride to their parents and a blessing to their hussband — that is. when they have cauglit him. Apropos of a hus- band, you know we thought of Sir Frederick Blount. Geor. Ah, papa, he is charming! Sir J. He teas so, my dear, before we knew your poor uncle was dead ; but an heiress, such as j-ou will be, should look out for a duke. — Where the deuce is Evelyn this morning? Geor. I 've not seen him, papa. What a strange THE BEQUEST. 287 character he is! — so sarcastic! and yet he can be agreeable. Si?' J. A humorist — a cynic! one never knows how to take him. My private secretary ; a poor cousin; has not got a shilling; and yet, hang me, if he docs not keep us all at a sort of a distance. Geor. But why do you take him to live with us, papa, since there 's no good to be got by it? Sir J. There you are Avrong : he has a great deal of talent : — prepares my si^eeches, writes my pamphlets, looks up my calculations. Besides, he is our cousin — he has no salarj-. Kindness to a poor relation always tells well in the world ; and benevo- lence is a useful virtue — particularly when j^ou can have it for nothing. With our other cousin, Clara, it was different : her father thought fit to leave me her guardian, though she had not a penny — a mere useless incumbrance: so, 3'ou see, I got my half- sister, Ladj'' Franklin, to take her off my hands. Geor. How much longer is Lady Franklin's visit to be ? Sir J. I do n't know, my dear : the longer, the better ; for her husband left her a good deal of money at her own disposal. — Ah! here she comes. Enter Lady Franklin and Clara, r. My dear sister, we were just loud in your praise. But how's this? — not in mourning? Lady F. Why should I go into mourning for a man I never saw ? 288 THE BEQUEST. Sir J. Still there may be a legacy. Jjady F. Then there '11 be less cause for affliction. [Betires np a little. Sir J. lAside'] Yery silly woman ! — But, Clara, I see you are more attentive to the proj^er decorum : yet 3'ou ai*e very, very, very distantly connected witli the deceased — a third cousin, I think. Clara. Mr. Mordaunt once assisted my father, and these i)Oor robes are all the gratitude I can show him. Sir J. [Aside^ Gratitude ! humph ! I am afraid the minx has got expectations. Lady F. So, Mr. Graves is the executor : the will is addi-essed to him? The same Mr. Graves who is always in black — always lamenting his ill fortune and his sainted Maria, who led him the life of a dog? Sir J. The very same. His liveries are black ; his carriage is black ; he always rides a black gallo- way ; and, faith, if he ever marry again, I think he will show his respect to the sainted Maria by marry- ing a black woman ! Lady F. Ha, ha ! we shall see. [J-SiVZe] Poor Graves ! I always liked him : he made an excellent husband. Enter Evelyn, icho seats himself, n. c, and takes up a hook, unobserved. Sir J. \Yhat a crowd of relations this will brings to liglit: Mr. Stout, the political economist; Lord Glossmore — Jjady F. Whose grandfather kept a paAvnbroker's THE BEQUEST. 289 shop, and who, accordingly, entertains the profound- cst contempt for every thing popular, parvenu, and plebeian. Sir J. Sir Frederick Blount — Jjady F. Sir Fwedewick Blount, you mean, who objects to the letter r as being too tt'ough, and there- fore dwops its acquaintance: — one of the new class of i^rudent young gentlemen, who, not having spirits and constitution for the heart}' excesses of their pred- ecessors, entrench themselves in the dignity of a lady- like languor. A man of foshion, in the last century, was riotous and thoughtless; in this, he is tranquil and egotistical : he never does any thing that is silly, or saj's any thing that is wise. — [To Georgina] I beg your pardon, my dear! I believe Sir Frederick is an admirer of yours. — Then, too, our poor cousin, the scholar — Oh, Mr. Evelyn, there you are ! \_Crosses to l. corner. Sir J. Evelj^i ! the very person I wanted : Avhere have you been all day? Have you seen to those papers ? have j'ou written ni}'' epitaph on poor Mor- daunt? — Latin, you know; have j'^ou reported my speech at Exeter Hall ? have you looked out the de- bates on the customs? and, oh ! have you mended up all the old pens in the study? Gear. And have you brought me the black floss silk? have 3'ou been to Stoi'r's for my ring? and, as we can not go out on this melancholy occasion, did you call at Hookham's for the last H. B. and the Comic Annual? Eve. \^^Uways reading'] Certainly, Paley is right 1>. S.— 25. 290 THE BEQUEST. upon that point; for, \n\t the syllogism thus — [look- ing up'] Mu'ani — Sir — Miss Vesey — you want some- thing of me? — Paley observes, that to assist even the undeserving, tends to the better regulation of our charitable feelings. — No ajjologies : I am quite at 3'our service. Sir J. Now he 's in one of his humors. Lady F. You allow him strange liberties, Sir John. Eve. You will be the less surprised at that, madam, when I inform 3'ou that Sir John allows me nothing else. I am now about to draw on his benevolence. Lady F. I beg your i)ardon, sir, and like your spirit. Sir John, I'm in the Avay, I see; for I know 3^our benevolence is so delicate, that 3'ou never allow an}^ one to detect it ! [ Walks aside a little, l. Eve. I could not do your commissions to-daj' : I have been to visit a poor woman who was my nurse and mother's last friend. She is very poor, very — sick — dying — and she owes six months' rent! Sir J. You know I should be most hapjiy to do any thing for yourself : but the nurse — [aside] some people's nurses are always ill! — there are so man^" impostors about. We '11 talk of it to-morrow. This most mournful occasion takes up all my attention. [Looking at his loatch] Bless me, so late ! I've letters to write, and — none of the pens are mended ! [Exit, R. Geor. [Taking out her purse] I think I will give it to him : — and jei, if I do n't get the fortune, after all! — papa allows me so little! — then I must have those ear-rings. [Puts up the purse] Mr. Evelyn, what is the address of your nurse? THE BEQUEST. 291 Eve. [ }Yriies and gives if] She has a good heart, Avith all her foibles. — Ah! Miss Vesey, if that poor woman had not closed the eyes of my lost mother, Alfred Evelyn had not been this beggar to j'our father ! [Clara loohs over the address. Geor. I will certainly attend to it — [fiside] if I get the fortune. Sir J. [^Calling icifhout] Gcorgy, I say ! Geor. Yes, j^apa ! [^Exit, r. [Evelyn has seated himself again at the table, r., and leans his face on his hands. Clara. His noble sjjirit Lowed to this ! Ah ! at least here I may give him comfort. \_Sits down to write] But he will recognize mj' hand. Lady F. [Looking over her shoidder] AVhat bill ar"o you paying, Clara? — Putting up a bank-note? Clara. Hush! — Oh, Lady Franklin, you are the kindest of human beings ! This is for a poor 2:)erson. I Avould not have her know whence it came, or she would refuse it. AVould jou? — No: he knows her handwriting, also. Lady F. Will I — Avhat? give the money myself? with pleasure ! Poor Clara ! why, this covers all 3''0ur savings ! and I am so rich. Clara. Nay, I would wish to do all myself: it is a pride — a duty — it is a joy; and I have so few joys ! — But, hush ! — this way. [They retire into the inner room, and converse in dumb-show. Eve. And thus must I grind out my life forever I I am ambitious, and Poverty drags me down ! I have 292 THE BEQUEST. learning, and Poverty makes me the drudge of fools. I love, and Poverty stands like a specter before the altar. — But, no ! if, as I believe, I am but loved again, I will — will — Avhat? — turn ojiium-eater, and dream of the Eden I may never enter. Lady F. \_To Clara] Yes, I will get my maid to copy and direct this : she writes well, and her hand Avill never be discovered. I will have it done and sent instanlly. [^Exit, R. [Clara advances to the front of the stage and seats herself. Evelyn, reading. Enter Sir Frederick Blount, r. c. Blount. No one in the woom. — Oh, Miss Douglas ! Pway, don't let me disturb you. Where is Miss Ycsey — Georgina ? [ Taking Clara's chair as she jises. Eve. ^Looking up, gives Clara a chair, and re-seats himself '\ [^Aside'] Insolent puppy ! Clara. Shall I tell her j^on are here, Sir Frederick? Blount. Not for the world ! [^s/c?e] Vewy pwetty girl, this companion. Clara. What did you think of the panorama, the other day, cousin Eveljm? Eve. [Reading'] T can not talk with civet in the room: A fine puss gentleman that 's all perfume. Kather good lines these. Blount. Sir ! THE BEQUEST. 293 Eve. [^Offering the hooli] Don't you think so? — Cowper. Blount. \_Dedining the booli] Cowper! Eve. Cowper. Blount. ^Shrugghig his shoulders, to ChARA] Stwange person, Mr. Evelj'n — quite a chawacter! — Indeed, the panowama gives you no idea of Naples — a de- lighlful place ! I make it a wulc to go there evewy second year. I am vewy fond of twaveling. You 'd like Womc — bad inns, but vewy fine wuins : — gives you quite a taste for that sort of thing. Eve. [^Reading'] How much (I dunce that has been sent to Rome, Excels a dunce that has been kept at home! Blount. [^Aside'] That fellow Cowper says vew}- odd things! Humph! it is beneath me to quaAvwel. \^Aloud^ It Avill not take long to wead the Will, I suppose. Poor old Mordaunt ! I am his neawest male welation. He was vewy eccentAvic. [_D?Y»fs his chair 7iearer'\ By the way, Miss Douglas, did you wemark my cuwicle? It is bAvinging euwicles into fashion. — I should be most happy, if you Avould allow me to dwive you out — nay, nay, I should, upon my word. [^Trying to take her hand. Eve. [Starting up'] A wasp ! a wasp ! — just going to settle ! Take care of the Avasp, Miss Douglas ! Blount. A Avasp ! — Avhere ? — do n't bAving it this Avay ! Some people do n't mind them. I 've a paAV- tieular dislike to Avasps: they sting feaAvfulljM Eve. I beg pardon — it 's only a gad-fly 1 294 THE BEQUEST. Enter Servant, r. Serv. Sii- John will bo liappj- to see yoii in his sludy, Sir Frederick. [^Exit Servant. Blount. Vcw}- weU. — Upon my word, there is something vcwy nice about this girl. To be sure. I love Georgina; but if this one Avould take a fancy to me — [thoughtfully^ Avell, I don't see what harm it could do me. — Au plaisir! [Exit, r. Ece. Clara ! Clara. Cousin ! Eve. And you, too, are a dependent! Clara. But on Lady Franklin, who seeks to make me forget it. Eve. Ay, but can the world forget it? This inso- lent condescension — this coxcombry of admiration — more galling than the arrogance of contempt! Look you, now: I'obe Beauty in silk and cashmere; hand Virtue into her chariot; lackey their caprices; Avrap them from the winds ; fence them round Avith a golden circle — and Virtue and Beaut}' are as goddesses, both to peasant and to prince. Strip them of the adjuncts : see Beauty and Virtue poor, dejiendent, solitar}' ; Avalking the world defenseless! — oh, then the devo- tion changes its character: the same crowd gather eager!}' around — fools, fops, libertines — not to wor- ship at the shrine, but to sacrifice the victim! Clara. My cousin, you are cruel. Eve. Forgive me ! There is a something, when a man's heart is better than his fortunes, that makes even aifection bitter. THE BEQUEST. 295 Clara. I can smile at the pointless innocence — Eve. Smile ! — and he took your hand ! Oh, Clara, 3^011 know not the tortui'es that I suifer hourly ! When others apjiroaeh you. — young, fair, rich, the sleek darlings of the world — I accuse you of your ver}- beauty;. I writhe beneath every smile that you be- stow. [ChAnx about to speak"] No — speak not! my heart has broken its silence, and jovl shall hear the rest. For you I have endured the weaiy bondage of this house — the fool's gibe, the hireling's sneer, the bread purchased by toils that should have led to loftier ends : yes, to see you — hear you : for this — for this I have lingered, suifered, and forborne. Oh, Clara, we are orphans both ! friendless both ! you are all in the world to me ! [*S7ie turns away"] Turn not away : my very soul speaks in these words — I LOVE you! Clara. No, Evelyn — Alfred — no! Say it not — think it not ! It were madness ! Eve. Madness ! — Nay, hear me yet. I am poor — penniless — a beggar for bread to a dying servant. True : but I have a heart of iron ; I have knowledge, patience, health ; and my love for you gives me, at last, ambition. I have trifled with raj^ own energies till noAv ; for I despised all things till I loved thee. With you to toil for, your step to support, your path to smooth, and I — I, poor Alfred Evelyn — promise at last to win for you even fame and fortune. Do not withdraw your hand — this hand — shall it not be mine? \_Kneels. Clara. Ah, Evelyn, never — never ! ^ 296 THE BEQUEST. Eve. Never ! [Itises. Clara. Forget this folly : our union is impossible; and to talk of love were to deceive both. Eve. [Bittei'ly'] Because I am poor! Clara. And I, too. — A marriage of privation, of penur}-, of daj^s that dread the morrow ! I have seen such a lot. Never return to this again. [^Crosses, r. Eve. Enough — you are obeyed. I deceived mj^- self — ha, ha! I fancied that I, too, was loved — I, whose youth is already half gone with care and toil ; whose mind is soured ; whom no body can love ; who ought to have loved no one ! Clara. \^Aside'\ And if it were only I to suffer, or, perhaps, to starve ! Oh, what shall I sa}' ? — Evel3'n — cousin ! Eve. Madam ! Clara. Alfred, I — I — Eve. Reject me? Clara. Yes! It is past! [£'.r?V, r. Eve. Let me think. It was yesterday her hand trembled when mine touched it : and the rose I gave her — yes, she pressed her ii2)s to it once, when she seemed as if she saw mc not. But it was a trap — a trick; for I was as poor then as now. This will be a jest for them all ! Well — courage ! it is but a poor heart that a coquette's contempt can break. And, now that I care for no one, the world is but a great chess-board ; and I will sit down in earnest, and play with Fortune. [Retires up to the table, r. THE BEQUEST. 297 Enter Lord Glossmore, preceded by Servant, r. Serv. I will tell Sir John, my lord. \_Exit, r. [Evelyn takes up the neicsjjaper. Gloss. The secretary- — hum! [Jb Evelyn] Fine day, sir! Any news from the East? Eve. (r.) Yes : — all the wise men have gone back there ! Gloss. Ha, ha ! — not all ; for here comes Mr. Stout, the great political economist. Enter Stout, r. Stout, (r. c.) Good morning, Glossmore ! Gloss, (l.) [Asidel Glossmore! — iho parveiiu! Stout. Afraid I might be late: been dotaiiicd at the vestry. Astonishing how ignomvnt the English poor are! Took me an hour and a half to beat it into the head of a stupid old widow, with nine cliil- dren, that to allow her three shillings a week was against all the rules of public moralitjM Eve. (r.) Excellent! — admirable! Your hand, sir ! Gloss. What ! you approve such doctrines, Mr. Evelj'n ! Are old women only fit to be starved? Eve. Starved ! — popular delusion ! Observe, my lord : to squander money upon those who starve, is onlj'' to afford encouragement to starvation ! Stoiit. [Aside'] A very superior person that. Gloss. Atrocious principles ! Give me the good old times, when it was the duty of the rich to succor the distressed. 298 THE BEQUEST. JEve. On second thoughts, yoii ai"c right, my lord. I, too, know a poor woman — ill, dying, in want. Shall she, too, perish ? Gloss. Perish ! — horrible ! — in a Christian coun- tr}^ ! Perish ! Heaven forbid ! Eve. [Holding out his hand'] What, then, will you give her? Glo-^s. Aliem! Sir, the parish ought to give. Stout. [THY/i vehemence'] No, no, no! — certainly not! Enter Sir John, -Blount, Lady Franklin, and Georgina, r. Sir J. How d'ye do? — Ah! how d'j'o do, gen- tlemen ? This is a most melancholy meeting ! The poor deceased — Avhat a man he was ! Blount. I Avas chwistened Fwedewick, after him. He was my first cousin. Sir J. And Georgina, his own niece — next of kin. An excellent man, though odd : a kind heart, but no liver. I sent him, twice a year, thirty dozen of the Cheltenham waters. It's a comfort to reflect on these little attentions, at such a time. Stout. And I, too, sent him the parliamentary de- bates regularl}', bound in calf He was my second cousin — sensible man, and a follower of Malthus : never married to increase the surplus population, and fritter away his money on his own children. And now — Eve. He reaps the benefit of celibacy in the THE BEQUEST. 299 prospective gratitude of every cousin he had in the world ! Lady F. Ha, ha, ha ! Sir J. Hush, husli ! Decency, Lady Franklin ! decency ! Unter Servant, r. Serv. Mr. Graves, Mr. Sharp ! Sir J. Oh, here 's Mr. Graves. That's Shai-p, the lawyer, who brought the Will from Calcutta. Enter Graves and Sharp, r. Chorus of Sir J.. Gloss., Blount, Stout. Ah, sir! Ah. Mr. Graves! [Georgina holds her hand- Sir J. A sad occasion ! kerchief to her eyes. Graves. But ever}^ thing in life is sad. — Be com- forted, Miss Vesey. True, you have lost an uncle ; but r — I have lost a wife — such a Avife ! — the first of her sex — and the second cousin of the defunct! Excuse me. Sir John : at the sight of your mourning, my wounds bleed afresh. [Servants hand round refreshments. Sir J. Take some refreshment — a glass of wine. Graves. Thank you! — Very fine sherry! — My poor, sainted Maria ! sherry was her M-ine. Every thing reminds me of Maria. — Ah, Lad}' Franklin! you knew her. Nothing in life can charm me now. [.<4.s«Wr?] A monstrous fine woman that! Sir J. And now to business. Eveljm, you may retire. 300 THE BEQUEST. Sharp. \_Lookin(j at his 7iotes'] Evelyn — any rela- tion to Alfred Evelyn ? Eve. The same. Sharp. Cousin to the deceased, seven times re- moved. — Be seated, sir: there may be some legacy, though trifling. All the relations, however distant, should be present. Lady F. Then Clara is related : I will go for her. \_Exit, R. Geor. Ah, Mr. Evelj'n, I hope you will come in for something — a few hundreds, or even more. Sir J. Silence ! hush ! whugh — ugh ! Attention ! \_Whihi the Lawyer opens the Will, re-enter Lady Franklin and Clara. Sharp. The Will is very short, being all personal property. He was a man that always came to the point. Sir J. I wish there were more like him. \_Chorus groan and shahe their heads. Sharp. [Beading'] " I, Frederick James Mordaunt, of Calcutta, being, at the present date, of sound mind, though infirm body, do hereby give, will, and be- queath, imprimis, to my second cousin, Benjamin Stout, Esq., of Pall Mall, London — \_Cho7-us exhibit lively emotionl — being the value of the parliamentary debates, with which he has been pleased to trouble me for some time past — deducting the carriage thereof, which he always forgot to pay — the sum of 141. 2s. 4d." \_Chor^is breathe more freely. Stout. Eh ! what ! 14/. ? Oh, hang the old miser ! Sir J. Decency — decency! Proceed, sir. THE BEQUEST. 301 Sharp. \_Readm(j'\ " Item : To 8ir Frederick Blount, Baronet, my nearest male relative " — [^Chorus exhibit lively emotion. Blount. Poor old boy ! [Georgina puts her arm over Blount's chair. Sharp. [^Reading'] '•'• Being, as 1 am informed, the best dressed young gentleman in London, and in testimon}' to the only merit I ever heard he possessed, the sum of £500, to bu}' a dressing-case." [^Chorus breathe more freely. Georgina catches her father s eye, and removes her arm. Blount. \_Laufjhin(j confusedly'] Ha, ha, ha ! vewy poor Avit ! — low ! — vew}- — vewy low ! Sir J. Silence, now, will you ? Sharp. \_Beading'\ " Item : To Charles Lord Gloss- more — who asserts that he is my relation — ni}' col- lection of dried butterflies, and the pedigree of the Mordaunts from the reign of King John." \_Chorus as before. Gloss. Butterflies ! — pedigree ! I disown the plebeian ! Sir J. [^Angrily"] LTpon m}- word, this is too revolt- ing! Decency ! — Go on. Sharp. [^Reading'] " Item : To Sir John Yesey, Baron, Knight of the Guelph, F.R.S., F.S.A., etc."— \_Chorus as before. Sir J. Hush ! Noio it is really interesting. Sharp. \_Iieading'] " Who married m}'' sister, and who sends me, every j'ear, the Cheltenham waters — which nearly gave me mj^ death — I bequeath — the empty bottles." 302 THE BEQUEST. Sir J. Why, the ungrateful, rascally, old — Chorus. Decency, Sir John — decency! Sharp. \_Ji ending'] " Item : To Henry Graves, Esq., of the Albany " — [^Chorus as before. Graves. Pooh, gentlemen! my usual luck: not even a ring, I dare swear! Sharp. {^Reading'] " The sum of £5,000, in the three-per-cents." Lady F. I wish you ]oj ! Graves. Joy — pooh! Three-per-cents! Funds are sure to go. Had it been land., now — though only an acre ! Just like my luck. Sharp. [Reading'] "Item: To my niece, Georgina Vesey " — \_Chorus as before. Sir J. Ah, now it comes! Sharp. [Reading] " The sum of £10,000, India stock ; being, with her father's reputed savings, as much as a single woman ought to possess." Sir J. And what the devil, then, does the old fool do with all his money? Chorus. Really, Sir John, this is too revolting! — Decency ! Hush ! Sharp. [Reading] '■ And, with the aforesaid lega- cies and exceptions, I do will and bequeath the Avholo of my fortune — in India stock, bonds, exchequer bills, three-jjcr-cents, consols, and in the bank of Cal- cutta, (constituting him, hereby, sole residuary leg- atee, and joint executor with the aforesaid Henry Graves, Esq.,) — to Alfred Evelyn, now or formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge. [Uiiiversal excitement] Being, I ani told, an oddit}^, like myself; the only THE BEQUEST. 303 one of 1113* relations who never fawned on me ; and who, having known privation, may the better employ wealth."' [^All me] And now, sir, I have only to wish you jo}^, and give 3^011 this letter from the deceased : 1 believe it is important. [^Gives letter to Evelyn. Eve. lC?-ossi?ig ove)- to Clara] Ah, Clara, if 3'ou had but loved me ! Clam. [^Turning away~\ And his wealth, even more than povert}', separates us forever ! [^All surround Evelyn with congratulations. Sir J. [To Georgina] Go, child; put a good face on it : he 's an immense match ! — My dear fellow^ I wish 3^ou joy ! You are a gi-eat man now — a very great man ! Eve. [AsiV7e] And her voice alone is silent ! Gloss. If I can be of any use to you — Stout. Or I, sir — Blount. Or I. — Shall I put you up at the clubs? Sharp. You will want a man of business. I trans- acted all Mr. Mordaunt's affiiirs. Sir J. Tush, tush ! Mr. Eveljni is at home here. Always looked on him as a son. Nothing in the world we Avould not do for him — nothing ! Eve. Lend me £10 for my old nui-se ! \_Chorus put their hands into their pockets. Curtain. 304 THE BEQUEST. COSTUMES. Alfred Evelyn. — Black frock coat and vest; Oxford gray trowsers; cloth-top shoes; black neckerchief. Stout. — Gi*een, cut-off coat, with broad tails; striped vest; white cravat with large tie; nankeen trowsers, without straps; cloth-top shoes; large, red pocket-handkerchief; white hat, with black crape round it. Sir John Vesey. — Black dress-coat and trowsers; white vest and cravat; white hair; double eye-glasses, hanging by chain round neck. Glossmore. — Black frock coat and trowsers; polished leather boots; black vest; white cravat; light kid gloves. Graves. — Body-coat, and full black suit; black gloves. Blount. — Fashionable black suit. Sharp. — Plain, tight-fitting, black suit; old beaver hat. Clara Douglas. — Black barege walking dress, high neck and long sleeves, slightly trimmed with black lace; hair plain; black shoes and stockings; black satin apron. Lady Franklin. — A gay-colored silk dress. Georgina. — White muslin, cut high, and long sleeves, trimmed with black ribbons and jet ornaments. THE DEATH OP CATO. 305 THE DEATH OF CATO. From Addison's Cato. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Cato, A Roman Senator. PoRCius, son of Cato. Marcia, daughter of Cato. Lucia, friend of Marcia. Lucius, old friend of Cato. JuBA, a Niimidian Prince, suitor to Marcia^ Four Freedmen. Scene : — A Chamber in Cato's Palace. Cato discov- ered, sitting in deep meditation, holding in his hand Plato's hook on the Immortality of the Soul; a drawn sword lying by him on a table. Cato. It must be so : Plato, thou reasonest well ; Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'T is the Divinity that stirs within us ; 1), R.— 20. 306 THE DEATH OF CATO. 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity ! \_Rising and coming forward^ That pleas- ing, dreadful thought! — Through what variety of untried being — Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold : If there 's a power above us, (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her woi'ks,) he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in, must be hajjpy. But when? or where? — This world was made for Csesar. — I 'm weary of conjectures : this must end 'em. \^Goes back to the table, laying his hand on his swoi'd. Thus am I doubly armed : my death and life. My bane and antidote, are both before me : This in a moment brings me to an end ; But this informs me I shall never die. [^Comes forward with a roll of paper and a sword. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — The stars shall fade away ; the sun himself GroAV dim with age, and nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth ; Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that hangs upon me? Nature oppressed, and harassed out with care. Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favor her. THE DEATH OF CATO. 307 That my awakened soul may take hev flight, Ecnewcd in all her strength, and fresh with life — An offering fit for heaven. Let guilt or fear Disturb man's rest : Cato knows neither of 'em : Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die. \_Eeturns and sits. Enter Porcius, ii. But, hah! how's this? My son! Why this intrusion? Were not my orders that I would be private ? Why am I disobeyed ? Por. Alas, my father ! What means this sword, this instrument of death ? Let me convey it hence. \_Takes it up. Cato. Kash youth, forbear ! Por. Oh, let the prayers, the entreaties of your friends, Their tears, their common danger, wrest it from you. Cato. Wouldst thou betray me ? wouldst thou give me up, A slave, a captive, into Coesar's hands? [Rises. Retire, and learn obedience to a father ! Or know, j'oung man — Por. Look not thus sternly on me : You know I 'd rather die than disobey you. [Lays down the sword. Cato. 'T is well : again I 'm master of myself [Takes up the sword. Now, Caesar, let thy troops beset our gates, And bar each avenue ; th}' gathering fleets 308 THE DEATH OF CATO. O'ei'spread the sea, and stop up every port : Cato shall open to himself a passage, And mock thy hopes. \_Comes forward, r. For. \_Kneels, r. c] Oh, sir, forgive your son. Whose grief hangs heavy on him ! Oh, my father — How am I sure it is not the last time I e'er shall call you so? — be not displeased, Oh, be not angry with me. whilst I Aveep, And, in the anguish of my heart, beseech you To quit the dreadful purpose of 3^our soul. Cato. Thou hast been ever good and dutiful. [^Lays his hand on his head. Weep not, my son ; all will be well again : The righteous gods, whom I have sought to please, Will succor Cato and protect his children. For. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart. \_Rises. Cato. Porcius, thou may'st rely upon m}^ conduct : Cato will never act what misbecomes him. But go, my son : take care that naught be Avanting Among thy father's friends. See them embarked ; And tell me if the winds and seas befriend 'em. — My soul is quite weighed down with care, and asks The soft refreshment of a moment's sleep. [Cato goes up. Porcius foUoxcs him and kneels at his feet ; Oato looks kindly upon him, and then e.rit, l. For. My thoughts are more at ease; my heart revives. THE DEATH OP CATO. 309 Enter Marcia, l. Oh, Marcia ! oh, my sister ! still there 's hope : Our father will not cast away a life So needful to us all, and to his country. He is retired to rest, and seems to cherish Thoughts full of peace. He has dispatched me hence. With orders that bespeak a mind corajiosed. And studious for the safety of his friends. Marcia, take care that none disturb his slumbers. [£'x. S.— 2S. 330 THE FORLORN HOPE OF MONA. Bold ai'c their bearings ; and I fear me not But they have hearts will not belie their looks. I like them Avell : yd would to righteous heaven Those valiant veterans that on Snowdon guard Their scant}' pittance of bleak libert}'* * Were here to join them. We would teach these wolves, Though M^e permit their i*age to j^rowl our coasts, That vengeance waits them ere thej' rob our altars. Hail, Druid, liail ! We find these valiant guards Accoutered so as well bespeaks the wisdom That framed their phalanx. We but wait th}' bless- ing To lead them 'gainst the foe. Cad. Caractacus, Behold this sword, the sword of old Belinus ; Stained with the blood of giants; and its name Trifingus. Many an age its charmed blade Has slept within yon consecrated trunk. Lo, I unsheath it, king! I wave it o'er thee : Mark what portentous streams of scarlet light Flow from the brandished falchion. On thy knee Receive the sacred pledge ; — and mark our words : By the bright circle of the golden sun. By the brief courses of the errant moon. By the dread potency of every star That studs the mystic zodiac's burning girth — By each and all of these supernal signs, We do adjure thee, with this trusty blade, To guard yon central oak, whose holiest stem Involves the spirit of high Taranis. This be thy charge ; to which in aid we join THE FORLORN HOPE OF MONA. 331 Ourselves und our sage brethren. With our vassals, Thy son and the Briguntian prince shall make Incursion on the foe. Ckir. In this and all Be our observance meet. Yet surely, Druid, The fresh'and active vigor of these youths Might better suit with this important charge. Not that my heart shrinks at the glorious task, But will with ready zeal pour forth its blood Upon the sacred roots my firmest courage Might fail to save : j'et, fathers, I am old ; And if I fell the foremost in the onset. Should leave a son behind might still defend you. Cad. The sacred adjuration we have uttered May never be recalled. Car. Then be it so. But do not think I counsel this through fear. Old as I am, I trust with half our powers I could drive back these Komans to their ships : Dastards, that come, as doth the cowering fowler, To tangle me with snares, and take me tamely. Slaves, they shall find that ere they gain their prey, They have to hunt it boldly with barbed sjDears, And meet such conflict as the chafed boar Gives to his stout assailants. O ye gods ! That I might instant face them ! Cad. Be thy son's The onset. Arv. From his soul that son doth thank ye. Blessing the Avisdom that preserves his father Thus to the last. Oh, if the favoring gods 332 THE FORLORN HOPE OF MONA. Direct this arm, if their high will permit, I jiour a iDrospcrous vengeance on the foe ! I ask for life no longer than to crown The valiant task. Steel, then, ye powers of heaven, Steel ni}' firm soul with your own fortitude. Free from alloy of passion. Give me courage That knows not rage ; revenge that knows not malice: Let me not thirst for carnage, but for conquest; And conquest gained, sleep vengeance in my breast, Ere in its sheath my sword. Car. Oh, hear his father ! If ever rashness spurred me on, great gods. To acts of danger, thirsting for renown ; If ere my eager soul pursued its course Bej'ond just reason's limit, visit not My faults on him. I am the thing you made me — Vindictive, bold, precipitate, and fierce : But as you gave to him a milder mind. Oh, bless him, bless him with a milder fate ! Eve. Nor yet unheard let Evelina pour Her pi-ayers and tears. Oh, hear a hapless maid, That even through half the years her life has num- bered, Even nine long years, has dragged a trembling being, Beset with pains and perils. Give her peace ; And to endear it more, be that blest peace "Won by her brother's sword. Oh, bless his arm, iVnd bless his valiant followers, one and all ! Eli. \_Entering armed^ Hear, heaven ! and let this pure and virgin j^rayer Plead even for Elidurus, whose sad soul THE FORLORN HOPE OP MONA. 333 Can not look up to your immortal thrones, And urge his own request : else would he ask That all the dangers of the a2:)proacliing fight Might fall on him alone ; that every spear The Romans Avield might at his breast be aimed, Each arrow darted on his rattling helm; That so the brother of this beauteous maid, Returning safe with victory and peace, Might bear them to her bosom. Cad. NoAV rise all ; And heaven, that knows what most ye ought to ask, Grant all ye ought to have ! Behold, the stars Are ftided: universal darkness reigns. ISTow is the dreadful hour ; now will our torches Glare with more livid horror; now our shrieks And clanking arms will more appall the foe. But heed, ye bards, that for the sign of onset Yc sound the ancientest of all j'our rhjnnes; Whose birth tradition notes not, nor who framed Its lofty strains. The force of that high air Did Julius feel, when, fired by it, our fathers First drove him recreant to his ships: and ill Had fared his second landing, but that fate Silenced the master bard who led the song. Now forth, brave pair ! Go, with our blessing go ! Mute be the march as ye ascend the hill ; Then, when jq hear the sound of our shrill trumpet. Fall on the foe. Car. NoAv glorj' be thy guide ! Pride of my soul, go forth and conquer! Eve. Brother, 334 THE FORLORN HOPE OF MONA. Yet one embrace ! Oh, thou much-honored stranger, I charge thee fight by my dear brother's side, And shield liim from the foe : for he is brave, And will, with bold and well-directed arm. Return thy succor. Cad. Xow, ye priests, Avith speed Strew on the altar's height your sacred leaves. And light the morning flame. But wh}" is this? Why doth our brother Mador snatch his harp From yonder bough? why this way bend his step? Car. He is entranced. The fillet bursts that bound His liberal locks ; his snowy vestments fall In ampler folds ; and all his floating form Doth seem to glisten with divinity. Enter Mador xcith a harp. Yet is he speechless. Say, thou chief of bards, What is there in this airy vacancy That thou, Avith fiery and irregular glance, Should scan thus Avildly? Wherefore heaves thy breast ? Why starts — Mador. Hark ! Heard ye not yon footstep dread, That shook the earth with thundering tread? 'Tis Death!— In haste The warrior passed : High towered his helmed head. I marked his helm ; I marked his shield ; I spied the sparkling of his spear; I saw his sriant arm the falchion Avield : THE FORLORN HOPE OF MONA. 335 Wide waved the bickering blade, and fired the angry air. '•On me," he ci'ied, "my Britons, wait; To lead you to the field of fate I come. Yon car That cleaves the air Descends to throne my state : I mount your champion and your god. My proud steeds neigh beneath the thong : Hark to my wheels of brass that rattle loud ! Hark to my clarion shrill that brays the woods among ! l_Here one of the Druids bloivs the sacred trumpet. On, my Britons ! Battle slain, Eapture gilds your parting hour : I, that all despotic reign. Claim but then a moment's power." Swift the soul of British flame Animates some kindred frame; Swiftly to life and light triumphant flies. Exults again in martial ecstasies ; Again for ft-eedom fights, again for freedom dies ! Car. It does, it does ! Uneonquered, undismayed. The British soul revives ! Champion, lead on ! I follow : give me way. Some blessed shaft Will rid me of this clog of cumbrous age, And I again shall, in some happier mold, Else to redeem my country. \_The sacred trumpet is again sounded; the Druids kindle a strong flame on the altar; the three Sol- diers vnsheath their swoi'ds, and the ivhole com- pany form a tableau, upon which the curtain falls. 336 THE FORLORN HOPE OF MONA. COSTUMES. Caractacus. — Close trowsers of red cloth ; plaid tunic ; short cloak of blue or black; sandals; necklace of silver chains, hanging low on the breast; round shield about two feet in diameter, with a hollow boss in the center, and ornamented •with concentric circles of brazen knobs, like brass nail- heads; heavy spear and sword; the hair long, and falling over the back and shoulders. The general appearance of the dress is like that of a Highland chief, but more rude. Arviragus. — Brown, close trowsers; tunic of bear's skin; flesh arms; dark hair; very long and heavy mustaches, but no beard on the chin; bronze bracelets, sword, spear, shield. Elidurus. — Flesh-colored arms and legs; blue tunic; red and blue short cloak; long curling hair; gold bracelets. His armor is like that of Arviragus. Cadwall. — A long white dress reaching to the feet, confined about the waist by a girdle with a golden buckle; over this, an ample robe of white, worn like a shawl or cloak, but not fastened in front; necklace of gold; long gray beard; wreath of oak leaves, surmounted by a tiara of gold. (See frontispiece to Palgrave' s Ilistorj/ of the Anglo-Saxons.) Mador. ^ — White flowing robes; white beard. His harp must be gilded, so as to glisten in the light. The other Druids and bards may wear robes of white, blue, or green. They all have long beai'ds. One Druid may carry a golden crescent; another may hold a bough of mistletoe. The bards are distinguished by their shining harps. Evelina. — Tunic of several colors, in rich folds; and over this a robe fastened with a dark brooch; a necklace composed of many rings of gold ; long light hair, descending loosely over the shoulders; a head-band of jet. ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES. HIGHER MATHEMATICS. Ray's Plane and Solid Geona- etry. Ray's Geometry and Trigo- nonnetry. Ray's Analytic Geometry. Ray's Klements of Astronomy. Ray's Surveying and Naviga- tion. Ray's Differential and Integral Calculus. Evans's School Geonnetry. ENGLISH GRAMMAR. Harvey's Elem'y Grammar. jPinneo's Primary Granriniar. Harvey's English Grammar. |Pinneo's Analytical Granimar. ANALYSIS AND COMPOSITION. Pinneo's English Teacher. IPinneo's Exercises in False Pinneo's Guide to Composition. | Syntax. Pinneo's Parsing Exercises. | Williams's Parser's Manual. GEOGRAPHY. Eclectic Primary Geography, Number 1. Eclectic Intermediate Geography, Number 2. Eclectic School Geography, No. 3. " In laying out the general plan of the work, it seeins to me that great care is taken to distribute the topics in the right places, and to devote to each its legitimate portion of space — neither too much nor too little. . . . No pains is spared to make the LANGUAGE PLAIN AND SIMPLE, and it sccms to me that in this re- spect the authors have hecti eminently successful. . . . The Maps are beyond all praise. . . . The System of Map- Drawing is the best I have seen. . . . The Illustrations are chosen with excellent judgment.''' — Hon. WM. T. HARRIS, Sup't Public Schools, St. Louis. HISTORY AND CONSTITUTION. Venatale's U.S. History. 1 Thalheimer's Ancient History. Andrews's Constitution of the Thalheimer's Mediaeval and United States. I Modern History. SCHOOL MUSIC. Phillips's Day-Sehool Singer. I Voung Singer, Part II. Young Singer, Part I. | Young Singer's Manual. TAheral Terms on Sample Copies and Supplies for first Introduction. i^'N^/i°N"k?'i:} WILSON, HINKLE & CO., Publishers, {'^iwMTi^ ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES. PENMANSHIP. Eclectic Copy-Books. Eclectic Prim'y Writing-Book. Eclectic Exercise- Book. Eclectic Writing-Cards. Hand -Book of Eclectic Pen- manship. Eclectic Copy-Book Covers. ELOCUTION. McGuffey's Juvenile Speaker. McGuffey's Eclectic Speaker. McGuffey's High School Reader McGuffey's Rhetorical Guide. Cole's Institute Reader. Hemans Ladies' Reader. Kidd's Elocution and Vocal Culture. Kidd's Rhetorical Reader. Venable's School Stage. Venable's Annateur Actor. SCIENCE. Schuyler's Principles of Logic. I Norton's Natural Philosophy. Brown's Physiol, and Hygiene. | Norton's Elements of Physics. LANGUAGES. Bartholomew's Latin Grammar [ Duffet's French Method, Part I. Bartholomew's Latin Gradual. | Duffet's French Method, Part IL TEACHERS' MANUALS. The Examiner, or Teacher's Aid. Smart's Manual of Free Gym- nastics. Object Lessons. Go'w's Morals and Manners. Hailnnan's Kindergarten Cul- ture. Hailnnan's Lectures on Peda- gogy. SCHOOL RECORDS. White's Com. School Register. I ^A^hite's Teacher's Record. White's Grad. School Register. ( White's Pupil's Daily Record. ECLECTIC SCHOOL PENS. No. lOO, School Pen. No. 200, Commercial Pen. No. 300, Ladies' Pen. Liberal Terms on Sample Copies and Sispplies for first Introduction, ^cTN^ii^TA^V] WILSON, HINKLE & CO., Publishers, {'^lwnSrK^*• '5 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 043 715 3