822 
 
 TG53g 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2018 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/gipsyfarmerorjacOOjohn 
 
THE 
 
 GIPSY FARMER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 JACK AND JACK’S BROTHER. 
 
 &w IBratwa, 
 
 IN TWO ACTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. B. JOHNSTONE, 
 
 COMEDIAN, 
 
 Author of Gale Breezily, Tufflehausen, Phoebe Hessel, dec. 
 
 THOMAS HAILES LACY, 
 
 89, STRAND, LONDON. 
 
GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 j4s performed at the Surrey Theatre, March, 1849. 
 
 Characters. ^ 
 
 CHRISTOPHER CABLE ( a Magistrate) ...... Mr. Neville. 
 
 LUKE HATFIELD (his Clerk) . Mr. Honner. 
 
 ABEL ALLNUTT [a Gipsy Farmer ). Mr. Heslop. 
 
 MARK \ rrr - \ ( Mr. Morrison. 
 
 MATTHEW }. (Gipsies) . Mr. Hawkins. 
 
 ALFRED ( Mate in the King's Service) . Mr. Fredericks 
 
 JACK (Seaman in the same) . Mr. Shepherd. 
 
 JOE (an Orphan) ..... Mr. Cowell. 
 
 BRIARFIELD) (n , 77 . 
 
 HEDGEROW j ( G<mstailes ) 
 
 Gipsies, Smugglers. 
 
 MARIAN (the Gipsy Queen) .. Mrs. Yining. 
 
 MARGARET (Cable's Daughter) .. Mrs. Hughes. 
 
 MARY MAYBUSH (her Waiting-Maid) . Miss Martin. 
 
 Costumes. 
 
 Christopher Cable. —Old-fashioned suit. 
 
 Luke Hatfield.—P lain black suit. 
 
 Abel Allnutt. —A farmer’s plain suit. 
 
 Mark and Matthew. —Gipsy dresses. 
 
 Alfred. —Mate’s jacket and trousers. 
 
 Jack. —A sailor’s suit. 
 
 Joe.—A ragged suit. 
 
 Briarfield and Hedgerow. —Policemen’s dresses. 
 
 Marian.— A la Meg Merrilies. 
 
 Margaret. —A neat dress of the present day. 
 Mary Maybush. —A ditto. 
 
%12. 
 
 3<oS3^ 
 
 [Mr. Lacy’s List.] 
 
 THE 
 
 
 GIPSY FAKMEE. 
 
 Scene First. — A Dwarf Wall , with large iron gates in the centre, 
 broken and dilapidated in appearance , R. u. E.— Within the 
 wall, part of a Mansion, of the Elizabethan time, is visible, with 
 closed and broken windows overgrown with ivy, and wearing 
 the appearance of neglect and decay — R. 3 and 4 e., trees of 
 heavy foliage, backed by the horizon and distant country—lights 
 down—the moon is shining brightly on the scene . 
 
 Enter Matthew, c., and Mark, r. 
 
 Mat. The lady moon wears her Sunday clothes : she looks 
 as bonnie and as bright as a maiden on her marriage morn. 
 Mark. No business can be done to-night. 
 
 Mat. No, nor any other, unless upon, the sly; for our rum 
 cull is too just to wink at any family business. So, w T hat we 
 do, we must do unknown to her. 
 
 Mark. It’s a pity she’s so particular, although I must-say, 
 since she ruled us we have done much better; she has made 
 most of us honest. 
 
 • Mat. ’Twill be a long time before she makes me honest; 
 my interest binds me to the tribe ; I was born a gipsy, and I 
 will die a gipsy. But I’ll not refuse a chance if it offers; and 
 there are others of my way of thinking. 
 
 Mark. A few; but we must keep dark, for did she but 
 suspect us, she would drive us from the tribe. Most of them 
 dote upon the very ground she walks on. ( a low whistle like the 
 note of a bird is heard) 
 
 Mat. Hallo ! that’s the call of a pal; there’s something in 
 the wind this darky. Mark, stag who it is. 
 
 Mark, {goes to back and looks out, c.) ’Tis the skipper. 
 
 Mat. What can he want? it’s too bright a night to run a 
 cargo. 
 
 Mark. You’ll soon know; for here he is. 
 
 Enter Abel Allnutt, l. u. e., his appearance that of a com¬ 
 fortable farmer . 
 
 Abel. All right; no listeners. 
 
4 GIPSY FARMER. [ACT 1. 
 
 Mare. Safe ! they are all at roost! we are only the waking 
 birds. 
 
 Abel. Owls! 
 
 Mat. Or hawks! as you may need us. Stash patter, unless 
 it’s to the purpose. What’s the lay ? 
 
 Abel. Light work, and well paid. 
 
 Mark. That will suit us. 
 
 Abel. You know who and what lam? 
 
 Mark. As bold a smuggler as ever sailed under false 
 colours. 
 
 Abel. Ay! few would take the honest yeoman Abel Allnutt 
 for what he is. My trim farm and well-kept land deceive all! 
 Here’s a hand to guide a plough or tend the wheel—to cross a 
 broad acre or sail on the bright green sea ! The roof of my 
 barn covers more kegs than corn; and the clever exciseman 
 little dreams that the sturdy farmer is the stealthy smuggler. 
 
 Mat. Ay; you’re a bold one, there’s no denying; a safe 
 and a sure card! Well now, what is it ? time passes, and we 
 pad the hoof to-night. 
 
 Abel. You must stay to aid me in my plan. 
 
 Mat. Must! 
 
 Abel. Ay, must I We know each other; so no trifling. I 
 want your assistance; I can and will pay for it. I am rejected 
 by a maiden I love. Ah! you may smile; but I love desperately 
 and devotedly, and I am not a man to have my purpose 
 crossed. I want you to assist me in forcing her on board my 
 lugger; once there, I’ll frighten her into marriage. You’ll do it? 
 
 Mark. With all my heart. 
 
 Mat. And mine—the time and place? 
 
 Abel. To-morrow night, as the moon goes down, here, on 
 this spot, I’ll find means to send the lady. 
 
 Mat. But will you not come with her? 
 
 Abel. No, I’ll remain at the farm to join in the pursuit, and 
 disarm suspicion ;—when the hue-and-cry is over, I’ll join you 
 on board the lugger. 
 
 Mat. We understand. 
 
 Abel. Here’s your retaining fee— more when the bird is 
 snared. Good night!—remember, honour and silence. 
 
 Mat. Do you doubt ? 
 
 Abel. No, I am a gipsy and a brother: we are bound by 
 secret ties that death alone can sever. 
 
 Mat. Dog will never hang dog. 
 
 Mark. Hush!—some one comes! 
 
 Abel. Say you so ?—then I’m off. Farewell! 
 
 Rushes off l. u. e.—Mark and Matthew conceal them¬ 
 selves behind the trees , c., while Joe is heard without , 
 singing — u Oh, it’s my delight, on a shiny night,” &c. 
 
Sc. 1.] 
 
 GIPSY FARMER, 
 
 5 
 
 Enter Joe, l. u. e., with a hare in his hand. 
 
 Joe. I’ve found a hare. Like me, it was deserted ; perhaps, 
 like me, an orphan ! Well, it’s happy now! all its troubles are 
 over; while mine, like a young bear’s, are all to come. I’ve 
 had a rough road since I was found in the haystack, an in¬ 
 teresting babby, ten months old. I wonder who my parents 
 were. Pretty they must have been, if their offspring at all 
 resembles them : if I am a family likeness, it must have been 
 a fine family. If I should turn out to be the son of a great 
 
 man, how the world would flock round me, and exclaim- 
 
 (by this time Matthew, l., and Mark, R., have come down 
 on each side of him —Mark claps him on the shoulder) 
 
 Mark. Hollo, Joe! at it again? 
 
 Joe. (falls on his knees ) Oh, don’t! Pity a poor orphan, 
 deserted by his unnatural parents, and found in a haystack ! 
 
 Mat. Ha, ha!—the old story, Joe! 
 
 Joe. How you frightened me! 
 
 Mark. That’s a fine hare, Joe. 
 
 Joe. Yes ; I found it, 
 
 Mark. Of course. You’re a sly one! 
 
 Mat. The parish pet! 
 
 Mark. The prying poacher! 
 
 Joe. The innocent orphan ! 
 
 Mark. Oh, your innocence is like my honesty, not much to 
 brag of. 
 
 Mat. Well, Joe, you pay toll for that hare. 
 
 Joe. What hare? 
 
 Mat. Oh, nonsense! you understand—we suffer no one to 
 poach on this manor but ourselves. We are stewards of this 
 estate during the absence of its master. So come, pay your 
 fees, or we grab the property! 
 
 Joe. You won’t, will you ? 
 
 Mat. I must, I tell you. 
 
 Joe. But justice- 
 
 Mat. But law-- 
 
 J oe. Ah, they seldom agree, I’m sorry to say! Pm very poor. 
 
 Mark. More shame for you! 
 
 Joe. What! is poverty a crime ? 
 
 Mark. It’s looked upon as such, 
 
 Joe. By purblind persons, who look with prejudiced eyes 
 upon the poor. There are as many great and good in the humble 
 walks of life, as there are amid the noble and the wealthy. 
 That’s what Luke Hatfield says, and he’s seldom wrong. 
 
 Mat. I don’t want to hear any preaching! will you give up 
 the hare ? 
 
 Joe, No! 
 
6 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 [Act 1; 
 
 Mat. Then we’ll take it. 
 
 Joe. You shall have a struggle for it! 
 
 Mat. Fool, we are two ! 
 
 Joe. Yes, too bad ! 
 
 (they rush upon Joe, who is overpowered—they are about to 
 take the hare from him , when Jack rushes in, L. u. E., 
 sending one one way and one the other , then stands over Joe) 
 
 Jack. Hallo ! avast, messmates, avast! don’t pour a broad' 
 side into a sinking ship ! Don’t you see the craft’s struck her 
 colours after a fight ? let humanity man your boats, to save, 
 not sink. What, Joe I 
 
 Joe. Yes, unlucky Joe! Jack, you’re my guardian angel, 
 sent, to protect a poor orphan found in a haystack. 
 
 Mat. ( aside to Mark) Fetch the rest of the gang ; we may 
 make a good thing of this ! 
 
 Exit Mark unseen by the rest , r.u.e. 
 
 Jack. What’s in the wind now, Joe ? 
 
 Joe. Ask that gentleman — he can tell you all about it. 
 
 Mat. Oh, ’twas a harmless joke! 
 
 Joe. Yes, they wanted a bit of game ! {holds up the hare) 
 
 Jack. Your mate’s, slipped cable, I see! that’s a pity; for 
 I meant to have spun a yard as edifying as a book ! However, 
 I’ve got a maxim or two that may serve for you. Man to man, 
 all fair and square, and fortune favour the brave! but two to 
 one is a lubberly and mean advantage, worthy only the cur 
 and the coward ! 
 
 Joe. {to Matthew) I say, that’s taking your measure for a 
 summer suit that’s safe to fit you! 
 
 Jack, {to Matthew) Sheer off! you’re like foul weather to 
 the homeward-bound seaman ! 
 
 Matthew retires.to back , R.U.E., partly concealing himself. 
 
 Joe. Well, Jack, you don’t know how glad I am* to see 
 you ! How long have you returned from sea ? 
 
 Jack. Our ship was paid off two days ago, Brother Alfred 
 and I made sail for our native town; taking a short cut to the 
 borough, I came within hail of you time enough to save you 
 from being keel-hauled by these landsharks. 
 
 Alfred. ( without , l. u. e.) Ship, ahov ! 
 
 Jack. That’s he! here aboard the Moat Manor, ahoy! 
 
 Enter Alfred, l. u. e. 
 
 Alfred. Why, brother ! how was it we parted company ? 
 
 Jack. Why, you lagged astern, taking observations, calling 
 to your memory the log of your early life, that I quite out¬ 
 sailed you, 
 
 Alfred. There’s not a stone nor tree but brings to my 
 recollection the thoughts of happy days ! The running brook, 
 
GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 7 
 
 Sc. 1.] 
 
 silvered by the moonlight, murmurs a melody of joyous times; 
 and this green ruin speaks to my heart like the voice of a 
 father! 
 
 Jack. Ah, poor old dad! he’d a voice like a boatswain’s 
 mate, poor old soul! The green turf covers him : light may 
 it rest upon his bosom, till all hands are piped ; when, if fair 
 steering and honest dealing meet their just reward, lie’s certain 
 of promotion aloft! 
 
 Alfred. Death may have wrecked a nobler, but never a 
 better bark ! On the watch, when night has covered the broad 
 waters with her mantle of darkness, I have pictured to myself 
 our father’s cottage on the seawashed beach; in fancy heard 
 his cheering voice above the ocean’s sullen moans; seen his 
 bright smile of welcome that used to greet us, as the keel of 
 our fishing boat grated on the happy shore. Hushed is the 
 voice! fled is the smile ! Life’s voyage is o’er! he sleeps the 
 sleep that has no waking! 
 
 Joe. Oh, as I’m an orphan, there’s mischief afoot! Here 
 comes that hare-loving gentleman, with a pack of gentlemen- 
 vagabonds at his back: they are after no good, as sure as I 
 was found in a haystack ! 
 
 Matthew and a party of Gipsies rush on , r. u. e.—Jack, 
 Alfred, and Joe, drop down opposite sides . 
 
 Jack. Hollo ! a fleet to a frigate! 
 
 Alfred. Now ! what’s your purpose with us ? 
 
 Mat. You’ve full purses; we have empty pockets. You 
 know what that means. 
 
 Alfred. Bobbery! 
 
 Mat. You may call it what you like ; we are determined ! 
 
 Alfred. So are we ! To assist a struggling brother, I would 
 willingly share my last coin; to the midnight plunderer while 
 life lasts, I would not yield a fraction! Advance at your 
 peril! although outnumbered, we are strong in right and 
 honesty; and I will battle to the last in the cause of justice 
 and humanity! 
 
 Jack. Bravo, Alf! give but the word, and we’ll fall foul of 
 the gipsy craft in the crack of a biscuit! 
 
 Joe. And I’ll assist; and though I’m not much of a fighting 
 man. damme, in such a cause I feel a very Alexander! 
 
 (the Gipsies advance towards the parties. Marian, the 
 Gipsy Queen , from l.u.e. suddenly darts between them , 
 and stands in C.) 
 
 Marian. Back! shame on you! Is it thus I am obeyed ? 
 Does the gipsy-tent cover the common robber? Can tire 
 children of a wandering race leave their green homes, to 
 plunder the unresisting traveller ? Away to the heath and 
 
8 GIPSY FARMER. [ACT 1. 
 
 heather! to the dingle and the dell! the bright star of our 
 tribe pales at the deed you are doing. 
 
 Exeunt Gipsies, r. u. e., with much respect , as she waves 
 them off. 
 
 Jack. I say, brother, she’s a first-rate; A 1 on their books, 
 
 I should think. 
 
 Joe. She’s the Gipsy Queen, loved and feared by everybody, 
 Alfred. Many thanks to you for your kind interference. 
 Accept this in gratitude from a stranger. (< offers money ) 
 
 Marian. ( rejects money) No stranger. 
 
 Alfred. You know me? 
 
 Marian. Ere you knew yourself—in infancy. 
 
 Alfred. Tis strange. 
 
 Marian. ’Tis true. I have watched the past; have read the 
 present, and can look into the hidden pages of the future. 
 There is a dark cloud obscures the star of your destiny; but 
 that I am forbid, I could make bright the path. 
 
 Alfred. You would be my friend ? 
 
 Marian. I am both friend and foe! I have done thee wrong, \ 
 and I would do thee right; I am a wanderer, with a blighted 
 heart and a withered hope; a solitary tree in life’s wilderness! 
 
 It is not age that has whitened my hair ; but grief has spread 
 its winter o’er my suffering head. Listen to my tale of wrong 
 and sorrow, Alfred. 
 
 Luke Hatfield appears at baalc, l. u. e,— the party on the 
 stage are so intent on Marian, that he is unobserved. 
 
 Luke. Marian! Exit, r. u. e. 
 
 Marian. Luke! (turns round and catches a glimpse of 
 Hatfield as he goes off) I am warned—farewell! we may, 
 we shall meet again. 
 
 Enter lstf Gipsy, r. u. e. 
 
 1st Gipsy. The tents are struck. 
 
 Marian. I am ready—farewell! we shall meet again. 
 
 Music—picture—closed in. 
 
 Scene Second. —An Apartment in Cable's house, with side- 
 door. 
 
 Enter Mary Maybusii, r 1 e. 
 
 Mary. Love! it’s a pretty word ! a maiden’s nightly dream 
 and morning thought! it’s an agreeable trouble and a pleasant 
 pain ! Love! some, they say, die with it; I’m sure I should 
 die without it! ’Tis said it is a disease that absence cures; 
 with me, it but increases the complaint; for the longer my 
 lover is absent, the more I love him. 1 know him to be true 
 
GIPSY FARMER 
 
 9 
 
 Sc. 2.] 
 
 and constant; and I am happy when I call him to my mind. 
 I certainly wish he was a little more on land and less at sea; 
 but he’s a brave heart, and when I talk to him of danger he 
 laughs, and sings, “ There’s a sweet little cherub sits perched 
 up aloft-” 
 
 Jack (sings without ) “ To keep watch for the life of poor 
 Jack.” 
 
 Mary. Ah! ’tis he! ’tis- 
 
 Enter Jack, door in flat — he takes Mary in his arms and 
 kisses her . 
 
 Jack. Your own true Jack! Why, Mary, you’re grown 
 an angel since I hailed you last! Bless your bright eyes, 
 I’ve thought of you afloat or ashore—your name wa3 the 
 compass I steered by; and now, my girl, I’m moored along¬ 
 side, I don’t mean to slip cable till we sail together on the sea 
 of matrimony! 
 
 Mary. I’ve heard ’tis a sea of storm and rough weather! 
 
 Jack. Bough or smooth, as long as I sail in your company, 
 I care not. 
 
 Mary. I’m no prude to disguise my feelings, and say no 
 when I mean yes; and I have loved you too long and too well 
 to doubt for a moment. There’s my hand, Jack; and with 
 you for a commander, doubt not I’ll be an obedient ship. 
 
 Jack. Ay, and a taut little frigate you are! Name the day 
 for the splicing! 
 
 Mary. No hurry ! wed in haste, and repent at leisure ! 
 
 Jack. If you talk that way, I’ll stop your mouth with a 
 broadside of kisses! 
 
 Mary. Patience! let me have my way before marriage ; I 
 mayn’t get it afterwards! 
 
 Jack. You’re a woman, my lass; and the chances are in 
 your favour, (a knock heard at door in flat) Who’s there? 
 Come in! 
 
 Enter Joe, door in flat. 
 
 Joe. It’s the orphan. 
 
 Mary. What! Joseph ? Have you come to make love? 
 
 Joe. Oh, no! I don’t come to make any mischief. I bring 
 a messenger from Alfred to John. 
 
 Jack. May I be swamped if I haven’t forgotten Alfred 
 altogether! he’s lying-to outside, waiting to see your young 
 lady. Joe and I will clear decks, and give the word to brother 
 Alf to steer into port at once. 
 
 Mary. That I will, and I know I shall be a welcome 
 messenger, (crosses, R.) but I may save my labour ; for here 
 she comes. 
 
10 
 
 GIPSY FARMER; 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 Jack. Does she? then Joe and I will shove our boat off. 
 Remember, Mary, your promise; and the sooner the better. 
 
 Time and tide, you know- 
 
 1 Mary. There, go along with you, do ! 
 
 Jack. Bless your bright eyes ! ( hisses her) 
 
 Joe. Oh! what are you at? 
 
 Jack. Clear out, you lubber alive, will you? 
 
 (bonnets Joe, whose hat covers his face—he blunders about 
 till J ack pushes him through door in flat , and follows — 
 after a pause) 
 
 Enter Margaret, r.Ie. 
 
 f Marg. Mary, my father has asked for you. 
 
 Mary. And somebody has asked for you, too. 
 
 Marg. Who? 
 t Mary. Can’t you guess ? 
 
 Marg. You trifle with me! 
 
 Mary. Do I? Well, then, there is one waiting without 
 ^whom you will be right glad to see ! 
 
 Marg. It is-Oh, Mary ! 
 
 ( Mary. Now, don’t faint! time enough for that, when I 
 bring one in who would willingly catch you ! {goes to door in 
 flat) I beg pardon for keeping you! pray walk in, sir ! you are 
 as welcome as the summer’s sun. 
 
 v Enter Alfred, door in flat—he advances to c. 
 
 Alfred. Dearest Margaret! 
 
 : Marg. (r.) Alfred! 
 
 Alfred. My own! my dear one! Past perils are more 
 than paid, when the smile of her he loves greets the wanderer 
 with a welcome home! 
 
 Marg. Nightly I have prayed for you, when the storm 
 raged without, and the rain pattered against the casement, I 
 have shuddered as I thought of the danger of your gallant bark 
 upon the merciless waters ! Oh, ’tis a desperate life. 
 
 Alfred. It is a noble one, and leads its followers to wealth 
 and independence! Another trip, and I return rich enough 
 to claim your hand! 
 
 Mary, (l.) My young lady would be satisfied with love and 
 a cottage. 
 
 Alfred. No, I’ll never take the girl I love from a home of 
 affluence to wither beneath the roof of poverty ! 
 
 Cable. ( heard without , L.) Where’s my bootjack ? 
 
 Mary. That’s master! 
 
 Marg. Wait and see Mr. Cable. 
 
 Alfred. Not now; my brother is without. Meet me, dear 
 Margaret, to-night, at the Moat Manor House. 
 
Sc. 3.] GIPSY FARMER. llj 
 
 Marg. I will be there. 
 
 Alfred. Adieu ! heaven bless you, my girl! 
 
 Exit, door in flat . 
 
 Cable, {without) Mary ! hot water ! 
 
 Mary. Directly, sir ! , 
 
 Marg. My father comes ! I will prepare his morning meal. 
 
 Exit, r. 1 e. 
 
 Enter Cable, l. 
 
 Cable. Mary, my dear, go down to Mr. Hatfield, and tell 
 him, if he has any business, I will be with him as soon as I 
 have buttered my toast and bolted my coffee. 
 
 Mary. I will, sir ! Exit , L. 1 E. 
 
 Cable. Now for breakfast! Exit, r. 1 e. 
 
 Scene Third. — A neat Apartment, {the office of “Cable, Mayor f) ) 
 furnished with a table, chairs, a large arm chair, papers, 
 books, &c.; at back, a Venetian window, open, shewing a 
 garden with distant country . 
 
 Luke Hatfield at the table , c., writing — near him, Briarfield 
 and Hedgerow, r. 
 
 Luke. The prisoner, you say, is secured ? 
 
 Briar. Yes, with the hare in his possession. 
 
 Hedge. Ay, and a fine fat one he be ! 
 
 Luke. Did he offer any resistance when taken ? 
 
 Briar. No ; he offered I nothing! 
 
 Hedge. Yes, he did, he offered to punch your head! 
 
 Luke. The mayor will be here directly, and then you can 
 bring in the prisoner. What is he called ? 
 
 Hedge. He is called the Orphan of Mudborough, because 
 he was deserted by his father and mother, and found in a 
 haystack. 
 
 Luke. His name ? 
 
 Hedge. They call him Joe—Deserted Joe ! 
 
 Luke. That will do : I’ll send for you when Mr. Cable comes' 
 down. Exit Hedgerow and Briarfield, l. 1 e. 
 
 Enter Mary, r. 1 e., with a small watering-pot . 
 
 Mary. Mr. Luke, master wishes to know if there is any 
 justice business this morning. If there is, he’ll be with you as' 
 soon as he has buttered his toast and bolted his coffee; for he 
 says he should be sorry to keep any poor devil in suspense; 
 and when I have atttended to the flowers, I’ll return to my 
 master, and he’ll attend to the prisoners. 
 
 Luke. Ah, maiden! fair as the fair flowers you tend! Life 
 is a summer-time with you ! May the sorrows of winter never 
 
12 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 droop your head, nor ice your heart! May you never feel as 
 I have felt, the soul sickening at man’s ingratitude! The 
 rough waves of the world’s oppression have wrecked my hopes; 
 but I still can breathe a wish for the happiness of others—save 
 one! save one! and he has felt my vengeance ! 
 
 Mary. Why, bless me, Mr. Luke! to the ground I thank 
 you for your good wishes ! You’re a melancholy man, but a 
 good-hearted one. You’re like my moss roses—rough on the 
 outside, but bright and sweet within! 
 
 Luke. Direct flattery! 
 
 Mary. No ; honest truth! 
 
 Luke. Seldom heard in this world of deception. 
 
 Mary. Then value it for its rarity. The poor love you. 
 
 Luke. I have no means to buy their love ! 
 
 Mary. No ; but you have a tongue to plead their cause to 
 others. Many a suffering family has reason to bless the 
 eloquence of Luke Hatfield. 
 
 Luke. ’Tis man’s duty to assist his fellow-man in the hour 
 of necessity! 
 
 Mary. Would that all thought and acted as you do. There 
 would be more happiness and less misery in the world ! But, 
 talking of duty, I’m neglecting mine : while I chatter, the 
 flowers droop; and while I listen, justice waits—heaven forbid 
 that I should detain the dear old lady, or folks will think her 
 lame as well as blind ! 
 
 Cable, {without , r. 1 e.) Mary! Luke ! 
 
 Luke. Here comes Mr. Cable. 
 
 Mary. Then I shall get finely rated, {goes to window , c. in flat) 
 Enter Cable. 
 
 Cable. Mary, Mary! where the devil are you ? Oh, there 
 you are, like a butterfly bobbing round a buttercup ! Why 
 didn’t you come back to me before you busied yourself about 
 the flowers ? Don’t you think I want attending to as well as 
 the rose trees ? 
 
 Mary, {advancing to , c.) La, sir, how you talk ! 
 
 Cable. Do I ? Then let me make the most of it while I 
 have the chance. You are a woman ; and if I don’t have my 
 say before you begin, it will be all over with me ! Well, Luke, 
 any business this morning? 
 
 Luke. Yes, sir, a case of poaching. 
 
 Cable. I am sorry for it! I can’t find it in my heart to 
 punish a man for taking that which was sent for the service of 
 all! ’tis as much his as mine; it can be the property of none ; 
 for be it bird or be it beast, it’s free to find its living on the 
 lands of all. Deprive a man of liberty for taking a hare ? It 
 may be law, but confound me if it’s justice! 
 
Sc, 3.] GIPSY FARMER. 13 
 
 Luke. Ah, sir, you are good and generous, but the law 
 must be respected; and as a magistrate— 
 
 Cable. Magistrate ! why did they make me one ? I didn’t 
 seek the office—it was thrust upon me. I told them how untit 
 I was to administer justice to others, for that 1 had never 
 done justice to myself. 
 
 Luke. They acted with judgment when they placed you 
 in the chair of justice; for they felt assured that they had 
 given power to a man of honesty and benevolence, with a hand 
 of iron for evil-doers, and a heart overflowing with the milk of 
 human kindness for the wants and sufferings of his fellow-men. 
 
 Cable. Master Luke, if I didn’t know you, I should think 
 you had a motive. 
 
 Maky. ( comes forward) That I am sure he hasn’t, for he is 
 too independent to flatter anybody. You deserve it all—bless 
 your jolly old face, you do. You’re a duck of a man, and 
 everybody loves you. 
 
 Cable. Ah ! you’ll spoil me among you. 
 
 Mary. No, we shan’t. You’re too good to spoil. 
 
 Cable. Don’t be too sure of that. The longest lane has a 
 turning, they say; and who knows what may happen to Kit 
 Cable ? I have had little in this world to sour me. I have 
 been a lucky man all my life. I began a small tradesman in a 
 small shop, sold tobacco by the ounce, and mad e pounds by it; 
 and short-cut brought me long returns! Honest industry w T as 
 my guide through life, and it has conducted me to comfort and 
 competence; and it would be bad, indeed, if wealth should 
 harden the heart and close the hand against the poor or de¬ 
 serving heart! No, no starving devil shall want a crust while 
 1 have a shilling to give him to get one. 
 
 Mary. You’re an angel! 
 
 Cable. In a white wig ! Get along to your mistress ; don’t 
 stand idling your time, flattering an old fool like me. 
 
 Mary. If you are a fool, “ ’tis folly to be wise,” as the man 
 says in the book- 
 
 Cable. Now go, there’s a good girl, do ; unless you have a 
 desire to stay and conduct the case for the prisoner, for I 
 believe he is not provided with professional assistance ; and 
 women in some cases are not bad counsellors. What sav you, 
 Mr. Hatfield ? 
 
 Luke. Woman; Nature’s brightest gem! in the hour of 
 adversity man’s firm and fondest friend—in prosperity, his 
 pride and boast! The heaven-sent messenger to cheer him on 
 his rough road ! Though weak in body, strong in mind to 
 serve and save! The first to aid, the last to leave: as mother, 
 wife, or sister, pilot through life’s stormy sea ! 
 
 Mary. If I stay another moment 1 shall fall desperately 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 in love with both of you, and be puzzled which to choose ; so, 
 (to Cable) with my duty to you, sir, and (to Luke) my grateful 
 thanks to you for your good opinion of my sex, 1 beg most 
 respectfully to depart. Exit through window , c. F. 
 
 Cable. Now, come, Luke, business, business ! King the 
 bell—let’s have the prisoner in. (he goes to the arm chair — 
 Luke rings a hell on table) 
 
 Enter Briarfield and Hedgerow with others , l. 1. E. bringing 
 in Joe in custody—one has a hare in his hand , to embody the 
 'picture of a The Poacher,” as in the print. 
 
 Cable. What charge have you against the prisoner, con¬ 
 stable ? 
 
 Hedge. Please your worship, he stole a hare. 
 
 Joe. ( blubbering ) Please your worship, I didn’t—1 found it. 
 Pity and protect a poor orphan, what was found in a haystack, 
 deserted by his unnatural parents ! I haven’t a friend in the 
 world. Be a friend to the friendless—a father to the orphan ! 
 
 Cable. Hold your tongue, will you? Constable, state what 
 you know of the affair. 
 
 Joe. He knoAvs nothing at all. I’m as innocent as a babby ! 
 Cable. Will you hold your tongue ? 
 
 Joe. 1 can’t ; they’ll swear my precious life away ! Pity an 
 orphan found in a haystack ! 
 
 Cable. Will you be quiet ? 
 
 Joe. I’m dumb as an oyster; only pity- 
 
 Cable. Silence! 
 
 Joe. A poor—— 
 
 Cable. Silence! 
 
 Job. Orphan found in a - 
 
 Cable. Silence! or Pll commit you to a- 
 
 Joe. A haystack ! 
 
 Cable. Curse the fellow, I can’t get a Avord in ! Be quiet, 
 Avill you ? Let us hear the constable—Avhen he has done you 
 may have your say. 
 
 Hedge. Briarfield and I, please your worship, had been to 
 Duckpool Avith a pauper that belonged to that parish, but had 
 been taken ill in ours; so, fearing that he might die, Ave hurried 
 him over in a tax cart. 
 
 Cable. What! take a dying man six miles in an open cart ? 
 Those Avho sent you ought to be Avhipped at its tail there and 
 back, for sending you on such an errand. Have you no 
 humanity ? 
 
 Joe. Not a bit, your worship, or they wouldn’t have taken 
 
 a poor orphan- 
 
 Cable. Will you be quiet ? 
 
 Joe. Found in a haystack ! 
 
GIPSY FARM PR* 
 
 15 
 
 Sc. 4.] 
 
 Cable. ( threatens ) 
 
 Joe. I’ve done, your worship! 
 
 Hedge. The doctor said it wur quite safe to take him, for 
 he’d be safe to die in a day or two. 
 
 Cable. The doctor! he ought to be poisoned with his own 
 physic! Go on, go on ! 
 
 Hedge. When we came back, your worship, just by the 
 hollow in Oakdale Common, we saw something squatting all of 
 a heap; so says I to Briarfield, says I, “ What’s that in the 
 hollow ?” He said, says he, “ I think it’s a man !” With that 
 we jumped out of the cart, and found Mr. Joe asleep with the 
 hare under his head for a pillow. 
 
 Cable. The hare, you say, was found upon him? 
 
 Hedge. No, sir, under his head. 
 
 Cable. Now, my friend, what’s your name? 
 
 Joe. Joe, your worship. 
 
 Cable. You have another? 
 
 Joe. No, your worship, I never had another; I’m an orphan, 
 deserted by my parents. 
 
 Cable. Well, well, we know all about that. You were 
 found-- 
 
 Joe. In a haystack! 
 
 Cable. With the hare in your possession. How came you 
 by it ? 
 
 Joe. As I’m an innocent sinner, I don’t know ! 
 
 Cable. You said you found it. 
 
 Joe. Did I, your worship? Well, I dare say I did; I’ll take 
 your word for it—I know you wouldn’t deceive a poor orphan. 
 
 Cable. There, there, I don’t want to hear any more of your 
 early history—I’ve had quite enough of the haystack—I want 
 to hear a little more about the hare! Hedgerow, have you 
 proof of his snaring the hare ? 
 
 Hedge. No, your worship; but I’ve a suspected suspicion, 
 and I think- 
 
 Cable. Oh, we can’t convict a man upon your thoughts ! 
 This is no case of poaching—he’s acquitted of that charge. 
 
 Joe. Oh, bless your worship! you’re better than a father 
 to me! He deserted me—you protected me : you saved me 
 from a prison—he left me in a haystack: you are my natural 
 father—he was my unnatural father ! A son’s tears—a son’s 
 prayers—wait upon you, you good old mayor! 
 
 Cable. I’m sorry to say, my friend Joe, that you are liable 
 to a fine for having game in your possession without a license. 
 
 Joe. Don’t say so, your worship! pity an orphan ! 
 
 Cable. There, that’ll do! no more about the orphan, for 
 heaven’s sake ! I’ll lay it on as lightly as possible ; but lay it 
 on I must—’tis the law, and I have no other course to pursue! 
 
16 GIPSY FARMER. [ACT 1. 
 
 Jon. I couldn’t pay the nineteenth part of a penny if it was 
 to save my life ! 
 
 Cable. Some friend- 
 
 Joe. I haven’t got one ! 
 
 Jack, at this moment , appears at the Venetian window, c. flat, 
 and steps into the room. 
 
 Jack. Yes, you have, mate!—foul or fair, calm or stormy, 
 ■while he has a flag flying, or a stick to help you, Jack is with 
 you, sink or swim ! 
 
 Joe. Oh, Jack! 
 
 Jack. Oh, Joe! 
 
 Cable. Well, who are you?—what do you want here?— 
 does it strike you, friend, that there’s a door to my house? 
 
 Jack. Heaven bless your worship’s honour and glory, I 
 know your honour! Pardon me running my boat ashore 
 through your parlour-port. I heard Joe was in trouble, so I 
 slipped cable, and crowded all sail, in hopes I might save the 
 friend of my early days. The first land I made was your 
 honour’s window; so I turned slap in, and dropped anchor, 
 and here I am, your worship’s honour and glory ! 
 
 Cable. Well, now you are here, what do you purpose doing ? 
 will you pay the fine? 
 
 Joe. No, he shan’t!—Jack shan’t bo sacrificed forme! I 
 have suffered—I can suffer—I will suffer! T was born in a— 
 
 Jack. Hold your tongue, will you? If your honour will 
 square the yards for Joe, i’ll pay to my last shilling. 
 
 Cable. Well, you can settle that with Mr. Luke. I air* 
 happy to see that Joe is not so friendless as he supposed him-, 
 self to be ; and, though I can’t say much for the way, I admire 
 the will with which that friendship was proved; and I will say 
 this for the blue jackets—though the head may blunder, the 
 heart never does so. Exit, u. 1 e, 
 
 Jack. Here, Sir—here’s all I’ve got left of the last pay I 
 received—I hope it’s enough to get Joe out of the shallows. 
 
 Luke. More than enough ! Joe, thank your friend—’tis rare 
 in these days to find one ! {to Jack) You are a sailor, Sir! I 
 love the sons of the sea: their home on the broad water teaches 
 them to feel for others! Lions while the battle rages, lambs 
 when the fight is o’er! In storm fearless and faithful at duty’s 
 call; the nation’s honour—the nation’s boast! England may 
 well be proud of the hardy sons of the sea-girt isle ! Exit , R. 1 k. 
 
 Joe. I say, Jack, that’s a gentlemanly man, and knows a 
 thing or two. 
 
 Jack. If he was Lord of the Admiralty, we shouldn’t wait 
 long for prize-money. 
 
GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 17 
 
 Sc. 4.] 
 
 Hedge. I beg pardon, Mr. Sailor, I hope you’ll stand some 
 ale—we were very gentle with Joe ! 
 
 Joe. Very—they tied me neck and heels, laid me at the 
 bottom of the cart, and put their feet upon me ! 
 
 Hedge. Why, you know, Joe, duty must be done. 
 
 Jack. Yes, mate, but there’s two ways of doing it. It’s 
 quite hard enough for any poor devil to be grappled by the 
 law; but it’s much harder to be ill-used by those who ad¬ 
 minister it. I shan’t launch out a stiver. 
 
 Hedge. Ah, you are a shabby - 
 
 Jack. Avast! clap a stopper upon your jawing tackle. 
 
 Hedge. I shan’t! who are you ? 
 
 Joe. I’m an orphan, found in a haystack ! 
 
 Hedge. You are a poacher ! 
 
 Jack. A broadside, Joe, for the honour of the Navy! 
 
 (Joe anrfjACK pitch into Hedgerow and Brfarfield, who 
 shout “Help! help!”— several Countrymen rush on 
 them; tables are upset—a general fight, and Jack and 
 Joe gain the window, c. in flat , as the Scene closes .) 
 
 Scene Fourth. — Front Wood — lights half down . 
 
 Enter Abel Allnutt, r. 1 e. 
 
 Abel. So he has returned. No matter—it will not interfere 
 with my arrangements, but rather assist them. I know their 
 place of meeting, and luckily it is the appointed spot where 
 my gipsy friends are to effect my purpose. I will alter my 
 plan a bit—he may be there. To make all sure, I’ll be of the 
 party ; I’ll to the lugger, and bring some of the crew on shore; 
 we can harbour in the usual hiding-place till the tide serves. 
 The lady once on board, I’ll sail for sunny France, and bid 
 adieu to the merry fields of England. The place is getting 
 rather too hot to hold us. I saw the revenue-shark in the 
 offing the last time the lugger made port—she may have re¬ 
 ceived some private intelligence, and be on the watch for us. 
 Well, this shall be my last voyage. If the worst comes to the 
 worst. ( takes a pocket-book from his breast) I can purchase the 
 chance of freedom. He’d give a trifle to know the contents of 
 this. A footstep ! friend or foe, 1 wonder! Oh, it’s Mat! 
 
 Enter Matthew, l. 1 e. 
 
 Well, Mat, any news ? 
 
 Mat. Not the best, I fear. I saw some blue jackets in the 
 borough—they can mean no good. 
 
 Abel. I don’t give a care for them. Is all prepared for our 
 enterprise ? 
 
 Mat. All right. 
 
18 GIPSY FARMER. [ACT 1. 
 
 Adel We’ll separate for the present—I’ll join you at the 
 Moat Manor-house. Hark ! some one comes. 
 
 Mat. I’ll to the Grange. Exit, L. 2 E. 
 
 Abel. And I’ll to the lugger. Exit, u. 1 E. 
 
 Enter Luke Hatfield, l. 1 e, 
 
 Luke. She has left — and, ere I can communicate with her, 
 will he far away. Her outburst of feelings at the sight of him, 
 betrayed a weakness that 1 fear, if not checked, would ruin us. 
 The deed of wrong has been paid with bitter and fearful in¬ 
 terest, and the innocent suffer for the guilty. If I could undo 
 what I have done, I might be a happier man ; but the wish is 
 vain—the documents that would establish the claim are lost 
 to me for ever! There is but one course—self-sacrifice. No, 
 by heaven ! I cannot, dare not do it l Exit, R. 1 E. 
 
 Scene Fifth.— Same as the First—Moat Manor-house . 
 
 Mark, with Gipsies on the look-out — a whistle heard without , is 
 answered, and Matthew enters , R. u. e. 
 
 Mat. Away to your hiding-place ! he’s here ! (they conceal 
 
 themselves) 
 
 Enter Alfred, l. 
 
 Alfred. Lovers’ time is kept by the heart’s clock—I am 
 before the hour. I feel as dull as if some evil were hanging 
 over my head. I should be gay and joyous when I meet the 
 lady of my love—dark thoughts should fly like mists before 
 the sun. It must be the spot that acts upon my spirits : and 
 yet this is the scene of my happiest times. I never look upon 
 that mansion and its ivy-mantled walls, but I feel as if I com¬ 
 muned with the spirit of the past. (Margaret without, e. u. e.) 
 Marg. Alfred! 
 
 Alfred. Here, love, here! 
 
 Enter Margaret, who is met by the Gipsies— they attempt to 
 seize her — she screams, flies past them, and is met by Alfred. 
 
 Alfred. Ruffians! -what means this outrage? 
 
 Mat. Our business is with the lady—give her up, or take 
 the consequence. 
 
 Alfred. Give her up ! Never, whilst the warm blood of life 
 circulates in my veins! Although but one opposed against a 
 host, I feel, in such a cause, a giant’s strength. 
 
 Mat. (presents a pistol) Will this persuade you? Seize the 
 
 girl ! 
 
 (the Gipsies rush upon Margaret— Mattiiewgtm* Alfred 
 have a short struggle — Alfred dashes Matthew to the 
 
GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 19 
 
 Act 2.] 
 
 earth, and flics to the assistance of Margaret, icTim 
 Matthew fires, and Alfred falls — Margaret screams 
 and faints into the arms of the Gipsies — at this moment , 
 Abel rushes on , l. u. e., followed by Sailors) 
 
 Abel. Hold, for the love of heaven !—no blood. 
 
 Mat. Too late ! the deed’s done ! 
 
 Abel. Wretch ! bloodthirsty, murderous ruffian !—take the 
 death you merit! ( presents pistol at Matthew— the Gipsies 
 rush forward to protect him—the Sailors range beside Abel) 
 
 Mat. ’Twas accident! 
 
 Abel. Accident! Well, it won’t do for us to quarrel. I 
 was hasty—your hand. ( looks upon Alfred) Poor youth ! ’tis 
 a hard fate in one so young ! Heaven forgive me! although 
 no deed of mine, T was the cause ! Raise the body, and take 
 it to our concealment in the Moat Manor-house. 
 
 (the body of Alfred is placed on the sticks of the Gipsies— 
 Abel takes the fainting Margaret in his arms — and as 
 they move towards the house , tableau and 
 
 END OF ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene First.— An Apartment in Kit Cable's House , 
 
 Kit Cable and Mary Maybusii discovered. 
 
 Cable. Ah ! you are all alike. 
 
 Mary. But, sir- 
 
 Cable. False as you are fair! no man in his senses would 
 have anything to do with you. My own daughter to serve me 
 such a scurvy trick—to run away from a father who indulged 
 her in everything! 
 
 Mary. I’ll never believe my young lady did anything of 
 tiie sort, or I should have known of it. 
 
 .Cable. Then you mean to say you know nothing about it? 
 For shame—for shame: don’t add insult to injury. 
 
 Mary Oh, sir, you may say what you like; grief makes 
 you unjust. I was poor and starving when you took me in, 
 fed, and clothed me—was more a father than a master to me; 
 and I deserved to be reduced to my early poverty if I prove 
 ungrateful or forget your kindness. 
 
 Cable. Well, I didn’t mean what I said. 
 
 Mary. I know that, sir; so I didn’t feel offended. 
 
 Cable. But where is she ? 
 
 Mary. I wish I knew; it’s a most mysterious mystery ! 
 
20 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 ;; 
 
 f 
 
 [Act 2. 
 
 Cable. Why didn’t she come to me and ask my consent ? 
 she might have had the sailor, with all my heart and soul. 
 
 Mary. I heard Mr. Alfred say he wouldn’t marry till he 
 made money enough to keep his wife independent. 
 
 Cable, Ah, poor and proud ! 
 
 Mary. No, sir, honest and honourable. 
 
 Cable. Well, they’ll break my heart among them 1 From 
 her motherless infancy I laboured but for her: she was my 
 poor wife’s dying charge. “ Kit,” said she, “ be a mother to 
 our child for my sake; when I am gone, redouble your care 
 for our poor girl.” With tears in my eyes I pressed her hand, 
 for I couldn’t speak; and as she died, the smile of satisfaction 
 lightened her eyes, and the last word that lingered on her 
 lips was il Margaret.” And to leave me without a thought! 
 I'll never forgive her! 
 
 Mary. Oh, don’t say so, sir; I fear some accident. 
 
 Cable. Oh, nonsense! did she not meet him at the Moat 
 Manor-house? 
 
 Mary. She went out for that purpose. 
 
 Cable. And neither he nor she has been seen since. It 
 speaks for itself. I didn’t think the hussey was such a 
 hypocrite! She’ll come back with a plausible tale and ask 
 forgiveness from the father she has insulted. 
 
 Mary. Insulted, sir! 
 
 Cable. Yes, insulted! Isn’t it an insult to doubt the love 
 of a father ? She might have married a travelling tinker, if I 
 tiiought her happiness depended on the man. 
 
 Mary. Will you see Alfred’s brother, sir? 
 
 Cable. No, I’ve had quite enough, of the family. What 
 does lie want ? 
 
 Mary. He wants to see you, sir. 
 
 Cable, (r.) Can he give any intelligence of his brother? 
 if so, he may come in. Mary goes to wing and beclcons. 
 
 Enter Jack, l. 1 e. 
 
 Cable. Well, have you any tidings of my disobedient 
 daughter and your runaway brother ? 
 
 Jack. If the letter R is clapped to his name, it’s the first 
 time he ever slipped cable; and I can’t believe my brother 
 would sail under false colours to deceive any man. 
 
 Cable. Do you know where to find him ? 
 
 Jack. No ; that’s a hitch I can’t get over, and twists round 
 the corner of my compass confoundedly. From boy to man¬ 
 hood I’ve sailed in company with him, shared storm and calm, 
 battle and breeze ; I’ve more than a brother’s love for him, 
 for we are alone in the wide world—orphans, as my friend 
 
GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 21 
 
 Sc. 1.] 
 
 Joe says, and we have lived but for one another; and how lie 
 could go about on such a tack as this, without my knowing 
 liis heavings, has completely coiled up the cable of my com¬ 
 prehension. 
 
 Cable. If you’re come to tell me what I already know, I 
 am not much indebted to you for your information. 
 
 Jack. Why, it’s something like carrying a cargo of coals to 
 Newcastle. I’ve taken soundings, and can’t find a bottom to 
 the affair; and remembering the old saying, “ Two heads are 
 better than one,” I’ve come to see if your honour can give me 
 a course to steer by. 
 
 Mary. Do, sir, put both your heads together; and I’ll 
 assist heart and hand in the cause. 
 
 Jack. And in such a voyage there can’t be better ballast 
 than woman’s wit. 
 
 Cable. Ah! set a thief to catch a thief! 
 
 Mary. Bad means would justify a good end, though I don’t 
 take the compliment to myself.- I’m no thief. 
 
 Cable. All women are, more or less. 
 
 Mary. Well, I’m sure ! 
 
 Cable. Yes, they steal our hearts, rob us of our best affec¬ 
 tions, take all the love they can take, and then leave the 
 object of their plunder, to sorrowing days and sleepless nights ! 
 I have been served so. Where is my daughter ? fled from the 
 arms of a father who loved her! 
 
 Jack. Well, sir, I only know this—that if your daughter*^ 
 under convoy of Alfred, she’s as safe as though she was 
 harboured in your own parlour; for he’s as true as steel, and 
 as bold a lad as ever trod his Majesty’s plank. I’ll answer for 
 it he makes head shortly and clears deck, to your perfect 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Cable. Well, I hope so. 
 
 Mary. I’m sure so. 
 
 Jack. I’ll crowd all sail in chase of the missing youngster ; 
 and if Alfred has suffered love to run down duty, and got 
 spliced without sailing orders from you, I’ll rate him soundly; 
 and though he is my superior officer, I’m his elder brother, 
 and I’ll talk to him like a father. 
 
 Cable, Only bring my daughter to my arms, and she shall 
 flnd I’m not a hard-hearted father; and though the hussey 
 doesn’t deserve forgiveness I may be induced to forget her 
 conduct. As to your brother, if he is not rich in worldly 
 means he is rich in the estimation of his country, he is a de¬ 
 fender of his native land, and is worthy of the hand of one of 
 her proudest daughters. He should have come to me; I 
 should not have refused my consent. You bring me news of 
 them, and I’ll not prove ungrateful. Exit r, l e, 
 
22 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 [Act 2. 
 
 Jack. That’s a noble ship, a true heart of oak ! May 1 be 
 raked fore and aft if I wouldn’t die to serve so good a 
 commander! 
 
 Mary. As good as gold ! and I’m sorry to see so bright a 
 heart suffer. 
 
 Jack. After a storm comes a calm. We’ll square the yards 
 for the old gent yet, bring back the runaways, and then hey 
 for mirth and matrimony ! 
 
 Mary. The day that makes Mr. Cable happy, I’ll keep my 
 promise ; I’m yours for better or worse. 
 
 Jack. Sav you so? then clap your seal upon the bargain. 
 
 Mary. What do you mean, Jack ? 
 
 Jack. Love’s papers are stamped with a kiss! (kisses her at 
 the moment that J OE appears at the door) 
 
 Joe. Oh! 
 
 Jack. Why, that’s the- 
 
 Joe. Orphan. 
 
 Jack. Hollo! how came you in this latitude? 
 
 Mary. He’s always dropping in when he’s not wanted! 
 
 Joe. If I’m in anybody’s light, like a candle I can go out. 
 
 Mary You’re not in my way, Mr. Joseph; but for the 
 benefit of others I wish to give you this information : it’s usual 
 before entering a room to knock at the door; but manners are 
 not taught ift a haystack! Exit r. 1 E. 
 
 Jack. I say, she brought her great guns to bear upon you 
 there, Joe! 
 
 Joe. Yes, she threw the haystack in my teeth. 
 
 Jack. I shouldn’t care a straw for that ! 
 
 Joe. I don’t; I’m not such a donkey. Oh, Jack! 
 
 Jack. “ Oh, Jack !’* why what’s the matter with you ? your 
 face is as long as a capstan bar! 
 
 Joe. Well it may ! the Moat Manor-house- 
 
 Jack. Why, you’re like a frigate in a fog! I can’t make 
 out what you mean ! 
 
 Joe. Master Alfred- 
 
 Jack. News? 
 
 Joe. Bad, I fear! 
 
 Jack. Avast! don’t say that! 
 
 Joe. This handkerchief- 
 
 Jack, (taking it) Is his ! 
 f Joe. ’Tis stained with blood! 
 
 Jack. By the Great Commander, there’s been foul play ! 
 
 Joe. I picked it up near the Moat Manor-house. 1 had my 
 suspicions, concealed myself near the spot, and saw that gipsy 
 Mat, unnoticed as he thought, enter- 
 
 Jack. I’ll carry on to the Moat Manor-house, drop along¬ 
 side this gipsy craft, and, may I never see salt water again, if 
 
GirSY FARMER. 
 
 23 
 
 Sc. 2.] 
 
 I clap my grappling-iron athwart his hawse, I’ll never leave 
 him till I shake the secret from his black and battered hulk! 
 
 Joe. I’ll follow you to the death : you was a friend to me 
 in my necessity, served me when I couldn’t serve myself, 
 smiled when the world frowned, when I was sinking you saved 
 me; and I’ll stick to you and yours while I have an arm to 
 raise, or a leg to stand upon. 
 
 Jack. Give us your hand, Joe. Friend, messmate, we float 
 or sink together. I go—if living, to save a brother; if dead, 
 to r-evenge, or founder in the cause. So up anchor, spread 
 canvas, and crowd all sail to the Moat Manor-house ! 
 
 Exeunt Jack and Joe, door in flat. 
 
 Scene Second.— Lights down. A part of the Moat Manor - 
 house ; the entrances on one side so constructed as to form a 
 portion of a ruined wing of the mansion , with a door above ; 
 about the middle of the wing a barred window open (or in the 
 flats , as it may suit the convenience of the theatre). 
 
 Enter Jack hastily , r. 1. e., followed by Joe. 
 
 Jack. Was it here, Joe, you saw the black buccaneer cast 
 anchor ? 
 
 Joe. Yes, he went in by that door. 
 
 Jack. I’ll soon be alongside the varmint; and if he has 
 harmed my brother Alf, he or I shall keep the long watch aboard 
 the barque where Death’s the skipper. Joe, don’t you run 
 yourself into danger ; but keep in my wake. 
 
 Joe. Now, Jack, that’s unkind ! I’ll stick to you like bird¬ 
 lime ! I have heard that when the lion was snared he found a 
 friend in the mouse : you’re my lion—let me be your mouse; 
 and when you roar, I’ll nibble. 
 
 Jack. You should have been brought up at sea. 
 
 Joe. Ah ! but I was brought up in a haystack ! 
 
 Jack. Overboard with all palaver, and let Action stand at 
 the wheel, to steer us into the black bay ! ( goes to the dooi') 
 Closed port! I guessed as much. Now, Joe, shoulder to 
 shoulder, and we’ll soon force a passage into the anchorage of* 
 the enemy. (Jack and Joe put shoulder to shoulder , and try to 
 force the door y which resists their efforts) 
 
 Jack. Heave, ho ! heave with a good heart! 
 
 Joe. If I was to heave with a good head, I should make no 
 impression on this door. 
 
 Jack. I’ll rattle a broadside upon it, till I bring some of that 
 damned gipsy craft upon deck. 
 
 Joe. That would be striking a light upon a barrel of gun¬ 
 powder. 
 
 Jack. We’re on a lee-shore, with breakers ahead. 
 
24 GIPSY FARMER. [AcT 2. 
 
 Joe. If they've shut the door, they’ve opened the window. 
 
 Jack. What! 
 
 Joe. (pointing to window) Look there ! 
 
 Jack. Joe, you’re a genius. 
 
 Joe. No, I’m an orphan. 
 
 Jack. Come here, messmate! clap your figure-head against 
 the wall, stand firm upon your underworks, make a strong plank 
 of your broad back, and I’ll be in their maintop in the splicing 
 of a rope l (Jack places Joe with his face to the ivall, jumps on 
 his back , gains the window , and enters) Bear a hand ! Joe, keep 
 astern, but within hail! (having entered by the window , he un¬ 
 thinkingly closes it) 
 
 Joe. Don’t shut the window, Jack ! Jack ! he’s gone! How 
 the devil am I to get up ? I’ll be soon after Jack! Oh, for a 
 ladder or a loose stone! Lucky Joe! I have it—my knife! 
 {takes a knife from his pocket, and feels round the building) Ah ! 
 as loose as a decayed tooth!—the sooner you are out the better. 
 {picking out a decayed brick , places his foot in the aperture) An¬ 
 other—that’s your sort!—you must come out if I’m to get in. 
 {he reaches the window) No I—all wrong !—*‘tis fast on the inside ! 
 Jack, Jack ! you’ve closed the window upon your friend ! No 
 matter ! I’ll never give up till I find an entrance—if it’s only 
 down a chimney* Round this way, and I can easily reach the 
 roof, {climbs round the wing—as he disappears the scene changes) 
 
 Scene Third.— Front Wood . 
 
 Enter Luke Hatfield, r. 1 e. 
 
 Luke. She will be here. I desire yet dread the meeting! 
 How rarely would man stoop to guilt, if he could foresee the 
 fearful suffering that awaits the act! For vengeance 1 have 
 bartered my happiness here—and I dare not think of hereafter! 
 A ruined home, and a withered honour, urged me to the deed! 
 the wrong that was done to me and mine has been paid by 
 fearful retribution! 
 
 Enter Marian suddenly , l. 1 E* 
 
 Marian, It has, by death and desolation! 
 
 Luke. Marian! 
 
 Marian. Luke, is your heart turned to stone? Are you 
 thus dead to the pleadings of your guilty conscience ? Can 
 you suffer the sins of the father to rest with fearful weight upon 
 his innocent children ? Justice for them ! 
 
 Luke. Never! have you forgotten how serpent-like that 
 father stung with his deadly venom the bosom that cherished 
 him ? Call to your mind the heartless laugh of the perjured 
 seducer, when in agony of spirit you sued to him! 
 
GIPSY FARMER, 
 
 25 
 
 Sc. 3.] 
 
 Marian. Brother! 
 
 Luke. Sister! 
 
 Marian. Forgotten! Heavens! can I ever forget? No! 
 ’tis written in such characters of suffering that death alone can 
 obliterate the remembrance! But where is the wronger ? The 
 halls of his pride are covered with the creeping ivy and the 
 yellow-tinted moss! Where grew the rose now springs the' 
 deadly nightshade ! and he, their noble owner, found a resting 
 place, a stranger in a stranger’s grave—a broken-hearted, 
 childless man! This, Luke, was our doing. 
 
 Luke. It was, and the thought is joy ! the curse, the blight 
 of our happy home, withered like the lightning-stricken tree! 
 There were three glad hearts—mother, sister, brother. The 
 sorrows of one were the sorrows of all. The betrayer came, 
 tore from its parent-stem the sweetest flower. That brother, 
 on his mother’s clay-cold form, breathed an oath of dreadful 
 vengeance. It has been fulfilled. 
 
 Marian. It has! and oh, Luke! let the remembrance of 
 wrong die with the wronger ! In the grave let hatred cease ! 
 as you hope for mercy yourself, render some mercy to others; 
 On my knees I supplicate for the children of my betrayer! 
 
 Luke. No ; let his name and race perish like the mouldering 
 ruins of his haughty ancestry, where dwell the owl and the bat! 
 
 Marian. ( starting up) By the bright heaven above us, 
 justice shall be done! I will not live to rob the orphan of his 
 rights! I have sinned, deeply sinned ; but if a wandering life 
 of prayer and penitence can plead for pardon, I yet may hope 
 for forgiveness ! I will at once give- 
 
 Luke. Your brother to the gibbet! 
 
 Marian. ( shuddering ) Ah! that sentence has paralysed my 
 every effort! But no, Luke! they might forget past evil in 
 present good; we have dared do much in crime; let us dare 
 more in the cause of justice! 
 
 Luke. Go, give your brother to the laws! I have not 
 feared death to avenge a sister’s wrongs; and I will die for¬ 
 giving, though doomed by a sister’s lips ! 
 
 Marian. No, no ! let us fly to some distant land, there live, 
 unknowing and unknown, transmit the document to prove the 
 right, and rest in the consciousness of having done a sacred duty! 
 
 Luke. ’Tis impossible ! the documents are lost! 
 
 Marian. Lost! 
 
 Luke. Stolen! 
 
 Marian. Then all is over! Mercy, mercy! my brain is 
 burning—darkness comes o’er my sight! Brother! brother! 
 
 Luke. Sister! 
 
 (Marian falls into Luke’s arms—slow music as the scene 
 closes) 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 [Act 2. 
 
 Scene Fourth. — A Room in the Manor-house; in c. a large 
 old-fashioned chimney , with carved mantel and sides ; on one 
 side an alcove , the entrance concealed by a darlc green or black 
 curtain , door in flat ; old furniture, high-back chairs , dc. 
 
 Margaret discovered seated , her face buried in her hands as if 
 overcome with grief —Abel Allnutt is standing near her. 
 
 Abel, (l.) Don’t give way to grief. I love you as fondly 
 and mean as well as he that has gone 1 I regret his death as 
 much as you can, and would give all I possess to restore him 
 to life ! My means are more ample than ever his could have 
 been ; you wed no beggar, but a wealthy man. 
 
 Marg. (r.) This is mockery! Talk of love and marriage 
 to a maiden torn from a father’s roof by lawless power! Abel, 
 in my day of freedom I refused your proffered love, for my 
 heart was given to one now numbered with the dead. 
 
 Abel. I am of a rough nature, and want soft words to plead 
 my cause! Margaret, if a life devoted to vour wildest wish 
 can prove how much I idolise you, that life I’d freely give, to 
 win your heart and hand ! 
 
 Marg. Let me return to my father. 
 
 Abel. 1 will—— 
 
 Marg. Oh, thanks, Abel, thanks ! 
 
 Abel. When you are mine ! 
 
 Marg. Deceiver!— then I shall never see him more! 
 
 Abel. I dare not do your wish ! I am not what I seem. I 
 am the leader of a lawless band; and, though they obey my 
 every word, I am watched as the tiger watches his prey! 
 Blood has been shed, and you know the guilty one ! You can 
 never leave here but as my wife, and your own interest would 
 bind you to secresy ! 
 
 Marg. As there is truth in heaven, I will be as silent as the 
 grave! no word from my lips shall condemn the blood-spiller ! 
 Send me from the companionship of these wretches to my 
 happy home, and I will pray for you, Abel—a sister’s prayer 
 for a brother’s repentance ! You will, Abel, you will! You 
 droop your head, your eyes are turned from me, there is mercy 
 in your bosom for the heart-stricken maiden ! save me, save 
 me ! ( kneels and clings to him) 
 
 Abel. I cannot, dare not!—be mine ! 
 
 Marg. Never, by the memory of him who lies cold in death ! 
 (a distant gun is heard) 
 
 Enter Matthew, l. u. e. — Margaret, on seeing him , utters a 
 suppressed scream and staggers to a chair . 
 
 Mat. Signal from the lugger : a boat has just put off! 
 
 Abel. What can it mean ?—nothing wrong, I hope! 
 
Sc. 4.] GIPSY FARM Eft. 27 
 
 Mat. I should think not; but there's a divided opinion 
 below, and they’ve called for you. 
 
 Abel. I’ll hasten to them! Remain here ! I’ll soon return. 
 
 Exit , L. u. E. 
 
 Mat. Well, lady, is all as you could wish ? You’re com¬ 
 fortable, I hope ? No fault to find with our hospitality ? This 
 is the best room in the manor-house ! 
 
 Marg. Leave me ! Oh, if you have mercy, leave me ! 
 
 Mat. Oh, I don’t want to intrude—I should be sorry to fail 
 in respect to my captain’s lady ! 
 
 Marg. Insulting ruffian! 
 
 Mat. Ruffian !—that’s a hard word! Ah, we shall be better 
 friends by-and-bye ! Come, your hand! 
 
 Marg. For what fate am 1 reserved ? Did he live that fell 
 by thy weapon, murderer! thou hadst not dared have spoken 
 thus ! My heart will break ! 
 
 Mat. I came here on business, and don’t want to hold talk 
 with a woman ! There is something in that alcove I need — 
 (points to it and crosses )—and, though we don’t hit our horses, 
 I’ll shew* you what most ladies like to see— (by this time he has 
 reached the alcove, and, tearing dovm the curtain, the body of 
 Alfred is discovered on a couch, partly covered by a white 
 sheet) —your lover ! (Margaret with a scream of agony rushes 
 to the body) You’d better make up your mind for the captain!— 
 a living husband is better than a dead lover! 
 
 Marg. Great heaven, no!—my brain is wandering, ’tis 
 fancy!—no, ’tis reality! (she bursts into an hysterical laugh) 
 Alfred, Alfred !—’tis Margaret, your own dear Margaret ! 
 
 Mat. What’s the matter with the girl ? 
 
 Marg. He lives! 
 
 Mat. What! 
 
 Marg. Alfred, lean on me !—-I’ll lead you from this place!— 
 you are weak, and need assistance! Oh, happy chance,—he 
 lives, he lives! (Alfred has by this time half risen from the couch, 
 seemingly unconscious of his situation —Matthew draws a knife 
 and is rushing towards them , when he is stopped by Margaret, 
 who seizes the hand in which the knife is held) What would you do ? 
 
 Mat. Complete an unfinished job!—he shall never live to 
 tell tales! 
 
 Marg. Monster! —unfeeling, merciless monster !— you shall 
 not harm him !' Woman as I am, I’ll struggle to the last, and 
 you shall plunge your weapon deep into my bosom ere you 
 injure yon helpless youth ! 
 
 Mat. Let go your hold ! 
 
 Marg. Never, while life lasts ! 
 
 (they struggle—he dashes her from him — she, screaming 
 during the struggle, falls. Alfred, having staggered from 
 
28 
 
 G1PST FARMER. 
 
 [Act 1. 
 
 the couch , weak and powerless , is seized by Matthew, who 
 raises his knife to strike—at this moment the D. r. is burst 
 open, and Jack, rushing down, swings Matthew from 
 Alfred, at the same time seizing the knife — Alfred, ex¬ 
 hausted, falls across the arm of Jack, who, standing 
 across Margaret, points the knife at Matthew) 
 
 Jack. Oh, you black-headed, black-hearted lubber! If it 
 wasn’t for the precious cargo that rests on my arm, and the 
 sweet little craft that lies wrecked at my feet, damme, you 
 should die the death of a dog! 
 
 Mat. Ah! you think you’ve done it, I dare say ! May be 
 you’re not aware you’ve jumped into a hornet’s nest! 
 
 Jack. ( showing the knife) Yes, but I’ve deprived one of its 
 sting !—and with a strong hand and a willing heart, I’ll manage 
 to cut our way out! Come, Alt', rouse up, rouse up !—you’re 
 alongside your brother Jack, who will never leave you till you 
 are anchored in the harbour of safety. 
 
 (during Jack’s speech Margaret recovers and supports 
 Alfred) 
 
 Mat. You’re not there yet! 
 
 Jack. You’re no rock in our way ! Lady, look to Alfred 
 while I clear the decks of this varmint! ( shows the knife) Do 
 you see this ? 
 
 Mat. ( drawing a pistol) Do you see this? 
 
 Jack. Bump ashore! 
 
 Mat. ( presenting pistol) This from Mat! 
 
 Joe drops down the chimney covered with soot, and seizes the 
 pistol . 
 
 Joe. This from Joe ! 
 
 Mat. The devil! 
 
 Joe. No, the orphan—found in a haystack ! 
 
 Jack. Hurra, Joe!—hang on to him—I’m with you! (a 
 short struggle with Matthew — pistol goes off) 
 
 Enter Abel and Smugglers, l. 2 e. 
 
 Abel. What, Alfred ! and living! What miracle is this? 
 
 Alfred. The bullet passed through my shoulder—stunned 
 by the blow, I remained powerless, and apparently dead! 
 Weakened by the loss of blood, sense for a time had left me ; 
 returning reason found me here. Let us pass unmolested, and 
 all shall be forgotten ! 
 
 Mat. 1 won’t take his word for that!—away with him to 
 the lugger. 
 
 Smugglers. To the lugger, to the lugger! 
 
 Abel. I have no voice, but must obey. Come. 
 
 (as they approach the door in flat they are met by Luke 
 Hatfield) 
 
GIPSY FAKMEK. 
 
 29 
 
 Sc. 4.] 
 
 Luke. Stay, I hold a warrant for the apprehension of Abel 
 Allnutt and others for smuggling.. Your, vessel has been 
 seized by the officers of the Preventive Service; and informa¬ 
 tion laid by one of your crew led us to your concealment. 
 Opposition would be useless; the house is surrounded by the 
 military. As clerk to the principal magistrate, it is my duty 
 to serve the warrant. 
 
 Mat. Take your wages for your work, {fires and shoots 
 Luke Hatfield) 
 
 Soldiers and Officers rush on, C., presenting arms, and the 
 
 Smugglers surrender—the party is led on by Marian and 
 
 Kit Cable. 
 
 Marian. Luke, you are dying! 
 
 Luke. I am ! ’tis just! Where the crime was committed 
 ’tis tit the penalty should be paid! Sister, this room- 
 
 Marian. Oh, brother! life is lingering on your lips; the 
 gates of death are opening to receive your parting spirit—let 
 not resentment darken your dying hours! if you would be 
 forgiven, forgive! 
 
 Luke. Alfred, come hither—you stand in the halls of 
 your father, the rightful lord of these domains! Listen, 
 your sire brought destruction to the house of Luke Hatfield, 
 seduced my sister, then left her to the scofis of a cold and 
 sneering world! She became a wanderer, revenge rankled in 
 my bosom, time passed, the wronger was wed to rank and 
 beauty, a child was born, a son, to make happy the home 
 of wealth and power—but death was busy ; the young mother 
 died—the infant smiled and lived ! Months passed—in yonder 
 alcove rested the baby-boy! Night came, and the spoiler 
 entered! I stole the boy, placed you with the fisherman that 
 bred you, told him ’twas my sister’s child ! 
 
 Alfred. Can this be true ? My father—— 
 
 Luke. Died broken-hearted in a foreign land ! 
 
 Marian. Oh, forgive him! let him not die with your curse 
 resting on him ! 
 
 Alfred. All the wrong he has done me I freely forgive ; 
 for others, heaven must pardon, not I! I fear it will be 
 difficult, even if your tale be true, to establish my rights. 
 
 Luke. That could I easily have done, had not robbery- 
 
 Abel. I’ve done bad actions enough; let me do one good 
 one. Some years ago I broke into Mr. Hatfield’s house— 
 poverty had made me desperate; I took his pocket-book, 
 thinking it contained notes ; I kept it that I might use it as 
 a last resource—take it. {gives it Alfred) You’ll find quite 
 enough there to remove every doubt! 
 
 Jack. They say the old gentleman’s never so black as he’s 
 
30 
 
 GIPSY FARMER. 
 
 painted, and I believe ’em! Alfred, I give you joy! you go 
 with a gale to fortune! I’ve lost a brother! 
 
 Alfred. No —brother still! Remove Mr. Hatfield—let him 
 have assistance. (Luke is led off, c.) Mr. Cable, may I—— 
 (i takes Margaret’s hands ) 
 
 Cable. Yes, you lucky dog, you may, and my blessing with 
 her; and I’ll throw Mary Maybush into the bargain ! 
 
 Jack. No, your honour, she strikes her flag to your humble 
 servant. 
 
 Cable. What! Mary takes another situation? 
 
 Mary. Yes, sir, in the naval service, if you’ve no objection ! 
 
 Cable. None ; but stay !—what say they there ? (pointing 
 to the audience ) 
 
 Jack. I’ll ask. We’ve launched the ship—will she float ? 
 She must, if favoured by the tide of your approbation!—if 
 you pipe all hands you’ll cheer the hearts of- 
 
 Alfred. Alfred-- 
 
 Jack. Jack- 
 
 Joe. And Joe ! 
 
 {Music, —“ Rule Britannia — Tableau , and) 
 
 Curiam. 
 
 Printed by Thomas Scott, 1, Warwick C<nirt, Ilolborn.