IN TWO ACTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 “ NELL GWYNNE,” “ THE HOUSEKEEPER,” “ THE WEDDING GOWN,” 
 “ BEAU NASH,” “ BLACK-EYED SUSAN,” &C. &C. 
 
 V 
 
 PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL DRURY LANE. 
 
 [ THIRD EDITION .] 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN MILLER, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, 
 
 MDCCCXXXIV. 
 
 PRICE ONE SHILLING > 
 
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Grnntley 
 
 Old Crumbs 
 Martin Heywood 
 Toby Heywood . . 
 
 Bullfrog 
 
 Silver Jack . . . . 
 
 Hyssop 
 
 Beanstalk 
 
 Stephen 
 
 Second Farmer . . 
 
 Burly 
 
 Sailor 
 
 Mr. Brindal 
 Mr. Younge 
 Mr. Wallack 
 Mr. Cooper 
 .Mr. Harley 
 Mr. H. Wallack 
 .Mr. Bedford 
 Mr. Hughes 
 Mr Salter 
 Mr. C. Jones 
 Mr. Hatton 
 Mr. Heaton 
 
 Rachel Heywood Miss Phillips 
 
 Polly Briggs Mrs. Humby 
 
 Tenants , Children , Villagers , Sfc. fyc. 
 
 This Drama was first represented Jan . 25, 1832. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 PRINTED BY E. LOWE, PLAYHOUSE YARD, BLACKFRIARS- 
 
T O 
 
 DAVID WILKIE, ESQ., K.A., 
 
 fcO, 
 
 
 jP 
 
 V 
 
 JEtn's iSvama 
 
 IS 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 HIS OBLIGED SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 
 https://archive.org/details/rentdaydramaintwOOjerr 
 
THE RENT DAY. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 Scene First: An Apartment in Grantley Hall. Disco- 
 vered, Crumbs (the Steward), Beanstalk, Farmers , 
 their Wives and Children, Servants, Sfc. The Charac- 
 ters and Stage so arranged as to form, on the rising 
 of the Curtain , a representation of Wilkie s Picture of 
 “ Rent Day.” 
 
 Crumbs. By my heart! there’s nought so pleasant as 
 a rent-day. 
 
 Bean. Thee be’st right, master Crumbs; nought; — 
 when the corn’s in the barn, and the money in the bag; 
 but rent-day, wi’ bad crops and low pockets, be an awful 
 thing. 
 
 1st Farmer. It be, indeed. See what it ha’ brought 
 Phil Jones to. That seizure, master Crumbs, ha’ broke 
 his heart. Warn’t you a bit hasty like? 
 
 Crumbs. Ha, friends! it’s a sad task to be steward! 
 I often seize with tears in my eyes. What then ? we must 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 keep a clear book. I never turn out a family but — (to 
 one of the farmers .) — you don’t drink your ale, master 
 Stoke — with the greatest reluctance. Last week, when 
 Miles and his children went to the work-house, it — ( to 
 another farmer.) — help your dame to some pie — it made 
 me really uneasy. Yet one’s feelings must suffer. One 
 must keep a clear book. 
 
 Bean. Where be Martin Heywood, I wonder? Ha! 
 things ha’ ne’er gone right since the old man died of a 
 sudden. I had hopes to see Martin here. 
 
 Crumbs. I’ve had hopes somq time past. But here’s 
 a toast: (fills a glass.) here’s punctuality to all tenants. 
 ( they drink , — looking significantly at each other.) 
 
 Bean. Come, I’ll gi’ thee another. Here be mercy 
 and liberality to all landlords ! 
 
 All — except Crumbs. Well said. Mercy to all land- 
 lords! ( drinking.) 
 
 Bean. ( to Crumbs.) Why, master Crumbs, be there 
 a spider in the glass? — thee dost not drink. Come, 
 cf mercy,” man. There be few on us, I fear, would be 
 worse for a little more on’t. Tak’ another sup. 
 
 Crumbs. No more. There, master Beanstalk, is your 
 receipt — there, friend Thomas, (giving various papers to 
 farmers.) is yours. As for that matter about the tithes, 
 master Hodge, we must talk on’t. .^All our business is 
 now despatched, and I’ll drain another glass to our next 
 merry-meeting. — ( All rise , having filled glasses .) 
 
 Bean. Stay. I’ll clap a tail to that toast; so drink 
 “ good fortune to master Heywood!” 
 
 All. Ay, ay! 
 
 Bean. Stop. And his wife, Rachel — Not yet! — and 
 all his darling little babes, God bless ’em! (all drink.) 
 Why, master Crumbs, what makes thee look so blank? 
 
It be a bad sign if a man make wry faces when lie hears 
 luck wished to another. 
 
 Crumbs. Wry faces! you mistake. But you take a 
 good deal of interest in Martin Ileywood. 
 
 Bean. Naturally. I ha’ known him ever since he 
 could ha’ lain in my hat. My dame, here, stood for his 
 w r ife, Rachel; and a blessed little blossom she was. If it 
 hadn’t been for bad times, — but I won’t brag. ( Retires 
 amongst Farmers. Second Farmer comes down to Crumbs.) 
 
 2nd Farmer. Now, good master steward, you’ll give 
 me time I hope ? 
 
 Crumbs. Time is n’t in my gift if I would. 
 
 2nd Farmer. I have a w r ife and eight children! 
 
 Crumbs. A marvellous pity; but I must make up my 
 book. 
 
 2nd Farmer. Give me but two months. 
 
 Crumbs. You shall have two weeks. Don’t reckon 
 on an hour more. Two weeks, and then I sell every 
 stick. 
 
 2nd Farmer. Have you no heart? 
 
 Crumbs. I must make up my book! — Two weeks. — * 
 ( Farmer retires. Beanstalk , who, with others , has filled 
 his glass , comes down , and forces a glass on Crumbs.) 
 
 Bean. I say, master Crumbs, the old toast at parting. 
 “ Here’s mercy to all landlords !” 
 
 Crumbs. ( unwillingly drinking.) “ Mercy — land- 
 
 lords !” — Farewell, farewell! — 
 
 All exeunt but Crumbs. 
 
 They’re gone; now to sort the money. (Employs him- 
 self sorting papers , notes, fyc.) Hey wood must pack. 
 The farm must come into my hands. Let me reckon. 
 
4 
 
 Another twelvemonth, — the landlord still away, and my 
 fortune is complete. I have scraped, and scratched, and 
 wrung! — ’Tis very well. Such another year, and farewell 
 England. 
 
 Here Silver Jack and Hyssop are seen looking in. 
 
 Jack, (pointing out Crumbs to Hyssop.) ’Tis he! 
 I’ll swear it ! 
 
 Crumbs. Who’s there? (Jack and Hyssop disap- 
 pear.) 
 
 Enter Stephen, with letters. 
 
 Is it you, Stephen? — talking to yourself? 
 
 Ste. Talking, sir? not I. Here be letters: this, from 
 London ; it has our master’s crest, {retires.) 
 
 Crumbs. Master! Humph! (opens and reads.) ’Tis 
 from young Spendthrift. The old style: more money. 
 He shall have it. 
 
 Toby Heywood, without. 
 
 Toby. No, no; I’ll walk in. When he sees me, he’ll 
 be sure I’m here. 
 
 Enters from back. 
 
 Servant, master Crumbs. 
 
 Crumbs. Servant; I’d hoped to see your brother, 
 Martin. ( to Stephen , half-aside.) Stephen, go to Bull- 
 frog. Tell him to come to me to-night; I shall have 
 
5 
 
 business for him. Ay, and call on Burly, too, and tell 
 him the same. 
 
 Exit Stephen. 
 
 Toby. Bullfrog and Burly! What devil’s feast’s 
 afoot, that they must have a spoon in? 
 
 Crumbs. All trades must be filled: Bullfrog’s is an 
 ugly one. 
 
 Toby. Ay; but the ugliest trades have their moments 
 of pleasure. Now, if I were a grave-digger, or even a 
 hangman, there are some people ( glancing at Crumbs.) 
 I could work for with a great deal of enjoyment. 
 
 Crumbs. That’s Bullfrog’s maxim: he’s very merry. 
 
 Toby. The most jovial of brokers and appraisers. 
 He levies a distress as though he brought a card of invi- 
 tation; giggles himself into possession; makes out the 
 inventory with a chuckle ; and carts off chairs and tables 
 to “ Begone dull care!” or, “How merrily we live who 
 Shepherds be.” 
 
 Crumbs. True, in these matters he has a coolness. 
 
 Toby. Coolness! he’d eat oysters whilst his neigh- 
 bour’s house was in flames, — always provided that his 
 own was ensured. Coolness! lie’s a piece of marble, 
 carved into a broad grin ! 
 
 Crumbs. Well, well, your business with me? 
 
 Toby. My brother, Martin, has been once more dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 Crumbs. So have I. 
 
 Toby. That’s lucky. You’ll be better able to feel for 
 him. 
 
 Crumbs. I want money. 
 
Toby. So does he. 
 
 Crumbs. I’ll give time, if there be any one to answer 
 for him. Can’t you assist him? have you nothing? 
 
 Toby. Yes: fifteen pounds a-year, as principal usher 
 to the town free-school. My goods and chattels are a 
 volume of “ Robinson Crusoe ditto “ Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress with “ Plutarch’s Morals,” much like the morals of 
 many other people,— a good deal dog’s-eared! If my 
 uncle had made me a ploughman instead of a mongrel 
 scholar, I might have had a mouldy guinea or so. 
 
 Crumbs. But has your brother no one to speak for 
 him? 
 
 Toby. Yes. There are two. 
 
 Crumbs. Where shall I find them? 
 
 Toby. In the church-yard. His grandfather and his 
 father lie there. Go to the graves of the old men, and 
 these are the words the dead will say to you: <c We lived 
 sixty years in Holly farm. In all that time we never 
 begged an hour of the ’Squire. We paid rent, tax, and 
 tithe: we earned our bread with our own hands, and 
 owed no man a penny when laid down here. Well, then, 
 will ye be hard on young Heywood; will ye press upon 
 our child, our poor Martin, when murrain has come upon 
 his cattle, and blight fallen upon his corn?” This is what 
 the dead will say. I should like to know what the living 
 has to answer? 
 
 Crumbs, (handing over the Squire’s letter.) This. 
 
 Toby, {opening it .) From the young ’Squire, {reads.) 
 
 “ Master Crumbs , use all despatch , and send me , on re- 
 ceipt of this , £5 00. Cards have tricked me , and the devil 
 cogged the dice . Get the money at all costs , and quickly . 
 Robert Grantley Ay, a right true letter from an absent 
 landlord. 
 
i 
 
 Crumbs. ’Tis hard to be steward to a wild youth who 
 looks not after his own estate. You see, he leaves me no 
 discretion? 
 
 Toby. Oh, no. If the landlord lose at gaming, his 
 tenants must suffer for’t. The ’Squire plays a low card, 
 — issue a distress-warrant! He throws deuce-ace,— 
 turn a family into the fields! ’Tis only awkward to lose 
 hundreds on a card; but very rascally to be behind-hand 
 with one’s rent! 
 
 Crumbs. As you say — very true. — Good morning, 
 master Toby. ( Going,) 
 
 Toby. Good morning. Poor brother Martin wouldn’t 
 come himself, so I thought I’d step up and speak to you. 
 But I’ll tell him that you’ll give him all time, and that he’s 
 not to make himself uneasy, and all that. I’ll comfort 
 him, depend on’t. And, I say; when you write back to 
 the ’Squire, you can tell him, by way of postscript, if he 
 must feed the gaming-table, not to let it be with money 
 wrung, like blood, from the wretched. Just tell him, 
 whilst he shuffles the cards, to remember the aching 
 hearts of his distressed tenants. And when he’d rattle 
 the dice, let him stop and think of the knuckles of the 
 bailiff and the tax-gatherer, knocking at the cottage- 
 doors of the poor. Good morning, Mr. Steward, good 
 morning. 
 
 Exit at back. 
 
 Crumbs. Now to give my instructions to the beadle 
 and appraiser, and out he goes. 
 
 Exit. 
 

 8 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Rustic View. 
 
 Enter Jack and Hyssop. 
 
 Hyssop, ( to Jack, who is looking hack). Come, come, 
 why do you loiter ? 
 
 Jack. Don’t you see that woman still at the stile? — 
 the prettiest creature I’ve looked on this many a day. 
 
 Hys. Tush ! now we’re on business. Go on with your 
 story. Let me see, where did that wench’s black eyes 
 interrupt us ? Oh ! you were about to tell me how you 
 knew r that this steward, Crumbs, as he is called, was your 
 master, when you took to live by your w r its and the nim- 
 bleness of your five fingers. Now, are you sure you 
 know him? 
 
 Jack. Do I know my own hand? Thirty years ago, 
 when but a boy, I ran away from my apprenticeship — 
 
 Hys. Ay, of rope-making: a fatal profession. Go 
 on. 
 
 Jack. Pshaw! I fell in with John Harris — for that’s 
 his real name — in London. He w'as a knight of the road 
 
9 
 
 of the first order ;*kept as pretty a blood, and shuffled a 
 card better than any baronet of St. James’s. Bless you ! 
 he gave the fashion to Hounslow and Finchley. Well, 
 Newgate hath clipped many a brave fellow’s wing! Cap- 
 tain Harris was taken, tried, and condemned for Tyburn. 
 
 Hys. Then he got a reprieve? 
 
 Jack. Yes, in the way of some files, sent to him in a 
 pigeon-pie, and twenty fathom of cord, baked in a few 
 loaves. He gave them the slip and started for the Indies. 
 There, I heard, he met with an Englishman, was brought 
 back again, and here he is. Have you a mind to earn 
 fifty pounds ? 
 
 Hys. If ’t may be done with the leisure of a gentleman. 
 
 Jack. ’Tis but to open your mouth. See: {takes out 
 a seal-skin tobacco pouch, and from it an old hand bill. 
 Gives it to Hyssop.) J have worn it about me for many 
 a long day. 
 
 Hys. ( Reading bill.) “ Fifty pounds reward I Es- 
 caped from Newgate! John Harris , a convict. Fie is 
 five feet ten, of a darkish complexion ; oval face, quick 
 black eyes , with an eager look : his mouth large and rest- 
 less; his hair a deep chesnut brown, in close curls. His 
 voice is full and his manner of speaking rapid. His pace 
 short and hurried. Has a scar over the left eye ; also a 
 scar on the back of the left hand .” This can never be 
 the picture of that old man? 
 
 Jack. Why, ’tis seven-and-twenty years since he sat 
 for it: that’s some time for one who hasn’t walked upon 
 velvet. Why, even /am changed. I can remember when 
 my mother used to call me her “lovely little Jack.” As 
 for Harris, ’twould have done you good to hear him cry 
 “ Stand!” — it came sharp upon you like the click of a 
 
 c 
 
10 
 
 trigger. Step aside, Hyssop, here are two of the natives. 
 ( they retire amongst the trees,) 
 
 Enter Polly Briggs, Bullfrog following her. 
 
 Polly. Now, Mr. Bullfrog, don’t teaze me. 
 
 Bull. I teaze! I should like to know how a man with 
 a freehold of twenty pounds per year, a pretty business, 
 and a genteel figure, could teaze, even if he would? It’s 
 only poor people who teaze ; we monied men delight ! 
 
 Polly. Well, Pm very poor, Mr. Bullfrog. 
 
 Bull. You are: it’s your only fault. 
 
 Polly. Fault! poverty’s no crime. 
 
 Bull. Isn’t it? well, it’s so like I don’t know the dif- 
 ference. It’s a pity poor girls have pretty faces ; they 
 lead us prudent capitalists into many false reckonings. 
 Oh, Polly! if I should love you! 
 
 Polly. La ! what should you see to love in me ? 
 
 Bull. See! why, there’s a beautiful face with its 
 streaks of red, and the blue veins running up and down 
 the white skin, for all the world like the ruled pages of a 
 new ledger ! 
 
 Polly. White skin! Wouldn’t you be better pleased 
 if it were yellow ? 
 
 Bull. La ! why ? 
 
 Polly. ’T would remind you of your guineas, you 
 know. And, I’m sure, you love nothing so well. 
 
 Bull. Yes, one thing — almost: that pretty little red 
 mouth ! Oh, Polly ! if you had but a small annuity, or 
 expectations from a sick aunt, or any thing of that kind, 
 you’d be a perfect woman. — But I must have a kiss. 
 
 Polly. A kiss ! I never heard of such a thing ! 
 
 Bull. What an ignorant young woman you must be. 
 
11 
 
 A kiss is — —(Bull is approaching Polly when Toby comes 
 down between them.) 
 
 Toby. She knows. I taught her long ago. And 
 harkye, Master Bullfrog ! 
 
 Bull. Now be cool. I’m always cool. 
 
 Toby. You’ll still be meddling. Don’t you remem- 
 ber that you were once kicked ? 
 
 Bull. Yes. And wasn’t I a picture of patience? 
 Did I fly into a rage? No : I flung myself upon the laws. 
 I made twenty pounds by that job, and that didn’t make 
 me conceited either. 
 
 Toby. Take care, or I may kick too! 
 
 Bull. No. Prudence won’t let you. 
 
 Toby. Why not? 
 
 Bull. You can’t afford to pay for luxuries! 
 
 Toby. Oh! on such an occasion, I’d not mind running 
 in debt! (to Polly.) But, Polly, go to the farm; run 
 and comfort Rachel. Leave the appraiser to me. Go. 
 
 Exit Polly. 
 
 What! waste your valuable time with a girl not worth a 
 groat ? 
 
 Bull. That’s true. And I ought to be down at 
 Brown’s, the millwright’s. 
 
 Toby. Ha! no use going there. I’m told they barri- 
 cade doors and windows. You’ll never get in there. 
 
 Bull. Ha! ha! You don’t know my wit. I took 
 possession this morning. 
 
 Toby. Why, how? 
 
 Bull. Such a scheme! About an hour after Brown 
 had let himself out of the window, I got a little girl to go 
 and knock at the door, and call for Mrs. Brown. I 
 
taught her her lesson; this was it: “Mrs. Brown, for 
 Heaven’s sake!” — I made her say “Heaven,” because it 
 sounded more real. 
 
 Toby. Yes, Heaven is a good word to lie under. 
 
 Bull. Bless you! I’ve found it so. ( ‘ For Heaven’s 
 sake come to your husband! he’s chopped his leg clean 
 through with an axe!” You should have heard Mrs, 
 Brown scream ! Out she ran, wringing her hands, — her 
 three children tumbling after her; and in I and the beadle 
 walked. 
 
 Toby. Then ’twas all a lie? 
 
 Bull. Lord love you, only my wit. And so I told 
 Mrs. Brown; and bade her wipe her eyes, and make her- 
 self comfortable whilst I took down the goods. I shall 
 sell on Thursday. 
 
 Toby. Sell! You are throwing away your time 
 knocking down tea-cups and wooden dishes. You should 
 go to the colonies and sell the blacks. 
 
 Bull. I certainly do pass off an article with a flou- 
 rish. 
 
 Toby. Flourish! how capitally you’d dispose of a 
 man, his wife, and six children ! 
 
 Bull. I’m not conceited; but I think I should. Hem! 
 “ Ladies and gentlemen, the next lot consists of eight 
 mortals.” — Stop, (to Toby.) are blacks mortals? 
 
 Toby. Why, with some, it’s a matter of doubt, so let 
 them have the benefit of it. 
 
 Bull. “ Eight mortals. Flow much shall we say for 
 the lot?” 
 
 Toby. Or you might ask, — “ Flow much for the man? 
 a strong-bodied labourer, a virtuous husband, and an 
 affectionate father. He weighs fourteen stone, hasn’t a 
 
13 
 
 single vice, stands five feet eleven, is very handsome, and 
 is going at only a handful of dollars? 5 ’ 
 
 Bull. Must you talk about affection and all that? 
 
 Toby. Of course. Virtue is especially marketable in 
 the West Indies. There, it’s worth while being a con- 
 stant husband and a doating parent; for one sells for a 
 few dollars extra. Go to Jamaica by all means. 
 
 Bull. I think I should succeed. 
 
 Toby. Succeed! After your story to Mrs. Brown, if 
 your own father were going by auction, you’d knock him 
 down with the greatest grace in life. 
 
 Bull. Now, you flatter! 
 
 Toby. Impossible. With you, there’s no improving 
 upon truth. 
 
 Bull. Well, that’s really handsome. But I 
 
 Enter Crumbs. 
 
 Good day, master Crumbs. I was coming, by your order, 
 about 
 
 Crumbs. In good time, (seeing Toby.) He here! 
 
 Toby. Don’t let me interrupt business. I’m going to 
 the farm. Good bye, Bullfrog; and, I say, if, in the 
 course of auction matters you’ve a lot of humanity to 
 dispose of 
 
 Bull. Well? 
 
 Toby. Think of Mrs. Brown, and buy it in for your- 
 self! 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Crumbs. A subtle, sneering rogue, that. Harkye, 
 Bullfrog, you must this day seize on Heywood’s goods. 
 (Silver' Jack and Hyssop come down.) Strangers here! 
 
14 
 
 Jack, (slapping Crumbs on the bach.) Your servant, 
 old sir ! 
 
 Crumbs. Old sir! 
 
 Jack. Ay. There’s no shame in grey hairs, is there? 
 even though they once were a chesnut-brown. (sarcasti- 
 cally.) What then? hair will change. 
 
 Hys. Yes, and quick black eyes-, with an eager look, 
 will grow dim and dull. 
 
 Jack. A deep voice will lose something of its music; 
 and five feet ten shrink into ( measuring Crumbs with his 
 eye.) five feet seven or eight. 
 
 Hys. A large and restless mouth may last. 
 
 Jack. Ay, and scars, (seizing the hand of Crumbs, 
 who stands amazed and trembling .) Yes, scars will not 
 rub out! 
 
 Crumbs. Villains! robbers! (passionately.) 
 
 Bull. Robbers! shall I call the constable? 
 
 Crumbs. Peace ! away ! (is hurrying off: Jack arrests 
 him.) 
 
 Jack. Nay, nay, old gentleman; we are strangers, 
 and ask a day's hospitality at the mansion. 
 
 Crumbs, (still terrified , and endeavouring to escape .) 
 Away — away ! 
 
 Jack, (holding him.) As you will not give us house- 
 room, will you tell me where I may find a printer? — I 
 wish to distribute through the village some hundred 
 copies of this little bill, (shows Crumbs the hand-bill: he 
 staggers back confounded.) 
 
 Bull. A printer! My cousin Hairspace is the man. 
 Does all my catalogues. Give me the bill, (is about to 
 take the bill.) 
 
 Crumbs. Touch it not; touch it not, I say! Come, 
 gentlemen! (inviting them on.) 
 
15 
 
 Jack. Nay, we will not trouble you. (to Bull.) Your 
 cousin, you say? . 
 
 Bull. The best printer forty miles about. In black, 
 blue, or red ink, plain or ornamental, — there is no 
 printer who — (endeavouring to get the bill.) 
 
 Crumbs. The devil seize thee, — peace ! — Come, gen- 
 tlemen; nay, you must with me to the mansion. We will 
 have a brave dinner! Some wine! wine! I do entreat 
 you not to stay, my good friends. — (Anxiously endeavour- 
 ing to lead Jack and Hyssop off.) 
 
 Jack. As you’re so pressing; — but we shall trouble 
 you. 
 
 Crumbs. No, no; it gladdens me that I have met you. 
 Come. 
 
 Bull, (who creeps round to Jack and gives him a card.) 
 My cousin’s card. 
 
 Crumbs. (Crossing to Bullfrog.) What dost mutter? 
 
 Bull. Mutter! La! Mr. Crumbs! I only presented 
 Timothy’s card. Must always think of trade', you know. 
 
 Crumbs. (With extreme passion.) Think of trade! 
 wouldst see me hanged? 
 
 Bull. No. I never neglect business for pleasure. 
 
 Crumbs. Beware! beware! and follow me! (To Jack 
 and Hyssop,) Come, gentlemen ; come, my good friends ! 
 Nay, you first; I entreat. 
 
 Exit Crumbs, bowing off Jack and Hyssop, who exchange looks. 
 
 Bull. Beware — beware — to a freeholder! I’ll 
 
 no — I’m not yet rich enough to be in a passion. When 
 I’ve made my fortune, then I may indulge in the feelings 
 of a gentleman. 
 
 Exit. 
 
16 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Rustic Landscape. — Evening. 
 
 Rachel discovered, seated on the projecting step of a stile at the side. 
 
 Rach. The sun is almost set, and yet I see not Martin. 
 Oh! my dear husband! my poor children! heaven be 
 g kind to us, — for I’ve almost lost all other hope.— Ha! 
 Martin! Martin! 
 
 Martin Haywood appears at the stile : — crosses it. 
 
 Martin. Rachel here! — Why did you leave the 
 farm? 
 
 Rach. I could not stay there and you away. Our 
 children, Martin ; they cried for you. 1 could not speak 
 to them; I could not stay. Now, Martin, your friend? 
 
 Mar. (with bitterness .) Friend! 
 
 Rach. Oh ! do not look so — do not. 
 
 Mar. I have done that to-day I never did before; I 
 have wished myself dead! ay, dead! that I might be quit 
 of all. 
 
17 
 
 Racii. And our children, Martin? 
 
 Mar. *T would be better for ’em. There’s some spell 
 Upon me! Do what I will it does not thrive! Why, ’tis 
 certain there’s some curse upon me ! 
 
 Rach. Be patient, dear Martin ! 
 
 Mar. Patient! I have been patient. Harvest after 
 harvest’s failed; — flock after flock has died; yet have I 
 smiled upon’t, and gone whistling *bout the fields. I have 
 been hunted by landlord — threatened by the taxman — 
 yet I’ve put a stout heart upon’t, and never drooped. 
 Rachel Heywood, you see me now without a shilling — 
 without a home — my children with not a week’s food be- 
 fore them^— my wife starving — and yet I’m patient. 
 
 Rach. I never saw you so till now. Martin, what 
 has happened? 
 
 Mar. I may sit down and see my little ones pine day 
 by day; I may feel their wasting limbs, and hear them 
 scream for bread; and I may stare in their white faces, 
 and tell them to be patient. Patient ! 
 
 Rach. Look not so fiercely at me, Martin. Are they 
 not my children — mine? Am I not their mother? Can 
 your love be more than mine? But no; you did not 
 mean that. Come, Martin, be not so hasty. What has 
 happened ? 
 
 Mar. No matter; let it rest with me. 
 
 Rach. But it must not, Martin. How many a time 
 have you said that you could have no secret from Rachel? 
 
 Mar. I don’t remember that. 
 
 Rach. Look there, Martin, ( pointing to the stile .) — 
 How often have we met at yonder stile ; how often have 
 we waited there for hours, and talked of our wedding-day 
 and all our hopes? — then you have said — 
 
 Mar. Ay, those were ga,y days! Then, life seemed 
 
 D 
 
18 
 
 full of promise, as a field of ripened corn. Those were 
 happy times! 
 
 Rach. They will come back, never fear it. Now tell 
 me, Martin, have you been to your friend? 
 
 Mar. I have been to Harry Wilson. The same 
 Harry Wilson to whom my grandfather lent good guineas 
 to begin the world. 
 
 Rach. You asked him to lend you the money for a 
 time? 
 
 Mar. I stammered it out somehow. 
 
 Rach. And did he? 
 
 Mar. Damn him! 
 
 Rach. Oh, Martin! 
 
 Mar. I thought I was talking to a brother. I told 
 him all, Rachel, all! — And he heard me, with a smile on 
 his face, and said, he was sorry ! 
 
 Rach. Then he could not assist us? 
 
 Mar. No. His money was laid out in ventures, — he 
 had lost by lending; — but he was very soury ! 
 
 Rach. And he offered nothing? 
 
 Mar. When I told him we had not a guinea, — not a 
 
 home that we could call ours, — not a certain meal, — the 
 tears came into my eyes, and I felt like a thief whilst I 
 said all this; — well, he wouldn’t lend me a farthing: but, 
 kind soul! he bade me take a glass of wine, and hope for 
 better days ! I took the wine, and pouring it upon the 
 floor, wished that my blood might be so poured out from 
 my heart if ever again I stood beneath his roof ; and so f 
 left him ! 
 
 Rach. And your other friend? 
 
 Mar. No : I asked no other. One denial was enough. 
 
 Rach. Then every hope is gone ! 
 
 Mar. No ; there is one hope yet. And yet I cannot 
 
19 
 
 bear to think of it. Rachel, our children must not starve. 
 — What say you, shall we cross the sea? 
 
 Rack. What! leave the farm? 
 
 Mar. I am offered a place on an estate, far away in 
 the Indies. What say you? 
 
 Rach. Leave this place? 
 
 Mar. Why not? We shall find sun and sky and 
 green fields there. 
 
 Rach. But not our own fields, not our own sky, — 
 not the friends who love us, not the neighbours who 
 respect us. Oh! think not of it. Our children! they 
 would die there! Die amongst strangers! Martin, would 
 you quit our home? 
 
 Mar. Our home! where is it? — the work-house! — 
 Ha! ha! — Our home! Rachel, it shall be. We’ll not 
 be pointed at as beggars. We’ll be no burden to the 
 parish. We’ll take our children in our arms, and leave 
 this place for ever 
 
 Enter Toby Heywood. 
 
 Toby. Leave this place! what for, Martin; have you 
 got scent of a gold-mine? 
 
 Rach. Oh, speak to him — persuade him! He would 
 go from here — go, and die in some foreign place ! 
 
 Toby. Nay, he has more wisdom than that. Thou’rt 
 not such a fool, Martin. Come, I’ll give you better 
 advice. 
 
 Mar. Spare it for those who ask it: I want none. 
 
 Toby. Come, don’t snub your younger brother. If 
 you did enter the world ten months and a few seconds 
 before me, you can hear reason. Go to foreign parts, 
 eh? 
 
20 
 
 Mar. Shall 1 slay here and starve? 
 
 Toby. Come, Martin, we never looked sulkily at one 
 another when we were boys ; now, ’twould be too late to 
 begin: we should make no hand of it. Starve! 
 
 Mar. Ay. Will not the steward seize? 
 
 Toby. No, no. I have been and talked to him. 
 
 Mar. You didn’t beg for? 
 
 Toby. Beg! There’s little of the beggar in my face. 
 I talked reason to him. I said, a man who hadn’t money, 
 couldn’t well pay any. All you wanted was time; and he 
 didn’t refuse. 
 
 Bach. There, Martin; I told you not to be cast 
 down. 1 knew we should yet be happy. 
 
 Mar. Still there is no certainty that 
 
 Toby. I tell you what, brother; you are one of those 
 people who are so very fond of ill-luck, that they run 
 half-way to meet it. Old Crumbs will give you time — I 
 know it. Go, Rachel; go to the farm. Wipe your eyes, 
 kiss the babies, take down the bacon; draw a mug of 
 nut-brown, and Martin and i will find appetites. There, 
 away with you. 
 
 Racii. You will follow, Martin? There, look light 
 again. That’s well. We shall once more be happy — 
 very happy! Fortune will change, be sure of it. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Toby. Change! to be sure she will: Fortune’s a wo- 
 man! Hang it, Martin, do muster up a laugh. There, 
 now, — practise that fifty times a-day, and care would as 
 soon be hanged as dare to look at you ! {Toby, clapping 
 Martin .on the shoulder , gradually rouses him into cheer - 
 fulness , and Exeunt.) 
 
21 
 
 SCENE IV, 
 
 The old Oak Room in Grantley s Mansion. The Pan - 
 nels elaborately carved , in the antique style. In one of the 
 compartments , a Picture of a young Female , richly habited , 
 
 Enter Grantley, shewn in by Bullfrog, who is slightly intoxi- 
 cated. 
 
 Bull. Master Crumbs will be with you, sir, in the 
 knocking-down of a hammer. From London, sir? 
 
 Gran. I am. A fine old mansion this. 
 
 Bull. Beautiful! Capital piece of oak-tree pan- 
 nelling that: nice bold carving, sir. {pointing to figures.) 
 Pretty cherubim’s heads in the corners. That’s a figure 
 of Mercy. Should like to have the selling of the house 
 and furniture. 
 
 Gran. The owner is indebted to your good wishes. 
 
 Bull. The owner! Oh! he’s a wild fellow. He’s 
 never among us. No, sir; he’s a London spark. His 
 father left him abroad : and, though the old man’s been 
 dead, and the young gentleman’s been in England these 
 two years, he has never paid us a visit. 
 
Gran. Fond of a town life, I suppose ? 
 
 Bull. Very fond. And then he’s so lucky in his 
 steward. 
 
 Gran. Indeed! 
 
 Bull. Oh! lie’s a jewel of a man! — so punctual with 
 the tenants. There’s no keeping a guinea from him, sir 
 lie’s a delightful man for our business. 
 
 Gran. And your profession is 
 
 Bull. ( giving card.) Appraiser and auctioneer. 
 Happy to serve you. I made one seizure this morning, 
 shall make another to-night. If you’ve thoughts of 
 staying amongst us, and want to furnish, I can assist 
 you to two or three good penn’orths. ( Grantley has 
 been observing the picture.) What, sir! you are looking 
 at that picture ? I don’t know the painter. It’s not a 
 
 Gran. No (musing.) 
 
 Bull, No. And it’s not by — by -—(aside .) — I must 
 get an Italian smatter, or I shall never be able to knock 
 down the painters! 
 
 Gran. Is it a family portrait? 
 
 Bull. Why, sir, between ourselves, if I were to put 
 it up for auction, I should call it a conundrum in an oak 
 frame ! 
 
 Gran. Why so ? 
 
 Bull. Why, more than twice, I’ve caught Mr. Crumbs 
 standing before it looking at it; — and once (you’ll hardly 
 believe it, for nobody who knows him would), I caught 
 him with the tears rolling down his cheeks. Nobody 
 would believe it ! 
 
 Gran. Then he’s not generally given to strong emo- 
 tion? 
 
 Bull. Bless you! no, sir. lie’s too much a man ot 
 business for that. Here he comes. Not a word. 
 
23 
 
 Enter Crumbs from Centre Door in Scene. 
 
 Crumbs. Your servant, sir. Business must excuse 
 me that I made you wait, {to Bull.) Go you and see 
 that Burly is at hand. I seize within this hour. Go! 
 
 Bull. I will ; — {aside.) — but first for the other bottle 
 with Captain Jack. I must better my taste in wines, if 
 only in the way of trade. 
 
 Exit at door. 
 
 Gran. I shall tax your hospitality for some days. 
 This {giving a letter.) from my friend, Grantley. 
 
 Crumbs. He’s well, I trust? {aside.) Curses on it. 
 {reads.) “ The hearer is my most special friend . treat 
 him with all respect as he were myself Tic will stay to 
 sport some week or two.” I would, sir, we had had earlier 
 notice. I fear me you will find us ill-provided. 
 
 Gran. Never fear it. 
 
 Crumbs. In truth, sir, ’tis a dull spot. Here we see 
 no one — hear no one. 
 
 Gran. Indeed it seems still enough. 
 
 Crumbs. You never hear a sound — not a sound; un- 
 less it be the birds in the rookery, or, at night, a mouse 
 scratching in the wall, {loud laughing and knocking within . 
 Silver Jack sings , in a loud voice: 
 
 “May com never fail; for that makes good ale, 
 
 But a blight to all hempseed, brave boys, brave boys; 
 
 But a blight to all hempseed, brave boys! 
 
 {laughing and noise.) 
 
 Gran. Do the mice scratch thus early? 
 
 Crumbs, {confused.) I-— I — {Laughing and noise con- 
 tinued.) 
 
24 
 
 Gran. The rooks are somewhat jovial. 
 
 Crumbs. It hath never happened until now. They 
 are the richest of the ‘Squire’s tenants — devout religious 
 men; — but to-day being rent day 
 
 P 
 
 Jack and Hyssop are heard at the door. 
 
 Holloa, Master Crumbs. 
 
 Crumbs. I come — I — {to Grant.) Men of worth and 
 reputation. 
 
 Jack. {At door.) Master Crumbs ! John Harris! Fifty 
 pounds reward! 
 
 Crumbs. Damnation ! {In extreme terror rushes up 
 and opens folding doors in scene . Silver Jack and Hys- 
 sop are seen , with Bullfrog trying to keep them hack. 
 They come downy all flushed with wine, Jack holding a 
 bottle.) 
 
 Crumbs. {Aside to them.) I am busy. I will return. 
 Go. 
 
 Jack. Busy! Damn business! 
 
 Bu£l. No: don’t damn business. I’m very drunk, 
 but I can’t damn business : it’s profane. 
 
 Jack. To leave your company, and — {seeing Grantley .) 
 Oh! a gentleman! Introduce us. You won’t? no? — 
 I’ll introduce myself — {puts bottle upon the stage , which 
 Bullfrog takes up, and retires to back; seats himself in 
 chair , and , during the following, drinks till he falls asleep .) 
 Servant, sir. Nice house this. Capital wine ; yes, and 
 a civil steward. — Sir, I beg your friendship. If you’re 
 
 for any thing in this way, I {taking from his pocket a 
 
 pack of cards , and shuffling them.) 
 
 Hys. Ay, sir; or if there be music in this — {rattling a 
 dice box.) 
 
25 
 
 Gran, (aside.) Devout, religious men ! 
 
 Jack. We’re not avaricious. We play for anything, 
 from a marvedi to a thousand guineas. 
 
 Crumbs, (who has been vainly endeavouring to keep 
 them back.) No, no ; the gentleman does not play. Go 
 in, my good friends. 
 
 Gran, (to Crumbs.) With your leave, HI look about 
 the grounds. 
 
 Jack. Fine spot, nice house, good wine, — ay, and 
 (looking at portrait?) pretty pictures ! Well, I say, (to 
 Hyssop .) isn’t that an angel ? 
 
 Hys. I can’t say: I J ve not been used to such company. 
 
 Gran. It is, indeed, beautiful, (to Crumbs ,) Tell 
 me, whose portrait is it ? Did you know the lady ? 
 
 Crumbs, (with suppressed emotion.) She was a — a 
 favourite of the late ’Squire’s. She’s long since dead. 
 
 Jack. A favourite and dead! Ha! I suppose the 
 ’Squire was fond of her, and so broke her heart. 
 
 Crumbs, (with passion.) How dare you 
 
 Jack, (coolly and in an under tone.) Come, come, 
 John Harris; fifty pounds rew r ard! 
 
 Crumbs, (recovering himself \ to Grantley.) Come, sir, 
 I will show you 
 
 Gran. Do not quit your friends. With your leave, 
 HI go alone. Gentlemen, I am the humblest of your 
 servants. (Aside.) Devout, religious men! 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Hys. A pretty spoken fellow. 
 
 Jack. And a rich one. Did you see the diamonds on 
 his fingers? I warrant me his pockets are — umph! a 
 prize? (To Crumbs.) What say you? 
 
 E 
 
2 G 
 
 Crumbs. I — I? 
 
 Jack. I’d forgot. You only rob now as a steward. 
 You’re one of the regulars. 
 
 Crumbs. Rob! harkye! 
 
 Jack. Come, come, John Harris; no big words. I’ve 
 something here, ( showing the bill,) wouldn’t look so well 
 framed as that red-lipped young lady. ( pointing to pic- 
 ture.) 
 
 Crumbs. Well, well, we’re friends; but be cautious, 
 I implore you. {In great agitation.) Come, you shall 
 have more wine, wine! 
 
 Jack. Wine! Ay, we will have more. And then for 
 our plans, old boy ; then for our plans. Why, how 
 lucky it was that we met one another! You see there 
 were a few pressing inquiries about us in London, so we 
 thought we’d take the benefit of country air, until the 
 anxiety of our friends cooled a little. But then to think 
 of the luck of our meeting ! Ar’n’t you delighted ? {Em- 
 bracing him.) 
 
 Crumbs. Yes, yes. But go in. You shall have wine. 
 I’ll go see to it. 
 
 Jack. Wine, wine! Ha! ha! We drink courage 
 with wine,. Success to the grapes, {Sings) 
 
 “ But a blight to all hempseed, brave boys, brave boys, 
 
 A blight to all hempseed, brave boys!’’ 
 
 Crumbs forces Jack and Hyssop into room in scene. 
 
 Crumbs. The devil has forsaken me! To be tracked 
 out after so many years! This visitor, too! No; my 
 course is clear. But how to dispose of that ruffian? Ha! 
 he has been prating of some woman ; — by the description 
 
27 
 
 ’tis Hey wood’s wife. — I’ll put him in possession of the 
 farm, and thus rid me of him, whilst I — let me see 
 
 Bull, {still asleep .) What shall we say for this wine, 
 fifty years in bottle? Thankee, sir; it’s going, — going, — 
 gone. {Lets the bottle fall out of his hand.) 
 
 Crumbs, {who has remained in a state of deep thought , 
 startled , rushes up to Bullfrog , and seizes him.) Scoun- 
 drel! Listening! 
 
 Bull. Dreaming — only dreaming. I just knocked 
 down the sweetest ten dozen! 
 
 Crumbs. Up, or I strangle you! Is’t thus you mind 
 your business? 
 
 Bull. Business! — that’s enough. Cry business! — 
 and, if I don’t move, you may send for the undertaker. 
 
 Crumbs. Hence! 
 
 Bull. I’m going. Business is business. Capital wine. 
 (sings:) 
 
 “ And a blight to all herapseed,” &c. &c. 
 
 Crumbs. Hence! hence! {forces him off '.) 
 
28 
 
 SCENE V . 
 
 The Interior of Hey wood's Farm . The Scene, Furni- 
 ture, Qc. as in Wilkie’s Picture of “ Distraining for 
 Rent.” Martin and Rachel seated at Table, with 
 Toby, Beanstalk , his Dame, and the Children . Ale, 
 Jugs, on the Table . 
 
 Bean. Come, Martin, here be better times. — So: we 
 shall be jovial yet, man. 
 
 Rach, Ay, that we shall; and so I tell him, farmer; 
 but he will not heed me. 
 
 Mar. We have had nought but ill-luck since the old 
 man died. 
 
 Bean. Why, ’twas awfully sudden, to be sure. 
 
 Mar. Here he was one minute as strong and as light- 
 some as ever; when death fell upon him like a bolt, and 
 he lay upon that bed, panting, like a run-down hare. 
 
 Toby. Odd’s, Martin! look into your ale: you’ll see 
 something better than dying men. Our grandfather’s in 
 heaven. Here’s to the memory of him! Let him rest. 
 
 Mar. I tell you I can’t but think of him. Abroad or 
 at home I see him. Sometimes, when I’m falling into 
 sleep, his eyes seem to stare close at my face, and I start 
 
29 
 
 and gasp again; and then I see him looking and pointing 
 at that chair, {to farmer.) You know, farmer, he’d sit 
 in it for hours, with one of the youngsters on his knee. — 
 Still I see him with his hand stretched forth, and his 
 throat working, as though the words vrefe there but 
 couldn’t out; — and so he died. Depend on’t, there was 
 something on the old man’s mind. 
 
 Toby. Brother, shall I go to the church-yard and 
 bring you a skull and cross-bones? for, in your present 
 humour, they’re your fittest company. 
 
 Mar. I’m a fool to think so. {Jills horn.) Come, 
 farmer, your hand; Toby, yours; Rachel, lass, we’ll be 
 merry yet. Here’s to better times! {drinks, then takes 
 two of the children upon Ids knees.) 
 
 Toby. Come, I warrant me, there’s more comfort in 
 that than in ghosts’ eyes at midnight. Why, it’s up in 
 your cheek already, man. Take another. 
 
 Mar. With all my heart. And again I’ll drink, 
 “ here’s better times !’’ 
 
 Enter Polly Briggs at Door. 
 
 Polly. Oh, farmer Hey wood! Here comes the stew- 
 ard and that nasty appraiser, and the beadle; and all the 
 folks say they’re coming here to seize! 
 
 Mar. {putting down the children.) Rachel, stand 
 aside! — that gun! — {is going to take the gun from over the 
 chimney-piece ; Rachel prevents him.) 
 
 Rach. Oh, Martin ! husband ! for the love of heaven !— 
 
 Toby. What would you, Martin? 
 
 Mar. Shoot the first man who crosses yonder thresh- 
 old. Let me go ! 
 
 Bean. Come, come, Martin, be not rash: thee’st no 
 reason to be so. 
 
30 
 
 Mar. No reason! You have a wife and children, 
 yet say I have no reason! — Are not here five — (pointing 
 to Rachel and children.) — five bitter reasons ? The gun ! 
 (violently.) 
 
 Toby. Martin, Martin, are you mad? 
 
 Mar. ( < falling despairingly into a chair.) I am mad. 
 Cod help me! — I am mad! 
 
 Enter Crumbs at Door. 
 
 Crumbs. This is a disagreeable business. 
 
 Toby. I should know that by your looking so pleased. 
 
 Crumbs. I want my due. 
 
 Toby. You’ll have it some day. I wish the law 
 allowed me to give it you now. 
 
 Bean. Come, come, master Crumbs; have compassion. 
 
 Toby. Compassion! — Tell him to have three heads. 
 
 Rach. Do not 'anger him. (to Crumbs.) Good sir, 
 give us time: but a short time: have mercy. — Kneel, 
 children, kneel! (Children are about to kneel , when 
 Martin starts forward.) 
 
 Mar. Stand! if you’re of my blood. They are the 
 children of an honest man, and must not kneel before a 
 villain ! 
 
 Crumbs. Mighty well. You owe a twelvemonth’s 
 rent; and, instead of money, you give blustering words. 
 Rent-day passes lightly with you. 
 
 Mar. Lightly! (to Bean.) Farmer, as I am a man, 
 I have lived a whole year in torment. Day has been all 
 misery to me, and bed no bed. Still, as rent-day w r ould 
 come, I have lain awake whole nights, and every night 
 was more dreadful than the past. Then I’ve tried to 
 think no more, but dug my head into my pillow and 
 fixed my fingers tightly in my hair, and tried to stun 
 
31 
 
 myself to sleep ; — but all would not do. — There appeared 
 a something hanging over me — about me; — heavy and 
 stifling it seemed, — and my blood would run hot and 
 cold; and so I’ve lain and watched, and prayed the 
 daylight in. The next night worse, for it brought the 
 time still nearer. And when at last the rent-day came, 
 and I without one groat, I’ve crossed yon door, not with 
 an English farmer’s tread, but with a thief’s pace, crawl- 
 ing to the gallows ! — This is to pass rent-day lightly ! 
 
 Crumbs. Why not give up the farm? Why not leave 
 the house? 
 
 Mar. Why not? My father’s father grew grey under 
 this roof. And sooner should these beams fall and 
 knock my brains out than I would quit them. Here I 
 was born, and here I will die. If you would take me 
 through yon door, master Crumbs, I tell you it must 
 be heels foremost. Leave the house ! I almost love it 
 like a living thing. 
 
 Crumbs. All very fine. For my part, I can’t see why 
 one house shouldn’t be as good as another. 
 
 Mar. Likely you cannot. But I have crawled a little 
 child upon this floor: the very door-step is worn with my 
 feet. I have seen my mother, fathers, die here! — I — I 
 tell you here I first saw the light, and here I’ll close my 
 eyes. 
 
 Rack. Dear Martin, be calm. 
 
 Crumbs. You’ll not oppose the law? 
 
 Mar. I know not that. I tell you, don’t provoke me. 
 ( taking the arm-chair .) Here I sit — in my grandfather’s 
 chair: the chair of that old man, who, for forty years, 
 paid rent and tithe to the last guinea. Here I sit ! And 
 I warn you, put not a hand upon a stick or thread! 
 
 Crumbs, (calling at door.) Come in, friends. 
 
Enter Bullfrog and Burly at Door. 
 
 Mar. I warn you back. 
 
 Burly. ( shewing a paper.) What say you to our 
 warrant, master Hey wood? 
 
 Mar. I tell you not to tempt me. I cannot trust my- 
 self, for I am desperate ! Leave the farm ! 
 
 Crumbs, (to Bull and Burly.) You know your duties. 
 
 Exit through Door. 
 
 Bull, (who has been looking over goods.) Business is 
 business, (takes out pen , ink, and book.) One bedstead !• 
 
 Mar. Let me come at them! 
 
 Toby. Nay, nay, brother! 
 
 Rach. Husband ! 
 
 Children. Father! (they all hang about Martin , 
 keeping him from attacking Burly and Bullfrog. 
 
 Mar. (after a struggle , sinks into the chair.) Rachel! 
 — my poor babes! — take all, take all! 
 
 Bull, (making out the inventory.) One bedstead! — 
 one table ! 
 
 Beanstalk and Neighbours, who have entered. 
 
 Shame! shame! 
 
 T oby. Blood-suckers ! . 
 
 Bull. One toasting-fork, one bird-cage, one baby’s 
 rattle ! 
 
 Mar. God help us! God help us! (buries his face 
 in his hands. Bullfrog seats himself on bed ; and other 
 Characters so arrange themselves as to represent Wilkie’s 
 Picture of “ Distraining for Rent”.) 
 
 end of act i. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 Scene First. The Interior of Hey wood's Farm. Day 
 breaking. The Furniture of the Scene as at the con- 
 clusion of the First Act. Polly Briggs discovered , 
 seated at a Table. A light burning. 
 
 Polly. Dear me! how heavily the time goes, — and 
 the farm, — I declare it doesn’t look as it used to do. I’m 
 so tired — yet I must keep r my eyes open for company’s 
 sake. 
 
 Enter Rachel. 
 
 Rach. They sleep soundly. Poor children! Hea- 
 ven knows where they will rest another night. I stood 
 and watched them; and they looked so innocent — so 
 happy — they smiled, and my heart died within me. 
 
 Polly. Don’t take on so. Martin will return with 
 good news, never fear. 
 
 Rach. I’m so wretched, I have lost even hope. — My 
 pretty babes, had we been always beggars, then you could 
 have borne cold, nipping winds, rough words, uncertain 
 
 F 
 
 1 
 
34 
 
 food; — but now, tlic/ll pine, and so they’ll die. Even 
 our children will be taken from us. 
 
 Polly. Well, I never thought you could talk after 
 this fashion. 
 
 Rach. Nor I. But then 1 had not seen my infants 
 lying on a bed no longer theirs. — Is it not almost day- 
 break? Had Martin been successful, he would surely 
 have been back. 
 
 Polly. Now why will you think the worst? I 
 shouldn’t wonder if he returned with a large bag of mo- 
 ney. I’ll go to the end of the lane, and see if either he or 
 Toby be coming. 
 
 Rach. No, do not leave me — the stranger up stairs 
 — Yet go; but do not stay. 
 
 Exit Polly at door. 
 
 Sure the morning will never come. Oh, yes, ’twill come 
 too soon. Then another and another, and we are house- 
 less beggars. I walk about the place like a restless 
 ghost. — To know the worst were better than to remain 
 thus. (Sits down.) I am worn and tired — even too tired 
 to sleep. (Fatigued, she falls asleep .) 
 
 Eater Silver Jack* cautiously. 
 
 Jack. All quiet. Harris must have put some devil 
 into that wine, or I had never slept so. Here am I in 
 possession, — a watch-dog over spoons and platters, whilst 
 Hyssop, I warrant me, is rarely plucking that new-comer. 
 Jack, Jack, so it has ever run; a pair of bright eyes has 
 been a will-o’-the-wisp to you, leading you through quag- 
 mires all your life. — Hal (seeing Rachel.) she’s here and 
 
35 
 
 sleeping! How tired, pale, yet pretty she seems! She 
 looks good, and — pshaw! we all look good asleep. How 
 still the place is; no one here but ourselves: — yes, the 
 children. I just passed through their room, and saw 
 them looking as fresh and as rosy — I felt as I hadn’t felt 
 for many a day. — ’Twas a fool’s moment, and is gone. — 
 {Approaching her; she wakes.) 
 
 Rach. Martin, Martin! {Seeing Jack.) You here! 
 
 Jack. I couldn't well sleep, so I thought I’d come 
 down and keep you company. This is a much pleasanter 
 rpom. 
 
 Rach. It is at your service. I can go to my children’s. 
 {Going.) 
 
 Jack, {staying her.) They’re all fast asleep. Bless 
 their little hearts! I stood and looked at them just now 
 till I quite loved them. They are very handsome. 
 
 Rach. And most unfortunate. 
 
 Jack. Why this is an awkward business. But you 
 may yet find friends. 
 
 Rach. Friendship! 
 
 Jack. We sometimes find it where we had least 
 thoughts of it. Your children are very like you. 
 
 Rach. It has been remarked. I — {going.) 
 
 Jack. ( lingering .) Yes, full purses ought to go with 
 
 full hearts. 
 
 Rach. ’Twould save much misery. I would your em- 
 ployer — 
 
 Jack. My employer! Why, to be sure, old Crumbs 
 was once my master : but times are changed; we are now; 
 bosom friends. I am only here to oblige him. 
 
 Rach. Your task can hardly be a pleasant one. 
 
 Jack. Nay, ’tis very pleasant. Look you, I have 
 been rolling these many years about the world, and this 
 
(displaying a parse) lias still been gathering. Those 
 pretty babes of yours, — I’m mightily taken with them. — 
 Where is your husband? 
 
 Racii. Gone, as a last hope, to try to borrow. He 
 should have been back by this. 
 
 Jack. I never found this purse so troublesome before. 
 Will you lighten it for me? Come, no ceremony. You 
 want money: I don’t. 
 
 Rach. Oh! this is kind, most kind. Yet from a 
 stranger 
 
 Jack. Pshaw! Ill-fortune, now and then, makes sud- 
 den acquaintances. (Still pressing the money.) 
 
 Racii. Indeed, sir, I — I cannot. 
 
 Jack. Yet the poor babes must sleep somewhere to- 
 morrow. Come ! 
 
 Rach. My husband will speedily be here; he, per- 
 haps — 
 
 Jack. Nay, when I’m in the humour, I wouldn’t be 
 balked. Now, or never. Hang it! take the purse. — 
 ( Forces the purse into her hand.) 
 
 Rach. My husband will return it with a thousand 
 thanks. My children are saved. Oh! you have made 
 us most happy ! 
 
 Jack. That’s enough for me. As for returning the 
 money, that may rest with yourself. ’Twould have been 
 hard for you to see your husband in a jail; yourself and 
 little ones without a home. 
 
 Racii. Only to hear you name it, makes me tremble. 
 
 Jack. But there’s no such hard fortune for you. No: 
 you may stay in your farm, have your children about you, 
 
 wdiilst all fears of beggary and the workhouse why, 
 
 you seem ill? 
 
 R Apn. The sudden joy — ’tis nothing, and will pass. 
 
37 
 
 Jack. Come, sit down — ( she sits.) — There, you are 
 looking better whilst I speak, (hanging over the chair.) 
 As for the money, if you like to have it as a gift, ’tis a 
 bargain between us. So, to make it binding, just one 
 kiss! — (throwing his arms about her: she shrinks from 
 him.) Why do you look so at me? 
 
 Rach. I was deceived ! I thought I saw a friend : I 
 was deceived ! — ( rising.) 
 
 Jack. Tush! I am your friend. Come, one kiss. 
 
 Rach. There ( dropping the purse at his feet) is your 
 money, (going.) 
 
 Jack. Will you be blind to your own good? I tell 
 you the money shall be yours — all yours. I care not for 
 a penny of it. 
 
 Rach. Be silent, and let me go. (endeavouring to 
 pass.) 
 
 Jack. Think of your children — your husband 
 
 (seizes her.) 
 
 Rach. I do, and scorn you. (breaking from him.) 
 
 Jack. Are you mad? — listen to my offer. 
 
 Rach. Had you made it when the world went well 
 with us — when this roof sheltered a happy family — when 
 every day brought its plenty, its content — when we had 
 no fear of poverty or persecution — even then, the thought 
 of that you purpose should have brought the blushes to 
 your face, and made you dumb with shame; — but now, — 
 with want at our hearth — a husband mad with sorrow — 
 children unprotected — now to offer! — oh! you have a 
 heart of stone, or you could ne’er have thought it. 
 
 Jack. Hear reason, and take the purse. I tell you I 
 do not mean 
 
 Rach. You mean the worst. He who would destroy 
 
38 
 
 a Imppy firc-siile, is vile and infamous; but he who insults 
 its wretchedness, base indeed. 
 
 Jack. Base! Look you! — zounds! to be whipped by a 
 woman’s tongue! Come, don’t let us part so. This is 
 all very well, but, but — hang it! can’t fae understand one 
 another? 
 
 Rack. Oh! Martin! Martin! 
 
 Jack. ( chinking the 'purse.) He may sleep in a prison 
 to-morrow ! 
 
 Rack. Let me pass. I must, will go to my children. 
 
 Jack. ( throwing up the purse.) And they may v/ant 
 a breakfast. 
 
 Racii. Villain! though you insult the wife, have pity 
 on the mother. ( attempting to cross , he seizes her.) Let 
 me go! 
 
 Jack. Not now — I have gone too far. 
 
 Rach. Oh ! you will not ! Mercy ! Martin ! (< despair - 
 ingly.) He comes not! 
 
 Jack, (passionately.) You may rave. You’ve roused 
 me, and I’ll not be trifled with. 
 
 Rack. Help! help! (they struggle.) My husband! 
 
 — he is here! ( Jack , surprized , lets her go, and falls 
 
 hack. She rushes to the door , and seizes a woodcutter s 
 bill that is lying on some wood near the wall.) 
 
 Jack. Tricked! 
 
 Rack. You see cl sound will make a coward of the 
 wicked. Do not come near me; pray do not. This, 
 though you die, shall protect me. 
 
 Jack. Well, well, I own I’ve been wrong — I ask 
 pardon. Come back. Put your trust 
 
 Rack. In this! (lifting the bill.) I say again, stir 
 not! Stay beneath this roof! Stay in the poor man’s 
 
39 
 
 house you would have outraged S Stay, — blush, — and beg 
 to be forgiven ! 
 
 Exit through Door. 
 
 Jack. Gone! — what devil is it that cows me? Ila! 
 (looking out.) She flies down the lane. That copse! — 
 yes, though I ran to the gallows, I would follow her. 
 
 Exit through Door. 
 
 Bull, (putting his head from between the bed cur- 
 tains.) Run to the gallows! — you needn’t hurry your- 
 self; the gallows will wait for you. Well, this I call an 
 adventure! Now, if this cause come to trial, I’m witness 
 ready for either side. As I’m a sworn appraiser it’s 
 almost daylight! — why, I must have been asleep these 
 seven or eight hours, and nobody knew it. This all 
 comes of the steward’s wine. Eh? I hear a footstep. I 
 must sleep and listen. ( disappears .) 
 
 Eater polly at Door. 
 
 Polly. Why, Rachel! Oh! gone up stairs, I sup- 
 pose, to cry over the poor little things! Well, I’ve no 
 good news for her. I went all down the lane, and came 
 back over the fields, and saw no signs of Martin or Toby 
 either. If these are the troubles that are to come upon 
 the married, I’m sure a poor girl is better single. There’s 
 nothing but vexation in this world ! — and, dear me, I’m so 
 sleepy! — I haven’t had a single wink all night, and it’s a 
 shame, too; for there stood the bed so inviting, as though 
 it said, do come and lie down! There’ll be no harm in 
 
40 
 
 sitting upon it. (sits on the bed.) How I should like to 
 lie down! 
 
 Bull, {putting his head through the curtains.) Well, 
 there’s plenty of room for two ! 
 
 Polly, {screaming and running into corner .) Thieves ! 
 Murder! 
 
 At this instant Toby appears at the Door. 
 
 Toby. Polly! — Bullfrog! 
 
 Polly. Oh! the wretch! 
 
 Toby, {seizing Bidlfrog.) What’s this? — speak! 
 
 Bull. How can I, with your fingers in my windpipe? 
 
 Toby, {dragging him out of bed.) Answer me: what 
 is all this ? 
 
 Polly. Yes, explain, Mr. Bullfrog. 
 
 Bull, (half-aside to Polly.) Don’t be a fool, and 
 nobody will be the wiser. 
 
 Polly'. The wiser, sir? — the wiser! 
 
 Toby. Speak, I say ! 
 
 Bull, {aside.) Now I’ll talk nettles to him. Well, 
 Mr. Heywood ; the fact is I — I am but man. 
 
 Toby. Why, no; I never took you for an angel. 
 
 Bull. Perhaps not, Mr. Heywood; but the fair sex- — 
 {winlcing to Polly) — the fair sex can discover modest 
 merit. 
 
 Polly. Now, as I’m alive, I was here alone, — ami 
 never knowing that that wretch 
 
 Bull. Fie! wretch? What now! call me wretch now? 
 
 Polly. That monster! 
 
 Bull. Come, no scandal. If you will tell the truth, 
 
 I can’t help it; but no scandal. 
 
 Polly. That — that 
 
 Bull. There, don’t press her: you see her feelings — 
 
41 
 
 Toby. Master Bullfrog, you’ve had a marvellous 
 escape . 
 
 Bull. How? 
 
 Toby. In not lighting on as great a fool as yourself: 
 else, my life on’t, your head had been broken. 
 
 Bull. A fool! And have you the audacity to call me a 
 fool? 
 
 Toby. And not all fool: for the rogue is so equally 
 mixed, that there’s no saying where either begins or 
 ends. 
 
 Bull. Fool! rogue! — The law will tell you this is 
 slander. 
 
 Toby'. I know it: I’m speaking the truth. 
 
 Bull. And the law shall mend my character. 
 
 Toby. The character that needs law to mend it, is 
 hardly worth the tinkering. In one word, how came you 
 here? 
 
 Polly'. That’s right. Make him tell you. 
 
 Bull. Tell! well, you’re a courageous woman! What, 
 then (to Toby .) you’ve no suspicion? — there’s no making 
 you unhappy? 
 
 Toby. No. 
 
 Bull. Mrs, Hey wood will be a fortunate woman. 
 
 Toby. What put you into that bed ? 
 
 Polly. Yes, what put you into that bed? 
 
 Bull. If you must know, — this. ( producing bottle 
 from his pocket,) This put me to bed: it’s done as much 
 for many a man. 
 
 Toby. What do you mean? 
 
 Bull. Mean? — Didn’t I attend here as sworn ap- 
 praiser, and didn’t I make the inventory? Yes. ( pro- 
 ducing it.) Here it is: “ One cradle, one toasting fork,’’ 
 — all right; move a stick, and I’ll indict you! Well, 
 
 G 
 
42 
 
 there was a great noise in the family; one running one 
 way-^-onc another, — children crying — women fainting, a 
 smell of burnt feathers ; and your brother swearing, 
 enough to shock any Christian, who knows what virtue is, 
 and pays his way. I had brought a little wine from the 
 mansion, and, all of a sudden, I found myself quite alone 
 here, so I sat down upon the bed, and I drank and 
 drank. Then I got on the bed, then between the blan- 
 kets, pulled-to the curtains, looked at my inventory — 
 (some of the things will sell well) — said my prayers, — 
 droned a hymn, and went to sleep! Then, — no I pass 
 
 over the rest — when you came in, you — but I mustn’t 
 go any further. 
 
 Toby. Yes, you must. 
 
 Bull I tell you I can’t. 
 
 Toby. I tell you you must — you must go over that 
 door-step. If you remain here two minutes longer, ’twill 
 not be on your legs, I promise you. ( menacing him .) 
 
 Bull. I give you warning! Remember, I’m a sworn 
 appraiser. 
 
 Toby. You’re the better able to judge for what you 
 ought to be knocked down. — Come, pack! 
 
 Bull. I’m going. But only threaten me, and I’ll call 
 down the man from up-stairs — he who’s in possession. — 
 ( Aside . ) They mustn’t know he’s gone, or they’ll block 
 up the premises. 
 
 Toby, (still threatening him.) I’ve given you fair 
 words. 
 
 Bull. Keep to ’em: you can’t do better. Ha! drop 
 your arm, or I call for the man. If you put me in bodily 
 fear, it’s no fault of mine! — Now, Mr. Toby! — here! my 
 good man — ( Shrinking from Toby, and feigning to call 
 down Silver Jack.) My good man ! 
 
43 
 
 Toby. Will you go? 
 
 Bull. I will, ( aside J to give Crumbs notice. Ha! 
 I’ll call! — I tell you I’ll call. As for that young woman, 
 if you demand any satisfaction? — oh! you don’t? well, it’s 
 very prudent of you. — Don’t stir a step, or down he 
 comes. And now — now (aside ,) to put another man in. 
 {Bull, gets to door , stops , and calls as to man up-stairs ,) 
 My good man, see that they don’t move a stick! (Toby 
 runs to door 9 and Bidifrog makes his escape.) 
 
 Polly. If you’ll believe me, my dear Toby, I never 
 dreamt that that wretch — that villain — that — 
 
 Toby. I’m sure you must be intimate with him by the 
 correctness of your description. Let the fool go. Where’s 
 Rachel? 
 
 Polly. With the children. Have you seen nothing 
 of Martin ? 
 
 Toby. No. For once, I fear the worst. But my 
 mind’s made up. I’ll go to London. 
 
 Polly. Mercy save us! to London? 
 
 Toby. To London; though I walk every inch of the 
 way, and live upon blackberries. I’ll see the young 
 ’Squire himself. 
 
 Polly. But why go, — why not write? 
 
 Toby. ,No. A letter’s but a scribbled bit of paper, 
 to be tossed aside, and there an end. No! He shall 
 look in my face and hear me talk. And if I don’t bring 
 the blood into his cheek, why, there’s not a blush to be 
 had from all London. 
 
 Polly. Don’t be rash. Do but consider who the 
 ’Squire is, and who you are. 
 
 Toby. That’s what I intend to let him know. I shall 
 tell him, if landlords are too proud or too idle to look 
 after the comforts of their tenants, and to live upon their 
 
u 
 
 own lands, why ’tis a great pity that Providence should 
 have entrusted them with any. What ! haven’t we paid 
 truly for sixty years? and now that a rascal should screw 
 and grind and crush us — No! ’tis a good thought, for it’s 
 come so late. — I’ll go to London. 
 
 Polly. Martin may yet bring good news. 
 
 Toby. He may; but I’ll provide against the worst. 
 You go to Rachel. I’ll be hence soon. My luggage 
 won’t stop my speed upon the road. Yes, and now 1 
 have it, I’ll once more to the mansion; and if old Crumbs 
 be as deaf as ever, I’ll see if the ’Squire himself be not 
 less hard of hearing than his servant. 
 
 Exit Polly at side, and Toby through door. 
 
A Copse . 
 
 Enter Rachel in flight. 
 
 Rack. I hear his step. Yes, there again. ’Tis he. 
 Could I but gain the main road; — I cannot stir, I am 
 almost dead with grief and fear, {She hides.) 
 
 Enter Silver Jack, in pursuit. 
 
 Jack. This was the place. I’m sure *twas here! 
 
 Enter Hyssop, hastily. 
 
 Hys. Jack, is’t you? 
 
 Jack. Ay: did you pass a woman in fast flight? 
 
 Hys. A woman! Will you never be serious? Come 
 with me. 
 
 Jack. Stop till I have found my runaway. 
 
 Hys. And lost a golden prize. I was coming for you. 
 Jack. A prize! — What do you mean? 
 
46 
 
 Hys. That visitor at the mansion! Why, he has 
 heaps of guineas, rings, and a brilliant snuff-box, that 
 alone would make us. 
 
 Jack. Well? 
 
 Hys. Well? — If you’re the Silver Jack of yesterday 
 they must be ours. 
 
 Jack. How? 
 
 Hys. Easily. He is now in bed. I have left open all 
 the doors. — {Rachel shows herself through the trees 3 lis- 
 tening .) We can get into his chamber, and then 
 
 Jack. But if he wake and resist? 
 
 Hys. A knife! 
 
 Jack. The booty is large? 
 
 Hys. I tell you enough to set us up. 
 
 Jack. Where the devil can that woman have flown? 
 
 Hys. A woman ! — It’s a pity women aren’t thief- 
 catchers, for they’d only have to show you the darbies, 
 and you’d run your hands into ’em. Will you join me, or 
 shall I do the work alone? 
 
 Jack. I’m for you. But you’re too much of a philo- 
 sopher; you should consider one’s little frailties, {taking 
 out small pocket-pistols , and looking at priming , fyc.) 
 Man was born to love, and that’s my weakness. If he 
 stir, here are two bullets for his head ! The doors are 
 open, you say? 
 
 Hys. Every one. 
 
 Here Rachel expresses her resolution to give their victim notice, and 
 glides off. 
 
 And now for the shiners. 
 
 Exeunt, 
 
47 
 
 Enter Martin Hkywood. 
 
 Mar. Poor Rachel! — I hadn’t the heart to go to the 
 farm. For her — for my children’s sake, I’ll once more 
 try to move the steward. It almost chokes me to think 
 of it; but it must be tried. Every one refuses me: 
 ’tis my last hope. If that fail too, ’tis needless to whim- 
 per about it, — good bye, farm ! — good bye, England! I 
 have promised to give my answer to-day: and it may 
 be to-night we sleep upon the sea. Now for master 
 Crumbs, to beg and pray, and be refused. He is an 
 early riser, and I may now see him without fear of 
 interruption. If he denies me, why then for a foreign 
 home, for I have lost my own. 
 
 Exit. 
 
48 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 An old Gallery in the Mansion. Door in Scene , leading 
 
 into Apartment. 
 
 Enter Hyssop and Jack. Rachel glides in, and retires at back. 
 
 Hys. You see all the doors were open. 
 
 Jack. Yes; it’s what I call housebreaking made easy. 
 No one stirring either. — Where’s Crumbs? 
 
 Hys. Vanished in a blue flame, for what I know. I 
 hope he means no mischief ; but I’ve scarcely seen him 
 since he went with you to the farm. Should he blow on 
 us now? 
 
 Jack. He dares not; ’twould cost him his neck. 
 
 Hys. Yet we’ll not trust him. We’ll do this piece of 
 work on our own behalf. Then — for I’ve left nothing 
 unprovided — there are a couple of horses, ready saddled, 
 in the stable; we’ll spare not the spur: and once off, 
 let the steward settle the account as best he may. 
 
 Jack. Where does the spark sleep ? . 
 
 Hys. In yonder chamber. I have secured the key. 
 
49 
 
 The bird is nicely caged. Come ! — ( Goes to door ; opens 
 leaving the key in. Jack pulls Hyssop back.) 
 
 Jack. Stay, Frank. I’ve been thinking of it: — there 
 must be no blood in this. 
 
 Hys. That’s at the option of the gentleman. I’ve no 
 objection, if it can be made comfortable to him. 
 
 Jack. 5 T would make a stir that might be fatal to us. 
 You must promise me. 
 
 Hys. As far as I can keep my temper I do. Now. 
 then; for there’s no time to lose. ( At this moment Rachel, 
 who has secured the key , glides into the room. She is 
 seen by Hyssop , who staggers back.) Ha! trapped! 
 
 Jack. ( clapping his hand to his pistols.) What do 
 you mean? 
 
 Hys. A woman entered that room! 
 
 Jack. You dream ! {rushes to door and looks through 
 key -hole.) 
 
 Hys. ( listening .) There! I hear her footstep. 
 
 Jack. Why, no! yes; — it is the farmer’s wife! 
 
 Hys. And there ! ( Rachel is heard to turn the key in 
 
 the lock.) She locks the door. We’re rarely gulled. 
 Now there’s but one plan. We’ll force the way. 
 
 Jack, {stopping him and pointing off with astonish- 
 ment.) Her husband! {they retire up.) 
 
 Enter Martin. 
 
 Mar. All the doors open, yet not a soul about ! {sees 
 them.) Is the steward? — Surely {recognizing Jack) ’tis he 
 who was put into the farm, {aside.) 
 
 Jack, {to Hyssop.) Peace! I have it. — You wanted 
 the steward? 
 
 Mar. Yes. Did he not put you into my house? 
 
 H 
 
50 
 
 Jack. Ay; but I’ve finished my errand there: ’twas 
 not the pleasantest. 
 
 Mar. I come to beg for time. Had I any one to in- 
 tercede for me 
 
 Jack. You may be quite easy. You have a friend, 
 depend on’t. 
 
 Mar. I know not where. 
 
 Jack. {Pointing to room.) There! In that room is a 
 young London spark, the ’Squire’s acquaintance — the 
 door locked, and with him, — yes, you’ll keep the farm: — 
 ’twas he who sent me to your house. 
 
 Mar. He! for what? 
 
 Jack. You’ve a pretty wife, he has plenty of money. 
 — I delivered my message, and there your wife is. 
 
 Mar. My wife! villain! {seizes him.) Unsay the slan- 
 der — on your knees unsay it — or, were you the father of 
 all lies, I would not quit you. 
 
 Jack. Leave your hold! I say your wife. 
 
 Mar. My Rachel! {bewildered.) Why, how you look at 
 me! 
 
 Jack. Knock at the door, perhaps she’ll answer. 
 
 Mar. I am a wretched, ruined man; but do not play 
 with me. Grief has worn me, but revenge will make me 
 strong. If this be a lie ! — 
 
 Jack. Knock at the door. 
 
 Mar. There seems blood before my eyes; and I feel 
 of a sudden weak and old. 
 
 Jack. Knock at the door. 
 
 Mar. I’ll tear his life out! 
 
 Hys. Why, that’s manful. Here’s that will help you. 
 {cocking a pistol and forcing it into Martins hand.) 
 
 Mar. {rushing to the door.) Come out, I say ! 
 
51 
 
 Enter Gjr an tley, armed with a brace of pistols. Rachel follow- 
 ing him. 
 
 Gran. ( speaking as he enters .) Villains! I am 
 
 armed ! 
 
 Mar. Die ! 
 
 Rach. {screaming and running before Grantley .) Mar- 
 tin! what would you? 
 
 Mar. What! you cling to him, — before my eyes! — 
 Rachel Heywood, I forgive that man! ( dropping the pis- 
 tol, — Jack and Hyssop glide off.) Let him but send a 
 bullet through the heart you’ve broken, and I will thank 
 him with my last breath. 
 
 Gran. This your husband, — and leagued with the 
 robbers ! 
 
 Rach. No, no; he knows not what he says. Grief 
 has distracted him. 
 
 Mar. Yes, grief. Falsehood where I hoped for 
 truth. Scorn, where I had looked for love. Shame, 
 where I had built my greatest pride. 
 
 Gran. Go, I pardon you — I spare you. 
 
 Mar. Pardon! Spare ! I have at home four mother- 
 less children; — what! do you spare me them? Will you 
 leave the poor man one miserable comfort? 
 
 Rach. Husband ! 
 
 Mar. Can your lips yet say that word? — Heaven for- 
 give you! — can you yet speak it? Let it be for the last 
 time! Never let us look again upon each other’s face. 
 (She clings to him.) Away ! (casting her off.) My heart 
 sinks at your touch! I leave you; and may God pardon 
 and protect you ! 
 
 Rushes off. 
 
Racii. Martin! Martin! Oh! he is lost with misery f 
 
 Gran. Fear not: for your sake I will not accuse him. 
 
 Racii. Accuse ! 
 
 Gran. Nay, I perceive, and value your motives. 
 You would not suffer your husband to become a criminal. 
 You preserved, it may be, my life. I thank you and par- 
 don him. 
 
 Rack. And was it for this I saved you? — for this have 
 endured the bitterest words that wife can listen to? — for this 
 have made him mad ? Sir, I never saw youdill this hour. 
 I never heard of you till named by villains who would 
 have destroyed you. Then I flew to give you warning — 
 J saved you; — and you give me this reward, — suspicion of 
 my husband. 
 
 Gran. Your eloquence, my good woman, does not 
 deceive me. The other villains shall be pursued. For 
 your husband, trust me he is safe. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Rach. ’Tis no matter. — I will go home. Home ! did 
 he not forbid me? — Oh! he knew not what he said. And 
 yet he found me — Oh! that he should harbour such a 
 thought! I will fly and explain all; for now I should go 
 mad to live one moment from him. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Enter Crumbs. 
 
 Crumbs. All is stored — all packed !—all the harvest 
 of my thrift and enmity. Ye cursed walls, I leave ye to 
 your owner,— -to him whom I had vainly hoped to beggar 
 
53 
 
 — to sink into the dust a wretched, undone spendthrift! — 
 May ye become the haunt of gamesters, — of hungry, 
 smooth-faced knaves, who flatter and devour! May ye be 
 staked upon a card, and pass from him who stakes ye! — 
 For ten years have I dwelt here, nursing my revenge. For 
 ten years has vengeance been to me as a food — a nourish- 
 ment. I have lived and gloated on it. May others finish 
 the ruin I’ve begun ! Now I must leave, ere my visitor — 
 plagues light upon him! — be stirring. That villain, Jack, 
 is still at Hey wood’s farm, — his companion yet asleep. I 
 live within the gallows’ foot whilst near them. — I have 
 hid my treasure in the laurel hedge.— I’ve bought the 
 captain of the vessel, and this night I leave the shore. I 
 walk ’mongst pitfalls whilst I tread it. 
 
 Bullfrog runs in. 
 
 Bull. Oh, master Crumbs! such an affair. 
 
 Crumbs. Peace, ye roaring fool! {going) 
 
 Bull. Fool ! Early as it is, you’re the second man 
 who has called me a fool this morning. I come upon 
 business. 
 
 Crumbs. To-night — to-morrow! 
 
 Bull. Not my maxim. Shut your door upon busi- 
 ness, and business will soon forget to knock at it. Your 
 friend, Captain Jack, 
 
 Crumbs. What of him? 
 
 Bull. He might be a good hand to put in possession 
 if one were to distrain a nunnery; but where a quick eye 
 is to be kept on chairs and tables, he’s as blind as Cupid, 
 
 Crumbs. What jargon is this? 
 
 Bull. I only hope there’ll not be an action; but, if 
 there should be, 
 
54 
 
 Crumbs. Speak out, or I’ll throttle you. {grasping 
 him.) 
 
 Bull. There certainly is a conspiracy to call me fool 
 and choke me. Don’t stare at me in that manner: it isn’t 
 business-like 
 
 Crumbs. Speak, or begone. 
 
 Bull. W ell, then, it’s a serious truth that the Hey- 
 woods might clear out the farm ; for nobody is there to 
 prevent them. 
 
 Crumbs. Is that all ! 
 
 Bull. All? what! where I have once seized? what’s 
 to become of my reputation? I employ nobody but 
 respectable, steady men. The fact is, Captain Jack 
 was above his calling; for he made love to the farmer’s 
 wife. 
 
 Crumbs. Well! 
 
 Bull. Not well, Mr. Crumbs. When a man’s on 
 business, he should be above such trifles. 
 
 Crumbs. Where is he now? 
 
 Bull. Run off — left the premises in the most scan- 
 dalous manner. I shouldn’t wonder if he comes here. 
 
 Crumbs, {aside) I must begone. 
 
 Bull. You are not going? I must put another man 
 in, you know? I say I must — 
 
 Crumbs. Leave me. 
 
 Bull. Business! Who shall I putin? {follows him.) 
 
 Crumbs, {furiously.) Any one — no one — the devil ! 
 
 Rushes off. 
 
 Bull. I ll have nothing more to do with any of your 
 acquaintance. Why, he’s quite a fury. I see it: I know 
 
he dabbles; — stocks must have fallen. Nothing else could 
 put a man in such a passion. 
 
 Stephen is hurrying across. 
 
 Stephen! Stephen! — I’ll ask him. 
 
 Ste. I can’t stop now. The whole place is in an up- 
 roar. 
 
 Bull. Well, they’ve kept it very quiet. What’s the 
 matter ? 
 
 Ste. There’s been robbery, and nearly 
 
 Bull. Robbery? 
 
 Ste. Yes, and nearly murder. 
 
 Bull. Murder’s very bad, but I hope there’s no pro- 
 perty lost ? 
 
 Ste. We don’t know what’s lost yet. But for the two 
 chaps you drank with and were such friends, the gentle- 
 man offers a reward for whoever seizes them. 
 
 Bull. A reward ! — I’ll put on my cricketing pumps 
 and run directly. Are they thieves, think you? 
 
 Ste. You’ve been more in their company than I have. 
 There’s Toby Heywood in the garden. Go and talk to 
 him. Business, you know, 
 
 Bull. Business! — right. Toby here! then I’ll just 
 run and put Nokes into the farm, and then after my 
 friends. I say, what’s happened to master Crumbs? 
 
 Ste, Why, between you and me, the steward but 
 
 while I talk to you, I may miss what the gentleman offers. 
 
 Runs off. 
 
 Bull. Something wrong with the steward. If he 
 should go out, I might come in. I’ll run and show my 
 activity. 
 
 Runs off. 
 
56 
 
 SCENE J V . 
 
 The Interior of He y woods Farm. Martin discovered , 
 seated in his Arm Chair . Ilis Children grouped about 
 him. 
 
 Mar. And this, then, is the end! All’s gone! — I can- 
 not carry with me even a hope of better days. Now, in- 
 deed, labour will be hard to me ; for I shall work with a 
 broken heart. Now, fortune cannot bless me; for she 
 
 with whom I should have shared all good But let me 
 
 think no more of her. Think no more! Like a ghost 
 she seems to haunt me. But she has shamed me,— and 
 
 may she ! No, I cannot curse her with her children 
 
 looking in my face. I will not curse her. I must say 
 farewell to the home where I was born — where I had 
 hoped to die. — Oh ! as I think of the long past days, — as 
 I sit here staring my last at these walls, — those who are 
 now in their graves come gathering about me : — faces, 
 that seem a part of the place — that seem as they had never 
 been away; — looks that take me back, and make me a 
 child again. — All from then till now is like a dream; — the 
 things of my boyhood alone seem real: — all else is— — 
 
Hack, (without.) Martin ! Martin ! 
 
 Mar. (starling.) No, no; that is real — would it were 
 not! (to children.) Go, bolt the Moor. 
 
 Boy. Why, it is my mother. I mustn’t bolt the door 
 against my mother. 
 
 Mar. No. — I had forgot. A good child ; you must 
 not. (The hoy runs and opens the door.) 
 
 Rach. (running in.) Martin ! dear Martin ! 
 
 Mar. (rising.) Rachel, if you can look in my face, 
 and do not sink with shame, can you look on these? — 
 (pointing to children .) 
 
 Racii. Shame !— you are deceived. 
 
 Mar. I have been : so deceived, that had a voice from 
 the sky called you what it tears my heart to think of, I 
 would not have listened to it. But these eyes — these 
 eyes ! — oh ! that I had been blind ! 
 
 Rach. You never loved me if you will not hear me. 
 
 Mar. Never loved you ! It was that love that 
 smoothed all trouble to me. It was that love, that, when 
 all men, — fortune, — seemed set against me, cheered me 
 on, and put a strength into my heart, — that made me 
 smile as I would think — W^ell, let all go, let all else fail 
 me, there is one who’ll never change ; — there is one who 
 is as good, as constant as the angels. .Poverty came 
 upon me : the blow was sudden and unkind. Still I 
 thought, though we have but a crust, we’ll share that 
 crust together ; though our bed be straw, that bed shall 
 bear us both ! — As you say, I am deceived. 
 
 Rach. But hear me, Martin ; then judge me as you 
 will ! 
 
 Mar. That man — that devil, whom they put here — 
 would his blood were on my hearth ! — -did he not tempt 
 you? 
 
 Rach. He did. — 
 
 i 
 
58 
 
 Mar. With gold— filthy gold? — lie came into the 
 poor man’s house — bought that which I thought worlds 
 could never buy— robbed me of my wife, these children 
 of their mother. 
 
 Rack. Martin, may you be pardoned that thought! — 
 It is true that man showed me gold — dared to speak — to 
 seize me, — but I cast his money in the dust, I tore 
 myself from his arms. — 
 
 Mar. His arms ! (passionately.) Woman! I would 
 not kill you. 
 
 Rack. I fled and hid myself— listened to a plan of 
 murder, and ran to the mansion. — 
 
 Mar. I found you there, coming from his chamber. 
 
 Rach. I knew not the man ! ’Twas to save his life. — - 
 Upon my soul I speak the truth ! 
 
 Mar. (with emotion.) A lie— a foul lie ! 
 
 Rach. The truth, or may I die at your feet. Oh, 
 Martin! can you think thus of me, — after the years — the 
 happy years? — Or am I become tiresome to you, and 
 so with this excuse you’d — • 
 
 Mar. Excuse ! Are these tears an excuse, — -these 
 trembling limbs, these scalded eyes, this broken heart ? 
 (Sinks into chair.) 
 
 Enter Sailor. 
 
 Sailor, (speaking at door.) Now, master, if you’re 
 for starting, we shall sail in an hour. Here’s a w hole 
 crew of neighbours, too, coming to take leave of you, — 
 (disappears from door.) 
 
 Rach. Martin ! 
 
 Mar. I have accepted the place abroad, to tend an 
 estate, (with suppressed disgust.) and overlook the slaves. 
 I leave the farm — the country, this day. 
 
 Rach. The children ?— 
 
«c 
 
 Mar. They go with me. 
 
 Rach. And I, Martin — I? 
 
 Mar. Go where you will, may you be happy. 
 
 Rach. ( wildly ) My children ! Use me as you please, 
 — but my babes ! — Oh, Martin! what madness is upon 
 you ? Hear me ! You shall hear me. If it must be so, 
 think not of me as your wife ; but have mercy on the mo- 
 ther of your children 1 . 
 
 Mar. I love them, Rachel. 
 
 Rach. Dearly, very dearly ; but not like a mother. 
 
 Mar. Bid them farewell, for they must go. 
 
 Rach. But not without me! Children, pray to your 
 father — pray to him I must not call my husband ! (. Kneel- 
 
 ing to Martin.) 
 
 Mar. Rachel, this is wild and useless. Be calm and 
 give them up. 
 
 Rach. I tell you I shall go mad — raving mad — to lose 
 my children ! Take me with them. I do not ask you to 
 speak to me, to look at me ; — let me work with the slaves 
 you speak of ; — let me die, So as I die not from my chil- 
 dren ! ( Faints , and falls over the knee of Martin — the 
 
 children surrounding her.) 
 
 Eater Farmer Beanstalk, Polly, Dame, Neighbours, and Sailor. 
 
 Farmer. Why, Martin, and bee’st thee really going ? 
 (sees Rachel.) Why, what’s the matter with thee, wife ? 
 
 Polly. Bless me, Rachel! (They hear her to the 
 back.) 
 
 Mar. Farmer, farewell ; neighbours, heaven bless 
 you ! — Let the landlord take all the rest, — this chair, — 
 my grandfather’s chair, — I’ll bear with me. 
 
 Enter Bullfrog and two rustics at door. * 
 
 Bull. Not a splinter of it, as I'm a sworn appraiser. 
 
60 
 
 Mar. I do not wish to hurt you, man ; but do not 
 strive to prevent me. 
 
 Bull. Mustn’t move a stick, Mr. Ileywood. Busi- 
 ness is business. 
 
 Mar. I tell you this chair shall with me. Let him 
 who dares, lay a finger on it. (Is about to lift the chair ; 
 Bullfrog advances.) 
 
 Bull. Business is business. I seize in the king’s 
 name ! 
 
 Mar. Then you must fight for it. (Strikes Bullfrog , 
 who seizes the chair with the rustics. The neighbours 
 assist Martin , exclaiming , “ Down with them /” In the 
 struggle , the back of the chair is 'pulled off, when out fall 
 loose gold , small money-bags and a paper.) 
 
 All. Gold ! Money ! 
 
 Bull. I seize it in the king’s name! 
 
 Farmer, (throwing him aside.) What be this ? (ta- 
 king up paper.) Your grandfather’s name. 
 
 Mar. (Takes paper , glances at it, endeavouring to 
 read it, and then returns it to Beanstalk.) Read, read ! 
 
 Farmer, (reads.) “ Should any sudden accident light 
 upon me, so that I be not able to tell my last wishes, let 
 this certify, that the three hundred guineas , hidden with 
 this paper, in my walnut chair , be the rightful property of 
 Martin and Tobias Heywood , my grandsons. Signed, 
 Thomas Heywood This is rare, Martin ! I give thee 
 joy ! (Neighbours shout.) 
 
 Mar. I shall keep the farm f— ha ! ha ! — I shall keep 
 the farm ! (sinks upon the neck of farmer.) 
 
 Enter Grantley at Door. 
 
 Gran. Where is master Ileywood ? 
 
 Mar. Come not here, man — come not here ! 
 
 Gran. Be calm. I have injured you— -in thought, I 
 
(>1 
 
 mean. All your neighbours praise you for an honest, 
 upright man. I thought you the companion of scoun- 
 drels. But for your wife, whose devotedness I have 
 wronged, I had fallen their victim. She came to save 
 me 
 
 Toby, without. 
 
 Come along, rascal. Stand out of the way ! 
 
 Enters, dragging in Crumbs. Servant following, carrying a box. 
 
 V* 
 
 Crumbs. Villain! why am I thus used ? 
 
 Toby, {to Grantley .) Here is the rascal, sir. You 
 know we found that box among the laurel trees. Luckily, 
 you took my advice, and let it rest. We watched, and, 
 as I expected, the thief came creeping down to carry 
 away the spoil. We pounced upon him, — here he is, 
 and here’s his plunder. 
 
 Gran. What answer make you to this? 
 
 Crumbs. None to you. I shall make a clear answer 
 to Mr. Robert Grantley. 
 
 Gran. Then speak. Robert Grantley is before you. 
 {general surprize.) What ! you shrink ? — I had heard of 
 your oppression. I wrote for further sums of money, and 
 then, under a feigned character, came to witness the 
 means you’d take to answer the demand. Fie upon you ! 
 My father left you to husband my estate; it was your 
 duty to check my extravagance, not feed it. And now, 
 you add to your iniquity by wholesale theft. What say 
 you to this ? 
 
 Crumbs. Robert Grantley, — since you are he, — listen. 
 At the mansion you saw a certain picture. You remem- 
 ber you asked me whose it was ? I’ll tell you. It was the 
 likeness of a young and once virtuous wife. A devil, a 
 golden devil, dazzled her vain heart, and she left her 
 husband and disgraced him. That husband plunged in 
 
vice to fly from thought. Lie gamed, robbed, and was 
 devoted to the thief’s reward — the gallows. He escaped, 
 and fled abroad. Years passed away. In a foreign land 
 he met his wife’s destroyer, who, knowing not the man he 
 had wronged, fostered him — took him to his heart — made 
 him his man of trust, and brought him to England. He 
 died, and left him to manage his estate for his wild and 
 absent son. Robert Grantley, that man was your father ; 
 the picture is the picture of his victim ; I — I was her 
 wronged and broken-hearted husband ! 
 
 Gran. Can it be ? 
 
 Crumbs. My purpose was to beggar you — to revenge 
 me on the father, in his dearest part, his darling son ! 
 
 Gran. Your injuries were great; yet how could your 
 malice survive the author of your wrongs ? 
 
 Crumbs. That picture ! I have stood and looked at it, 
 — in the still night I have gazed on it, until I have thought 
 the devil himself looked from its eyes, and smiled upon 
 my purpose. That purpose, and the recollection that 
 those cursed walls received my wife when she fled from 
 her home, and left me to seek companions with the vile 
 and infamous — Oh ! I am an old man ! — but there are 
 injuries so graven in the heart, so burnt within the brain, 
 that with the heart and brain must live and die together ! 
 Enough. Now for my gaol. 
 
 Gran. No; I pardon you: nay, more; will provide 
 for you. 
 
 Crumbs. Never. I scorn and spit at you. — Am I free? 
 
 Stephen and others bring in Silver Jack and Hyssop, bound. 
 
 Ste. Here are the thieves ! {to Grantley .) I was 
 told you were here, sir, and so here Eve brought them. 
 ISob, the carter here, saw them on the road, and, know- 
 ing our cattle, gave the cry ; they were soon unhorsed, 
 
and here they are, ready trussed for the gibbet. We 
 found these few matters on them. ( shewing dice , cards , 
 picklocks , $c.) And here’s something folded up. ( gives 
 paper to Grantley .) 
 
 Gran. What is this? — ( reading bill) “ Escaped from 
 Newgate — John Harris!” — Who can this mean? 
 
 Crumbs. The man your father robbed ! Read, and 
 see what time and he have made of him. I took ten 
 guineas from a rich usurer, and was condemned for Ty- 
 burn. Your father stole the wife of my bosom, and lived 
 a wealthy, charitable gentleman, — had the respect of all 
 while on the earth, and a lying tombstone when under it ! 
 May I leave now ? ( Grantley bows.) 
 
 Crumbs looks fiercely round him, exchanges a look of contempt with 
 Jack and Hyssop, and rushes off. 
 
 Jack. Perhaps we’re intruding: may we leave too? 
 
 Gran. Away with them, and keep them for the pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Ste, They deserve hanging if it’s only for the lies 
 they told about master Heywood’s wife. Why, they’ve 
 been laughing over it as a good joke, — {Jack and Hyssop 
 laugh,) — that they tried to make Martin jealous, that he 
 might save them the sin of blowing out your brains. Oh ! 
 you rascal! — your hanging-day will be a rare holiday 
 thirty miles round. * 
 
 Stephen, &c. take Jack and Hyssop off. 
 
 Mar. Rachel ! can I be forgiven ? I dare not look at 
 you. {Rachel throivs herself into his arms.) 
 
 Toby. I don’t wonder at that. He’s a poor wizard 
 whom every fool can drive mad. Suspect Rachel ! why, 
 if we weren’t all made so happy with our grandfather’s 
 gold, Pd turn boy again, and thrash you myself. Here 
 was Bullfrog trying to disturb me and my wife. 
 
01 
 
 Bull. Wife ! 
 
 Toby. Yes. I shah never know what to do with my 
 part of the money, so I must have a wife, to get her ad- 
 vice about it. ( Taking Polly s arm.) I hope (to Bull.) 
 you’ve no objection ? 
 
 Bull. None, (aside ) as the money’s not on the other 
 side. But business is business ; you’ll want furniture : 
 I have the sweetest four-post bedstead you ever looked 
 upon. 
 
 Mar. (to Gran.) I have now, sir, to ask your pardon. 
 Can you excuse the passion of an oppressed 
 
 Gran. Nay, it is I who have to ask forgiveness of 
 you, and of all my tenants ; that I have suffered them to be 
 the victims of a mercenary agent. I will, henceforth, 
 reside on my lands ; and, by my future care, endeavour 
 to remedy the injuries committed by my servant. To 
 your wife, Heywood, I probably owe my existence. This 
 farm has, I hear, been in your family for sixty years : 
 may it remain so while the country stands! To-morrow 
 shall give you a freeholder’s right to it. 
 
 Neighbours, &c. Huzza ! Huzza ! 
 
 Bull. Well, this is capital. I see (aside.) I’m future 
 steward to that young man. But still I have to say one 
 thing. Friendship and generosity are very well ; but — 
 (to Martin.') now, it doesn’t concern you, — you’re a free- 
 holder : all of us here aren’t so lucky : therefore, as busi- 
 ness is business, I trust nobody here will forget 
 
 “ THE RENT DAY.” 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by E. Lowf, Playhouse- yard, Blackfnars.