should barefoot Integrity repine, though its sweet sleep be canopied with a ragged hovel! [Exit. SCENE V.-The Inside of an Abbey, in ruins part of it converted into a habitation for Robbers various entrances to their apartment, through the broken arches of the building, &c. Nearly dark. Enter JUDITH and a BOY. Jud. Well, sirrah, have you been upon the scout? Are any of our gang returning? Boy. No, Judith, not a soul. Jud. The rogues tarry thus to fret me. Boy. Why, indeed, Judith, the credit of your cookery is lost among thieves: they never come punctual to their meals. Jud. No tidings of Orson yet from the markettown? Boy. I have seen nothing of him. Jud. Brat! thou dost never bring me good news. Boy. Judith, you are ever so cross with me. Jud. That wretch Orson slights my love of late! Hence, you hemp-seed, hence! Get to the broken porch of the abbey, and watch; 'tis all you are good for. Boy. You know I am but young yet, Judith; but, with good instructions, I may be a robber in time. Jud. Away, you imp! you will never reach such preferment. (A whistle without.) So, I hear some of our party. (The whistle again-the Boy puts his fingers in his mouth, and whistles in answer.) Why must you keep your noise, sirrah? Boy. Nay, Judith, 'tis one of the first steps we boys learn in the profession. I shall never come to good if you check me so. (Looking off.) Huzza! here come three! Enter THREE ROBBERS through the broken arches Jud. You! 'Tis as much as thy life is worth to move my spleen. First R. What! you will set Orson, your champion, upon me. Jud. Coward; he should not disgrace himself by chastising thee. First R. (Drawing his sword.) Death and thunder! Jud. Ay, attack a woman-do! it suits your henhearted valour. Assault a woman! First R. Well, passion hurried me; but I have a respect for the soft sex, and am cool again. (Returns his sword to the scabbard.) Come, Judith be friends; nay, come, do; and I will give thee a farthingale I took from a lawyer's widow. Jud. Where is it? First R. You shall have it. Jud. Well, I-(Music without.) Hark! Seoond R. Soft! I think I hear the foot of a comrade. MUSICAL DIALOGUE AND CHORUS.-JUDITH and ROBBERS. [At different periods of the music, the Robbers enter through various parts of the ruins in groups. Listen! No; it is the owl, That hoots upon the mould'ring tower. All's hush'd around the abbey-wall : Listen! They whistle!—Answer it!—'Tis nigh! Sturdy partners, all appear. We're here!-And here!-And here!-And here! Jud. So! you have found your road at last. A Enter ORSON, with luggage at his back, as returned murrain light upon you! Is it thus you keep your hours? First R. What, hag! ever at this trade-ever grumbling? Jud. I have reason: I toil to no credit; I watch with no thanks. I trim up the table for your return, and no one returns in due time to notice my industry. Your meat is scorched to cinders. Rogues! would it were poison for you! First R. (Aside. What a devil in petticoats is this! I never knew a woman turn to mischief that she did not undo a man clean. Jud. Did any of you meet Orson on your way? First R. Ay, there the hand points. When that fellow is abroad, you are more savage than customary; and that is needless. Second R. None of our comrades come yet? They will be finely soaked. First R. Ay, the rain pours like a spout upon the ruins of the old abbey-wall here. Jud. I'm glad on't: may it drench them, and breed agues! "Twill teach them to keep time. First R. Peace, thou abominable railer! A man had better dwell in purgatory, than have thee in his habitation. Peace, devil! or I'll make thee repent! from market. First R. See, hither comes Orson at last. He walks in, like Pleuty, with provision on his shoulder. Jud. Oh, Orson! why didst tarry, Orson ?—I began to fear. Thou art cold and damp. Let me wring the wet from thy clothes. Oh! my heart leaps to see thee. Ors. Stand off!-This hamper has been wearisome enough; I want not thee on my neck. Jud. Villain! 'tis thus you ever use me! I can revenge! I can-Do not, dear Orson-do not treat me thus! Ors. Let a man be ever so sweet-tempered, he will meet somewhat to sour him. I have been vexed to madness. Second R. How now, Orson?-What has vexed thee now? Ors. A prize has slipt through my fingers. Ors. I met a straggling knave on foot, and the rogue resisted. He had the face to tell me, that he was thrust on the world to seek his fortune, and that the little he had about him was his all. Plague on the provision at my back! I had no time to rifle him; but I have spoiled him for fortuneseeking, I warrant him. Third R. Orson, you are ever disobeying our captain's order: you are too remorseless and bloody. Ors. Take heed, then, how you move my anger, by telling me on't. The affair is mine; I will answer to the consequence. (A whistle heard without.) Fourth R. I hear our captain's signal. Here he comes. Ha! he is leading one who seems wounded Enter ARMSTRONG, supporting WILFORD. Arm. Gently, good fellow!-Come, keep a good heart. Well-well! That's all one; Let's ring their knell. Wil. You are very kind: I had breathed my last Ding dong! ding dong! to the bald-pated monk! but for your care. Whither have you led me? Fourth R. Where you will be well treated, youngster. You are now among as honourable a knot of men as ever cried "Stand" to a traveller. Wil. How! among robbers? Fourth R. Why, so the law's cant calls us gentlemen who live at large. Wil. So -For what am I reserved? Arm. Fear nothing; you are safe in this asylum. Judith, lead him in. Jud. I do not like the office. You are ever at these tricks; 'twill ruin us in the end. What have we to do with charity? But come, fellow, since it nust be so.-The rogues here call me savage; but I have a kindly heart, for all that. [Exit, leading Wilford. Arm. I would I knew which of you had done this!-Well, time must discover him; for he who had brutality enough to commit the action, can scarcely have courage enough to confess it. Ors. Courage, captain, is a quality, I take it, little wanted by any here. What signify words? I did it. Arm. I suspected thee, Orson. 'Tis scarce an hour since he whom thou hast wounded quitted the service of Sir Edward Mortimer, in the forest here; and inquiry will doubtless be made. They set an example,— And all go to bed most religiously drunk. And make the welkin ring. ACT III. SCINE L-A Room in Sir Edward Mortimer's SIR EDWARD MORTIMER and HELEN, discovered on a sofa. Hel. Sooth, you look better now, indeed you Much better, since, upon your sudden sickness, Sir E. Thou'rt a sweet flatterer! Sir E. And what wouldst thou prescribe? Second R. Nay, then, we are all discovered. Arm. Now mark what thou hast done. Thou hast endangered the safety of our party; thou hast broken my order ('tis not the first time by many), in attacking a passenger; and what passenger? One whose unhappy case should have claimed thy pity. He told you he had displeased his master, left the house of comfort, and, with his scanty pit-Upon the wings of Time, and mock his flight, tance, was wandering round the world to mend his fortune. Like a butcher, you struck the forlorn boy to the earth, and left him to languish in the forest. Would any of our brave comrades have done this? Each flower that lavish happiness produced As he sailed with thee tow'rd eternity. Sir E. Sweet, sweet Helen! And steep his darts in balsam. Oh, my Helen! Of late, are frequent with me. It would seem I could not talk so cruelly to you: I would not pain you thus for worlds! I meant not this. I did not mean to say Hel. Oh, yes: There is no little movement of your face But I can mark on the instant,-'tis my study: 1 have so gazed upon it, that I think I can interpret every turn it has, And read your inmost soul. Sir E. What? Hel. Mercy on me! You change again. Sir E. "Twas nothing; do not fear: These little shocks are usual-'twill not last. Hel. Would you could shake them off! Hel. I pr'ythee, now, endeavour. man,- This young This boy,-this Wilford, he has been ungrateful; Sir E. I'll hunt him through the world! Hel. Why, look you there, now!-Pray be calm. I am too boisterous, "Tis my unhappiness To seem most harsh where I would show most The world has made me peevish: this same boy Hel. He's beneath your care. Seek him not now, to punish him. Poor wretch! Sir E. The knowledge! Win. I go. Heaven bless you both!-Heaven send you well, And merry days may come again! [Exit. Hel. I fear this business may distract you, Mortimer: I would you would defer it till to-morrow. Sir E. Not so sweet.-Do not fear.-I pr'ythee, now, Let me have my way in this. Retire awhile; Hel. Pray, now, be careful: Has he, then, breathed--Carries within his I dread these agitations. breast! Hel. Tire me!-Nay, that you do not. You for- How often I have sat by you, and watched, Lest they should break your slumbers. (Looking.) Pray, keep calm; Now do not tarry long. Adieu, my Mortimer! me, Place me the runagate within my gripe, [Sir Edward retires to the sofa. Engender sin,-throw guilt upon the soul, What, Winterton!-How dost thou, old acquaintance? How dost thou, Adam? Win. Bless your goodness, well, Is my good master better? Enter ORSON. And the milk-hearted captain of our gang Sir E. It seems, then, thou'rt a thief. Ors. I served in the profession, but night The scurvy rogues cashiered me. 'Twas a plot To ruin a poor fellow in his calling, And take away my means of getting bread. last I come now in revenge: I'll hang my comrades In clusters on the forest's oaks, like acorns. Sir E. Where lies their haunt? Ors. Give me your honour first. Sir E. I pledge it, for your safety. To the old abbey ruins; you will find As bold a gang as e'er infested woods, And fattened upon pillage. Sir E. What! so near me? In some few minutes, then, he's mine! (Crossing, and calls.) Ho! Winterton! Now for his lurking place: hope dawns again. (To Orson.) (Aside.) Why, Winterton! (Calling.) Thou jewel, ReputaFor this base insect-so entangle him! tion! Let me secure thee, bright and spotless, now, And this weak, care-worn body's dissolution Will cheaply pay the purchase. Winterton! [Exit. Ors. There may be danger in my stay here; I will e'en slink off in the confusion I have raised. I value not reward: I hang all my acquaintance, and that shall content me. SCENE II-A Hall in the Lodge. Enter FITZHARDING. [Exit. Fit. Rare scuttling tow'rd! This lodge is little And Spleen and Sickness are the household gods To wish the game too nimble for the dogs, I'll ne'er trust looks again. I'll mix with none Who can out-grin a griffin, or the head That frighten little children, and might serve Enter SAMSON RAWBOLD. Now, who are you? Sam. Head serving man to Madam Helen, sir. swer To the description of the sort of men I have resolved to live with. Sam. I am proud, sir, To find I have your countenance. The news of Wilford? Sam. He is turned a rogue, sir, An errant knave, sir. "Tis a rare thing now To find an honest servant: we are scarce. Fit. Where lies the abbey where they go to seek him? Dost know it? Sam. Marry, do I, in the dark. I have stood near it many a time in winter, To watch the hares by moonlight. Fit. A cold pastime! Sam. Ay, sir, 'twas killing work; I've left it off. Fit. Think you they will be back soon? Sam. On the instant; It is hard by, sir. Hark! I hear their horses. They are returned, I warrant. Fit. Run you, fellow; If Wilford's taken, send him here to me. Sam, Why, he's a rogue, sir: would your worship stoop To parley with a rogue? To prop a sinking man that's called a rogue, I learned it from our English laws, where Mercy Stands by to prompt her. Till detection comes, Sam. Would I had known Your worship sooner!-You're a friend, indeed! you; So, Heaven bless you! Fit. Well, well; bustle-stir; Do as I bid thee. Sam. Ay, sir: I shall lean Upon your worship in my time of need. Heaven reward you! (Aside.) Here's a friend to make! [Exit. Fit. I have a kind of movement still for Wilford Enter WILFORD. Wil. I am informed it is your pleasure, sir, Fit. Ay, Wilford. I am sorry,- Fit. Unfit! Wil. I was unhappy, sir. I fled a house Fit. Misery! What was this certain misery? Wil. Your pardon; I never will divulge. Fit. Indeed! Wil. No, never. Pray do not press me. All that I can say Fit. Hark ye young man: this smacks And now looks foully. Truth and innocence Wil. Whate'er the prejudice My conduct conjures up I must submit. Bar. Wounded you! Wil. When I was dragged hither, the whole troop escaped, or they had vouched for the truth on't. Bar. Bethink you, Wilford: the time is short; 1 know your heart is good; but if, in a hasty moment, you have done aught to wrong Sir Edward, throw yourself on his mercy-sue for pardon. Wil. For pardon!-I shall go mad! Pardon !-I am innocent-Heaven knows I am innocent! Bar. Heaven be thanked! The family is all summoned. Oh, Wilford! my spirits sink within me! Wil. I am now but a sorry comfortor. Pe of good cheer; I go armed in honesty, Barbara. This charge is to be open in the eyes of the world and of the laws; then wherefore should I fear? of I am native of a happy soil, where justice guards equally the life of its richest and poorest inhabi Fit. 'Twere better now you conjured up your For I must tell you-No, there is no need; Wil. Danger, sir! What?-How?-I have learned nothing, sir: my guides Dragged me in silence hither. Fit. Then 'tis fit I put you on your guard. It grieves me, Wilford, Fit. Pray be calm; for, soon, tunt. [Exit. Bar. Alas! I tremble for his safety. Should they tear him from me! SONG.-BARBARA RAWBOLD. Down by the river there grows a green willow, Sing O for my true love, &c. Maids, come, in pity, when I am departed, When dead on the bank 1 am found, broken-hearted, And all for my true love, &c. |