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diff --git a/36607.txt b/36607.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b4e48c --- /dev/null +++ b/36607.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2796 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Surrender of Calais, by George Colman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Surrender of Calais + A Play, in Three Acts + +Author: George Colman + +Commentator: Mrs. Inchbald + +Release Date: July 3, 2011 [EBook #36607] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURRENDER OF CALAIS *** + + + + +Produced by Steven desJardins, David Garcia and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: SURRENDER OF CALAIS + EUSTACHE.--HERE TAKE THIS TRASH. + ACT I. SCENE II + PAINTED BY HOWARD PUBLISHD BY LONGMAN & CO ENGRAVD BY W POOLE] + + + + + + +THE SURRENDER OF CALAIS; + +A PLAY, IN THREE ACTS; + +By GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER. + +AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET. + +PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS FROM THE PROMPT BOOK. + +WITH REMARKS BY MRS. INCHBALD. + + LONDON: + PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORNE, PATERNOSTER ROW. + + + WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER, + LONDON + + + + +REMARKS. + + +In this drama are comprised tragedy, comedy, opera, and some degree +of farce--yet so happily is the variety blended, that one scene never +diminishes the interest of another, but they all combine to produce a +most valuable composition. + +In the rank of excellence, the tragic parts are to be accounted +foremost; and, among these, the original and admirable character of +Eustache de St. Pierre stands first. + +Other characters, of the author's invention, are likewise so prominent, +that Edward, our renowned conqueror of Calais, is made, perhaps, the +least interesting, as well as the least amiable, warrior in this whole +dramatic field of glory: and yet, such is the equitable, the unbiassed +judgment of the vanquished, they profess a just, a noble, an heroic +reverence, for the bravery, and other qualities, of their triumphant +enemies. + +The exception to this general rule of patriotic courage in the French, +is most skilfully displayed in one short speech, by a feeble and +fearful citizen of the besieged town; in whom extreme terror of the +besiegers is so naturally converted into malignant abhorrence, that the +man who, in all Calais, is most ready to die for his king and country, +is, by the aid of certain political logic from this alarmist, openly +accused of disloyalty, because he will not slander, as well as fight, +his foe. This speech, with some others, no less founded on the true +disposition of lordly man, subdued by the humiliation of fear, would +falsely imply--that the play of "The Surrender of Calais" was of a +later date than fifteen or sixteen years past, before which period the +author must have had much less knowledge of the influence of apprehension +in the time of war, than experience, or rather observation, has since +had the means to bestow upon him. + +It may be said, that Mr. Colman gave the virtues of justice and +benignity to the valiant part of the French, merely as instruments to +resound the praise of the English.--Whatever were the author's views, +the virtues remain the same, and honour the possessors of them, even +more than their eulogiums can do honour to the British. + +In the first act, the weak, mournful huzza, wrung from the throats of +the half-famished soldiers, and that military subordination exhibited +between Ribaumont and La Gloire, upon the pronunciation of the word +_march_, are happy stage occurrences, in which the reader's fancy will +not perhaps delight, for want of the performer's tones and action.--But +there are other scenes so independent of the mimic art, that acting can +rarely improve them--Such is the scene in the Hall, the delivery of the +keys, the farewell between the father and the son, with others equally +impressive. But the highest panegyric that can be pronounced on this +play is--that "The Surrender of Calais" is considered, by every critic, +as the very best of all the author's numerous and successful productions. + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +ENGLISH. + + KING EDWARD THE THIRD _Mr. Williamson._ + HARCOURT _Mr. Bland._ + SIR WALTER MANNY _Mr. Usher._ + ARUNDEL _Mr. Powell._ + WARWICK _Mr. Nigh._ + + HERALDS, TRAIN BEARERS, SOLDIERS, _&c._ + + QUEEN _Mrs. Goodall._ + + ATTENDANTS--_Mrs. Taylor_, _Miss Fontenelle_, _Miss + De Camp_, _Mrs. Powell_, _&c._ + + +FRENCH. + + JOHN de VIENNE _Mr. Aickin._ + RIBAUMONT _Mr. Palmer._ + OFFICER _Mr. Palmer, jun._ + EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE _Mr. Bensley._ + JOHN D'AIRE _Mr. Evatt._ + J. WISSANT _Mr. Knights._ + P. WISSANT _Mr. Henderson._ + OLD MAN _Mr. Johnson._ + O'CARROL _Mr. Johnstone._ + LA GLOIRE _Mr. Bannister, jun._ + {_Mr. Parsons._ + WORKMEN {_Mr. Burton._ + + CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, FRIARS, _&c._ + + JULIA _Mrs. Kemble._ + MADELON _Mrs. Bland._ + + NUNS--_Mrs. Edwin_, _Mrs. Powell_, _Miss De Camp_, + _Miss Fontenelle_, _&c._ + + +_SCENE--Calais, and its Outskirts._ + + + + +THE SURRENDER OF CALAIS. + + * * * * * + + + + +ACT THE FIRST. + + +SCENE I. + + _A View of Calais, the Sea, and the English Camp._ + +_Enter RIBAUMONT and LA GLOIRE._ + +_Ribau._ Thus far in safety. All is hush. Our subtle air of France +quickens not the temperament of the enemy. These phlegmatic English +snore out the night, in as gross heaviness as when their senses +stagnate in their own native fogs, where stupor lies like lead upon +them,--which the muddy rogues call sleep. We have nearly passed the +entrenchments;--the day breaks.--La Gloire! + +_La Gloire._ My commander! + +_Ribau._ Where did you direct our mariners to meet us, with the boat? + +_La Gloire._ Marry, I told them to meet us with the boat at the sea +shore. + +_Ribau._ Vague booby! at what point? + +_La Gloire._ That's the point I was coming to, my lord! and, if a +certain jutting out of land, in the shape of a white cliff, with brown +furze on its top, like a bushy head of hair over a pale face, stand +where it did---- + +_Ribau._ East of the town:--I have mark'd it. + +_La Gloire._ Look you there, now! what I have hunted after, a whole +day, to fix upon, hath he noted without labour. Oh, the capacious heads +of your great officers!--No wonder they are so careful of them in +battle; and thrust forward the pitiful pates of the privates, to be +mowed off like a parcel of daisies.--But there lies the spot--and there +will the mariners come. We are now within ear-shot; and, when they are +there, they will whistle. + +_Ribau._ And, till they give the signal, here, if there be aught of +safety to be picked from danger, is the least dangerous spot to tarry +for them. We are here full early. + +_La Gloire._ I would we were not here at all. This same scheme of +victualling a town, blockaded by the enemy, is a service for which I +have little appetite. + +_Ribau._ Think, La Gloire, on the distress of our countrymen--the +inhabitants perishing with hunger. + +_La Gloire._ Truly, my lord, it doth move the bowels of my compassion. +Yet, consider your risk--consider your rank! The gallant Count +Ribaumont, flower of chivalry, cream of the French army, and commander +of his regiment, turned cook to the corporation of Calais!--carving his +way to glory, through stubble-rumped capons, unskinned mutton, raw +veal, and vegetables!--and, perhaps, my lord, just before we are able +to serve up the meat to the town, in comes a raw-boned Englishman, and +runs his spit through your body! + +_Ribau._ Pr'ythee, no more objections. + +_La Gloire._ Nay, I object not,--I;--but I have served your honour, in +and out of the army, babe boy, and man, these five and twenty years, +come the next feast of the Virgin; and Heaven forfend I should be out +of service, by being out of my master! + +_Ribau._ Well, well, I know thy zeal. + +_La Gloire._ And yet your English rapier is a marvellous sudden +dissolver of attachments. 'Twill sever the closest connexions. 'Twill +even whip you, for ever, friend head from his intimate acquaintance, +neck and shoulders, before they have time to take leave:--Not that I +object;--yet men do not always sleep. The fat centinel, as we passed +the outpost, might have waked with his own snoring; and-- + + _Ribau._ Peace! Remember your duty to me; to your country. + Yet, out, alas! I mock myself to name it. + Did not these rugged battlements of Calais; + This tomb, yet safeguard of its citizens, + Which shuts the sword out, and locks hunger in; + (Where many a wretch, pale, gaunt, and famine-shrunk, + Smiles, ghastly, at the slaughter's threat, and dies:) + Did not these walls--like Vulcan's swarthy arms, + Clasping sweet beauty's queen--encircle now, + Within their cold and ponderous embrace, + The fair, yet, ah! I fear, the fickle Julia, + My sluggish zeal would lack the spur to rouse it. + +_La Gloire._ And, of all the spurs in the race of mortality, love is +the only true tickler to quicken a man's motions. But to reconcile a +mistress by victualling a town!--Well; dark and puzzling is the road to +woman's affection; but this is the first time I ever heard of sliding +into her heart through her palate; or choking her anger, by stopping +her mouth with a meal. An' this pantry fashion of wooing should last, +woe to the ill-favoured! Beauty will raise the price of provisions, and +poor ugliness soon be starved out of the country. + + _Ribau._ This enterprise may yet regain her. + Once she was kind; until her father's policy, + Nourish'd in courts, stepp'd in, and check'd her love. + Yet 'twas not love; for true love knows no check: + There is no skill in Cupid's archery, + When duty heals a love-wound. + +_La Gloire._ But, dear my lord! think on the great danger, and little +reputation---- + +_Ribau._ No more! mark me, La Gloire! As your officer, I may command +you onward: but, in respect to your early attachment, your faithful +service, ere you followed me to the army, if your mind misgive you in +this undertaking, you have my leave to retreat. + +_La Gloire._ [_Amazed._] My lord! + +_Ribau._ I say, you are free to return. + +_La Gloire._ Look ye, my lord! I am son to brave old Eustache de St. +Pierre; as tough a citizen as any in all Calais: I was carried into +your lordship's father's family (your lordship being then but just +born) at six days old; a mere whelp, as a body may say. According to +puppy reckoning, my lord, I was with you three days before I could +see. I have followed you through life, frisking and trotting after your +lordship ever since: and, if you think me, now, mongrel enough to turn +tail, and leave my master in a scrape, why, 'twere kinder e'en to hang +me up at the next tree, than cut me through the heart with your +suspicions. + +_Ribau._ No, La Gloire,--I---- + +_La Gloire._ No, my lord! 'tis fear for you makes me bold to speak. To +see you running your head through stone walls for a woman--and a woman +who, though she be an angel, has (saving your presence) played you but +a scurvy sort of a jade's trick; and---- + +_Ribau._ 'Sdeath, villain! how dare your slanderous tongue to--but 'tis +plain--'tis for thy own wretched sake thou art thus anxious--drivelling +coward! + +_La Gloire._ Coward!--Cow----_Diable!_--a French soldier, who has the +honour to carry arms under his christian majesty, Philip the Sixth, +King of France, called coward! _Sacre bleu!_ Have I already served in +three campaigns, and been thumped, and bobbed about, by the English, to +be called coward at last! Oh, that any but my commander had said it! + +_Ribau._ Well, well, La Gloire, I may have been hasty: I---- + +_La Gloire._ Oh, my lord!--it--'tis no matter. But, haply, you'd like +to be convinced of the courage of your company; and if such a thing as +raising the enemy's camp can clear a man's character, I can do it as +soon as---- + [_Raising his Voice._ + +_Ribau._ 'Sdeath, blockhead! we shall be discovered. + +_La Gloire._ Coward! 'Sblood! I'll run into the English entrenchments! +I'll go back, and tweak the fat centinel by the nose!--I'll---- + [_Still louder._ + +_Ribau._ Peace! I command you, La Gloire! I command you, as your +officer. + +_La Gloire._ I know my duty to my officer, my lord! + [_Sulkily._ + +_Ribau._ Then move not:--here, sir, on this spot. + [_Pointing forward._ + +_La Gloire._ [_Going to the Spot._] Coward! + +_Ribau._ Speak not, for your life! + +_La Gloire._ Cow----Umph! + +_Ribau._ Obey! + + [_LA GLOIRE stands motionless and silent.--A low Whistle._ + +_Ribau._ Ha! the signal! the morning breaks:--they arrive in the +very nick. Now then, La Gloire, for the enterprize. Why does not the +blockhead stir?--Well, well, my good fellow! I have been harsh: but--not +yet?--Pshaw! this military enforcement has acted like a spell upon +him.--How to dissolve it?--[_A low Whistle._]--Again!----Come, come, +La Gloire! I--dull dolt!--I have it:----March! + + [_LA GLOIRE faces to the Left, and marches out after RIBAUMONT._ + + +SCENE II. + + _The Place, in the Town of Calais._ + +_Enter an OFFICER, SERGEANT, and SOLDIERS.--CITIZENS enter severally +during the Scene._ + +_Officer._ Bravely, good fellows! Courage! Why, still there's life +in't. Sergeant! + +_Serg._ Your honour! + +_Officer._ How do the men bear up? Have they stout hearts still? + +_Serg._ I know not, sir, for their hearts; but I'll warrant them stout +stomachs. Hunger is so powerful in them, that I fear me they'll munch +their way through the stone walls of the city. + +_Officer._ This famine pinches. Poor rogues! Cheer them with hopes, +good Sergeant. + +_Serg._ Hope, your honour, is but a meagre mess for a regiment. Hope +has almost shrunk them out of their doublets. Hope has made their legs +so weary of the lease they had taken of their hose, that all their +calves have slunk away from the premises. There isn't a stocking in the +whole company that can boast of a tolerable tenant. The privates join +in the public complaining; the drummers grow noisy; our poor corporal +has no body left; and the trumpeter is blown up with wind. + +_Officer._ Do they grow mutinous? Look to them--check their muttering. + +_Serg._ Troth, sir, I do my best:--when they grumble for meat, I make +them eat their own words; and give them some solid counsel, well +seasoned with the pepper of correction. + +_Officer._ Well, well! look to them; keep a strict watch; and march the +guards to their several posts. + + [_Exit OFFICER._ + +_Serg._ Now must I administer consolation, and give the rogues their +daily meal of encouragement.--Hem! Countrymen, fellow soldiers, and +Frenchmen!--be of good cheer, for famine is come upon you, and you are +all in danger of starving. Is there any thing dearer to a Frenchman +than his honour? Isn't honour the greater, the greater the danger? +and has any body ever had the honour of being in greater danger than +you?--Rejoice, then, for your peril is extreme! Be merry, for you have +a glorious dismal prospect before you; and as pleasing a state of +desperation as the noble heart of a soldier could wish! Come! one cheer +for the glory of France.--St. Dennis, and our Grand Monarque, King +Philip the Sixth! + + [_SOLDIERS huzza very feebly._ + +Oons! it sounds as hollow as a churchyard. The voice comes through +their wizen mouths like wind from the crack of an old wainscot. Away, +rogues, to your posts! Bristle up your courage, and wait the event of +time! Remember ye are Frenchmen, and bid defiance to famine! Our +mistresses are locked up with us in the town; we have frogs in the +wells, and snuff at the merchants'. An Englishman, now, would hang +himself upon this, which is enough to make a gay Frenchman happy. +Allons, camarades! + + +SONG.--SERGEANT. + + + _My comrades so famish'd and queer,_ + _Hear the drums, how they jollily beat!_ + _They fill our French hearts with good cheer,_ + _Although we have nothing to eat._ + _Rub a dub._ + All. _Nothing to eat: rub a dub,_ + _Rub a dub--we have nothing to eat._ + + _Then, hark to the merry toned fife!_ + _To hear it 'twill make a man younger:_ + _I tell you, my lads, this is life_ + _For any one dying with hunger._ + _Toot a too._ + All. _Dying with hunger: toot a too,_ + _Toot a too--we are dying with hunger._ + + _The foe to inspire you to beat,_ + _Only list to the trumpet so shrill!_ + _Till the enemy's kill'd we can't eat:_ + _Do the job--you may eat all you kill._ + _Ran ta tan._ + All. _We'll eat all we kill; ran ta tan,_ + _Ran ta tan--we may eat all we kill._ + + + [_Exeunt SOLDIERS.--CITIZENS come forward._ + +_1 Cit._ Bon jour, Monsieur Grenouille? + +_2 Cit._ Aha! mon voisin! Here's a goodly morning. The sun shines till +our blood dances to it like a frisky wench to a tabor. + +_1 Cit._ Yes, truly; but 'tis a dance without refreshments. We, are in +a miserable plight, neighbour. + +_2 Cit._ Ma foi! miserable indeed! mais le soleil-- + +_1 Cit._ How fare your wife and family, neighbour Grenouille? + +_2 Cit._ Ah! my pauvre wife and famille; litel to eat now, mon +voisin--nothing bye and bye: lucky for me 'tis fine weather. Great +many mouths in my house; very litel to put into 'em. But I am French; +the sun shines; I am gay.--There is myself, my poor dear wife, half a +loaf, seven children, three sprats, a tom cat, and a pipkin of milk. +I am hungry; mais il fait beau temps; I dance--my famille starves--I +sing--toujours gai--the sun shines--tal lal la! tal lal la! + +_3 Cit._ Tut, we wo'not bear it. 'Tis our Governor is in fault: this +way we are certain to perish. + +_4 Cit._ Peste! we'll not endure it. Shut up, near eleven months, +within the walls. + +_2 Cit._ In fine weather--no promenade! + +_3 Cit._ No provisions.--We'll to the Governor, force the keys, and +surrender the town. Allons! come along, neighbours, to the Governor! + +_All._ Ay, ay--to the Governor. Away! + [_Going in a Posse._ + +_Enter EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE, carrying a small Wallet._ + + _Eust._ Why, how now, ho!--nothing but noise and babble! + Whither away so fast? Stand, rogues, and speak! + +_3 Cit._ Whither away? Marry! we would away from famine: we are for the +Governor's, to force the keys of the town. + + _Eust._ There roar'd the wrathful mouse! You squeaking braggart, + Whom hunger has made vent'rous, who would thrust + Your starveling nose out to the cat's fell gripe, + That watches round the cranny you lie snug in, + Nibble your scraps; be thankful, and keep quiet. + Thou rail on hunger! why, 'twas hunger bore thee; + 'Twas hunger rear'd thee; fixing, in thy cradle, + Her meagre stamp upon thy weazel visage; + And, from a child, that half starved face of thine + Has given full meals the lie. When thou dost eat, + Thou dost digest consumption: thou'rt of those kine + Thou wouldst e'en swallow up thy brethren, here, + And still look lean. What! fellow citizens, + Trust you this thing? Can skin and bones mislead you? + If we must suffer, suffer patiently. + Did I e'er grumble, mongrels? What am I? + +_3 Cit._ You! why, Eustache de St. Pierre you are; one of the sourest +old crabs of all the citizens of Calais; and, if reviling your neighbours +be a sign of ill will to one's country, and ill will to one's country +a sign of good will to strangers, why a man might go near to think you +are a friend to the English. + + _Eust._ I honour them. + They are our enemy--a gallant enemy; + A biting, but a blunt, straight-forward foe: + Who, when we weave our subtle webs of state, + And spin fine stratagems to entangle them, + Come to our doors, and pull the work to pieces; + Dispute it fist to fist, and score their arguments + Upon our politic pates. Remember Cressy!-- + We've reason to remember it--they thump'd us, + And soundly, there:--'tis but some few months, back;-- + There, in the bowels of our land--at Cressy-- + They so bechopp'd us with their English logic. + That our French heads ached sorely for it:--thence, + Marching through Picardy, to Calais here, + They have engirded us; fix'd the dull tourniquet + Of war upon our town; constraining, thus, + The life blood of our commerce, with fair France, + Of whom we are a limb; and all this openly:-- + And, therefore, as an open foe, who think + And strike in the same breath, I do esteem + Their valour, and their plainness. + I view them with a most respectful hatred. + Much may be learnt from these same Englishmen. + +_4 Cit._ Ay, pr'ythee, what? Hunger and hard blows seem all we are like +to get from them. + + _Eust._ Courage; which you may have--'twas never tried tho'; + Patience, to bear the buffets of the times. + Ye cannot wait till Fortune turns her wheel: + You'll to the Governor's, and get the keys! + And what would your wise worships do with them? + Eat them, mayhap, for ye have ostrich stomachs; + Ye dare not use them otherwise.--Home! home! + And pray for better luck. + + [_The CITIZENS exeunt severally. An OLD MAN, + alone, remains in the Back of the Scene._ + + Fie, I am faint + With railing on the cormorants. Three days, + And not break bread--'tis somewhat. There's not one + Among these trencher-scraping knaves, that yet + Has kept a twenty hours' lent;--I know it; + Yet how they crave! I've here, by strong entreaty, + And a round sum, (entreaty's weak without it,) + E'en just enough to make dame Nature wrestle + Another round with famine. Out, provision! + [_Takes off his Wallet._ + + _Old Man._ [_Coming forward._] O, Heaven! + + _Eust._ Who bid thee bless the meat?--How now old grey beard! + What cause hast thou---- + + _Old Man._ I have a daughter-- + + _Eust._ Hungry, I warrant. + + _Old Man._ Dying! + The blessing of my age:--I could bear all;-- + But for my child;--my dear, dear child!--to lose her + To lose her thus!--to see disease so wear her!-- + And when a little nourishment----She's starving! + + _Eust._ Go on;--no tears;--I hate them. + + _Old Man._ She has had no nourishment these four days. + + _Eust._ [_Affected._] Death! and--well? + + _Old Man._ I care not for myself;--I should soon go, + In nature's course;--but my poor darling child! + Who fifteen years has been my prop--to see her + Thus wrested from me! then, to hear her bless me; + And see her wasting!---- + + _Eust._ Peace! peace! + I have not ate, old man, since--Pshaw! the wind + Affects my eyes--but yet I--'Sdeath! what ails me? + I have no appetite.--Here, take this trash, and-- + + [_The OLD MAN takes the Wallet, falls upon + his Knees, and attempts to speak._ + + Pr'ythee away, old soul;--nay, nay, no thanks;-- + Get home, and do not talk--I cannot.-- + [_Exit OLD MAN._ + Out on't! + I do belie my manhood; and if misery, + With gentle hand, touches my bosom's key, + I bellow straight, as if my tough old lungs + Were made of organ-pipes. + [_Huzza without._ + Hey! how sits the wind now? + +_Enter CITIZENS, crying_ Huzza! _and_ Succour! _LA GLOIRE, in the +midst of them, loaded with Casks of Provision, &c._ + +_La Gloire._ Here, neighbours! here, here I am dropt in among you, +like a lump of manna. Here have I, following my master, the noble Count +Ribaumont, brought wherewithal to check the grumbling in your gizzards. +Here's meat, neighbours, meat!--fine, raw, red meat!--to turn the tide +of tears from your eyes, and make your mouths water. + +_All._ Huzza! + +_2 Cit._ Ah! mon Dieu! que je suis gai!--meat and sun too!--tal lal +lall la! + +_La Gloire._ Silence! or I'll stop your windpipe with a mutton cutlet. + +_All._ Huzza! + + _Eust._ Peace, ho! I say; can ye be men, and roar thus? + Blush at this clamour! it proclaims you cowards, + And tells what your despair has been. Peace, hen hearts! + Slink home, and eat. + +_La Gloire._ Ods my life! cry you mercy, father; I saw you not;--my +honest, hungry neighbours, here, so pressed about me. Marry, I think +they are ready to eat me. Stand aside, friends, and patience, till my +father has said grace over me. Father, your blessing. + [_Kneels._ + + _Eust._ Boy, thou hast acted bravely, and thou follow'st + A noble gentleman. What succour brings he? + +_La Gloire._ A snack! a bare snack, father; no more. We scudded round +the point of land, under the coast, unperceived by the enemy's fleet, +and freighted with a good three days' provender: but the sea, that +seems ruled by the English--marry, I think they'll always be masters of +it, for my part--stuck the point of a rock through the bottom of our +vessel, almost filled it with water, and, after tugging hard for our +lives, we found the provision so spoiled, and pickled, that our larder +is reduced to a luncheon. Every man may have a meal, and there's an +end;--to-morrow comes famine again. + +_2 Cit._ N'importe; we are happy to-day; c'est assez pour un Francois. + +_La Gloire._ [_Aside, to EUSTACHE._] But, father, cheer up! Mum! If, +after the distribution, an odd sly barrel of mine--you take me--rammed +down with good powdered beef, that will stand the working of half a +dozen pair of jaws for a month, should be found in an odd corner of my +father's house, why--hum! + + _Eust._ Base cur! insult me!--But I pardon thee; + Thou dost mean kindly. Know thy father better. + Though these be sorry knaves, I scorn to wrong them + I love my country, boy. Ungraced by fortune, + I dare aspire to the proud name of patriot. + If any bear that title to misuse it,-- + Decking their devilships in angel seeming, + To glut their own particular appetites;-- + If any, 'midst a people's misery, + Feed fat, by filching from the public good, + Which they profess is nearest to their hearts; + The curses of their country; or, what's sharper, + The curse of guilty conscience follow them! + The suffering's general; general be the benefit. + We'll share alike. You'll find me, boy, at home. + + [_Exit._ + +_La Gloire._ There he goes! full of sour goodness, like a fine lemon. +He's as trusty a crusty citizen, and as goodnatured an ill tempered old +fellow, as any in France: and, though I say it, that shouldn't say +it--I am his son.----But, now, neighbours, for provision. + +_3 Cit._ Ay, marry! we would fain fall to. + +_La Gloire._ I doubt it not, good hungry neighbours: you'll all +remember me for this succour, I warrant. + +_All._ Toujours; always. + +_La Gloire._ See now what it is to bind one's country to one, by doing +it a service. Good souls, they are running over with gratitude--[_Walks +about, CITIZENS following._]--I could cluck them all round the town after +my tail, like an old hen with a brood of chickens. Now will I be carried +in triumph to my father's: and ye may e'en set about it now--[_Two stout +CITIZENS take LA GLOIRE on their Shoulders._]--now, while the provisions +are sharing at the Governor's house. + + [_CITIZENS let him fall._ + +_All._ Sharing provisions! Allons! vite!--away! away! + + [_Exeunt CITIZENS hastily._ + +_La Gloire._ Oh diable! this is popularity. Adieu, my grateful +neighbours! Thus does many a fool-hardy booby, like me, run his head +into danger; and a few empty huzzas, which leave him at the next turning +of a corner, are all he gets for his pains. Now, while all the town +is gone to dinner, will I go to woo. My poor Madelon must be woefully +fallen away, since I quitted Calais, Heigho! I've lost, I warrant me, +a good half of my mistress since we parted. I have secured for her the +daintiest bits of our whole cargo, as marks of my affection. A butcher +couldn't show her more tenderness than I shall. If love were now +weighed out by the pound, bating my master, the Count Ribaumont, who is +in love with Lady Julia, not all the men in the city could balance the +scales with me. + [_Exit._ + + +SCENE III. + + _A Hall, in the House of JOHN de VIENNE._ + +_Enter JULIA and O'CARROL._ + +_Julia._ Now, O'Carrol; what is the time of day? + +_O'Carrol._ Fait, Lady Julia, we might have called it a little past +breakfast time, formerly; but since the fashion of eating has been worn +out in Calais, a man may be content to say it bears hard upon ten. Och! +if clocks were jacks now, time would stand still; and the year would go +down, for the want of winding up every now and then. + +_Julia._ Saw you my father this morning? + +_O'Carrol._ You may say that. + +_Julia._ How looked he, O'Carrol? + +_O'Carrol._ By my soul! Lady Julia, that old father of yours, and +master of mine, is a gallant gentleman. And gallantly he bears himself. +For certain, and so he ought; being a Knight of Burgundy, and Governor +of Calais; but if I was Governor just now, to be sure I should not +like to take a small trip from Calais, one morning, just to see what +sort of a knight I was in Burgundy. + +_Julia._ Who has he in his company? + +_O'Carrol._ Why, madam, why--now dare not I tell who, for fear of +offending her.--Company? Why, to be sure I have been in his company:--for +want of finer acquaintance, madam, he was e'en forced to put up, half an +hour, with an humble friend. + + _Julia._ Poor fool! thy words are shrewder than thy meaning. + How many crowd the narrow space of life + With those gay, gaudy flowers of society, + Those annuals, call'd acquaintance; which do fade + And die away, ere we can say they blosom; + Mocking the idle cultivator's care, + From year to year; while one poor slip of friendship, + Hardy, tho' modest, stands the winter's frost, + And cheers its owner's eye with evergreen! + +_O'Carrol._ Troth, lady, one honest potatoe in a garden is worth an +hundred beds of your good-for-nothing tulips. Oh! 'tis meat and drink +to me to see a friend! and, truly 'tis lucky, in this time of famine, +to have one in the house to look at, to keep me from starving. Little +did I think, eight years ago, when I came over among fifty thousand +brave boys--English, Irish, and else,--to fight under King Edward, +who now lies before Calais here, that I should find such a warm soul +towards me in a Frenchman's body;--especially when the business, that +brought me, was to help to give his countrymen a beating. + +_Julia._ Thy gratitude, O'Carrol, has well repaid the pains my father +took in preserving thee. + +_O'Carrol._ Gratitude! fait, madam, begging your pardon, 'tis no such +thing; 'tis nothing but showing the sense I have of my obligation. +There was I, in the year 1339, in the English camp--on the fields of +Vianfosse, near Capelle--which never came to an action; excepting a +trifling bit of skirmish, in which my good cruel friends left me for +dead out of our lines; when a kind enemy--your father--(a blessing on +his friendly heart for it!) picked me up, and set the breath agoing +again, that was almost thumped out of my body. He saved my life; it is +but a poor commodity;--but, as long as it lasts, by my soul! he and his +family shall have the wear and tear of it. + +_Julia._ Thou hast been a trusty follower, O'Carrol; nay, more a friend +than follower; thou art entwined in all the interests of our house, and +art as attached to me as to my father. + +_O'Carrol._ Ay, troth, Lady Julia, and a good deal more; more shame to +me for it; because I am indebted for all to the Governor. I don't know +how it may be with wiser nations, but if regard is to go to a whole +family, there's a something about the female part of it that an +Irishman can't help giving the preference to, for the soul of him. + +_Julia._ But, tell me, who is with my father? + +_O'Carrol._ Indeed that I will not--for a reason. + +_Julia._ And what may the reason be? + +_O'Carrol._ Because, long before he arrived, you bid me never mention +his name. It may be, perhaps, the noble gentleman who has just succoured +the town.--Well, if I must not say who is with my master, I may say who +my master is with.--It is the Count Ribaumont. + +_Julia._ Why should I tremble at that name? Why should my tongue be now +constrained to speak the language of my heart? O father! father! + +_O'Carrol._ Och--ho! + +_Julia._ Why dost thou sigh, O'Carrol? + +_O'Carrol._ Truly, madam, I was thinking of a piece of a rich old uncle +I had in Ireland; who sent me to the French wars, to tear me away from +a dear little creature I loved better than my eyes. + +_Julia._ And wast thou ever in love, O'Carrol? + +_O'Carrol._ That I was, faith, up to my chin. I never think upon it but +it remembers me of the song that was wont to be played by honest Clamoran, +poor fellow, our minstrel, in the north. + + _Julia._ I pr'ythee sing it to me, good O'Carrol; + For there is something in these artless ditties, + Expressive of a simple soul in love, + That fills the mind with pleasing melancholy. + + +SONG.--O'CARROL. + + + _Oh! the moment was sad when my love and I parted;_ + _Savourna deligh shighan ogh!_ + _As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken hearted;_ + _Savourna deligh shighan ogh;_ + _Wan was her cheek, which hung on my shoulder;_ + _Damp was her hand, no marble was colder;_ + _I felt that I never again should behold her._ + _Savourna deligh shighan ogh!_ + + _Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love;_ + _Savourna deligh shighan ogh!_ + _All my pay and my booty I hoarded for you, love;_ + _Savourna deligh shighan ogh!_ + _Peace was proclaim'd,--escaped from the slaughter,_ + _Landed at home--my sweet girl I sought her;_ + _But sorrow, alas! to the cold grave had brought her._ + _Savourna deligh shighan ogh!_ + + +_Enter JOHN de VIENNE and RIBAUMONT._ + + _De Vienne._ Nay, nay, my lord! you're welcome. + Yet, were I private here, some prudent qualms, + Which you well wot, I trow, my noble lord! + Might cause me flatly sound that full toned welcome, + Which breathes the mellow note of hospitality. + Yet, being Governor of Calais here---- + But take me with you, Count,--I can discern + Your noble virtues; ay, and love them too; + Did not a father's care--but let that pass.-- + Julia, my girl--the Count of Ribaumont:-- + Thank the brave champion of our city. + + _Julia._ Sir! + Tho' one poor simple drop of gratitude, + Amid the boisterous tide of general thanks, + Can little swell the glory of your enterprise, + Accept it freely.--You are welcome, sir. + + _Rib._ Cold does it seem to me.--'Sdeath! this is ice! + Freezing indifference:--down, down, my heart! + [_Aside._ + I pray you, lady, do not strain your courtesy. + If I have reap'd a single grain of favour, + From your fair self, and noble father here, + I have obtain'd the harvest of my hope. + + _De Vienne._ Heyday! here's bow, and jut, and cringe, and scrape!-- + Count! I have served in battle; witness for me + Some curious scars, the soldier's coxcombry, + In which he struts, fantastically carved + Upon the tough old doublet nature gave him. + Let us, then, speak like brothers of the field; + Roundly and blunt. Have I your leave, my lord? + + _Rib._ As freely, sir, as you have ask'd it. + + _De Vienne._ Thus, then: + I have a daughter, look you; here she stands; + Right fair and virtuous;-- + [_COUNT attempts to speak._ + Nay, Count, spare your speech; + I know I've your assent to the position: + I have a king too; and from whom 'tis signified + My daughter must be match'd with (speedily) + A certain lord about the royal person.-- + Now, tho' there may be some, whose gallant bearing + (And glean from this, Count, what it is I aim at,) + I might be proud to be allied to, yet + Being a veteran French soldier, stuff'd + With right enthusiastic loyalty, + My house, myself, my child--Heaven knows I love her!-- + Should perish, piece-meal, ere I could infringe + The faintest line or trace of the proceeding, + The king, our master, honours me in marking. + + _Rib._ I do conceive you, sir. + + _De Vienne._ Why, then, conceiving, + Once more, right welcome, Count. I lodge you here, + As my good friend--and Julia's friend--the friend + To all our city.--Tut, Count, love is boys' play; + A soldier has not time for't.-- + Come, Count.----Within there, hoa! we need refreshment, + Which you have furnish'd.--Love? pish! love's a gew-gaw. + Nay, come, Count, come. + [_Exit._ + + _Julia._ Sir, will it please you follow? + + _Rib._ I fain would speak one word, and--'sdeath! I cannot.-- + Pardon me, madam; I attend.--Oh, Julia! + [_Exit, leading out JULIA._ + +_O'Carrol._ Och ho! poor dear creatures, my heart bleeds for them. To +be sure the ould gentleman means all for the best, and what he talks +must be right: but if love is a gew-gaw, as he says, by my soul! 'tis +the prettiest plaything for children, from sixteen to five-and-twenty, +that ever was invented! + [_Exit._ + + +SCENE IV. + + _The English Camp._ + +_Enter KING, SIR WALTER MANNY, HARCOURT, ARUNDEL, WARWICK, and +ATTENDANTS._ + + _King._ Fie, lords! it slurs our name;--the town is succour'd. + 'Twas dull neglect to let them pass: a blot + Upon our English camp; where vigilance + Should be the watch-word. Which way got they in? + + _Sir W._ By sea, as we do learn, my gracious liege? + + _King._ Where was our fleet then? does it ride the ocean + In idle mockery? It should float to awe + These Frenchmen here. How are they stored, my lord? + + _Harc._ Barely, as it should seem. Their crazy vessel, + Driven among the rocks, that skirt the shore, + Let in the waves so fast upon the cargo, + The better half is either sunk or spoilt. + They scarce can hold another day, my liege. + + _King._ Thanks to the sea for't--not our Admiral. + They brave it, stubborn, to the very last:-- + But they shall smart for't shortly; smart severely. + Meantime, prepare we for our Queen; who comes + From England, deck'd in conquest. Say, Lord Harcourt, + Are all prepared to welcome her arrival? + + _Harc._ All, my dread liege. The beach is thickly lined + With English soldiery, in ardent watch, + Fixing their eyes upon the bark, which bears + Our royal mistress. It was hoped, ere this, + 'T had reach'd the harbour.-- + [_Grand Flourish._ + Hark! the queen has landed. + + _King._ Do you then, good my lord! escort her hither. + [_Exit HARCOURT._ + Sir Walter Manny? + + _Sir W._ Ay, my gracious sovereign. + + _King._ Guard well this packet. When the Governor + Of this same peevish town shall call a parley, + Break you it up, and from it speak our pleasure. + Here are the terms--the only terms--on which + We do allow them to capitulate. + +_Enter the QUEEN PHILIPPA, attended._ + + Oh, welcome! welcome! We shall give you here + Rude martial fare, and soldiers' entertainment. + + _Queen._ Royal sir! + Well met, and happily. I learn your labours + Draw to a glorious end.--When you return, + Besides the loyal subjects who would greet you, + The Scottish king, my lord! waits your arrival; + Who, somewhat partial to his neighbour's land, + Did come an uninvited guest among us. + I doubt he'll think us over-hospitable; + For, dreading his too quick departure from us, + I have made bold to guard him in the Tower: + And hither have I sail'd, my noble liege! + To glad you with the tidings. + + _King._ My sweet warrior! + We will dispatch our work here, then for England. + Calais will soon be ours;--of that hereafter. + Think we, to-day, on nought but revelry. + You, madam, shall diffuse your influence + Throughout our camp.--Strike, there, our martial music! + For want of better, good Philippa, take + A soldier's noisy concert. Strike! I say. + + +GRAND CHORUS. + + _War has still its melody;----_ + _When blows come thick, and arrows fly,_ + _When the soldier marches o'er_ + _The crimson field, knee-deep in gore,_ + _By carnage, and grim death, surrounded,_ + _And groans of dying men confounded;--_ + _If the warlike drum he hear,_ + _And the shrill trumpet strike his ear._ + _Roused by the spirit-stirring tones,_ + _Music's influence he owns;_ + _His lusty heart beats quick, and high;_ + _War has still its melody._ + + _But, when the hard fought day is done,_ + _And the battle's fairly won;_ + _Oh! then he trolls the jolly note,_ + _In triumph, thro' his rusty throat;_ + _And all the story of the strife_ + _He carols to the merry fife._ + _His comrades join, their feats to tell;_ + _The chorus then begins to swell;_ + _Loud martial music rends the sky:_ + _This is the soldier's melody._ + + + + +ACT THE SECOND. + + +SCENE I. + + _MADELON's Apartment._ + +_LA GLOIRE and MADELON discovered. MADELON seated at a Table covered +with Eatables, Wines, &c. LA GLOIRE standing near the Table._ + +_La Gloire._ Blessings on her heart, how cleverly she feeds! the meat +goes as naturally into her little mouth, as if it had been used to the +road all the time of the famine: though, Heaven knows, 'tis a path that +has, lately, been little frequented. + +_Madelon._ A votre sante, mon ami;--your health, La Gloire. + [_Drinks._ + +_La Gloire._ Nay, I'll answer thee in that, though bumpers were +Englishmen, and went against my French stomach. [_Takes Wine._] Heaven +bless thee, my poor Madelon! May a woman never tumble into the mire of +distress; and, if she is in, ill befall him that won't help her clean +out again. + [_Drinks._ + +_Madelon._ There; enough. + [_Comes from Table._ + +_La Gloire._ So: one kiss for a bonne bouche.--[_Kisses her._]--Dost +love me the better for this feast, now, Madelon? + +_Madelon._ No, truly, not a jot. I love you e'en as well before dinner +as after. + +_La Gloire._ What a jewel is regular affection!--to love, equally, +through the week, maigre days, and all! I cannot but own a full meal +makes an improvement in the warmth of my feelings. I can eat and drink +myself into a glow of tenderness, that fasting can never come up to. +And what hast thou done in my absence, Madelon? + +_Madelon._ Little, La Gloire, but grieve with the rest. I have thought +on you; gone to confession in the morning; seemed happy, in the day, to +cheer my poor old father:--but my heart was bursting, La Gloire:--and, +at night, by myself, I looked at this little cross you gave me, and +cried. + +_La Gloire._ [_Smothering his Tears._] Madelon, I,--I--I want another +draught of burgundy. + [_Drinks._ + +_Madelon._ Once, indeed,--I thought it was hard,--Father Antony +enjoined me penance, for thinking so much about you. + +_La Gloire._ An old----What, by putting peas in your shoes, as usual? + +_Madelon._ Yes; but, as it happened, I escaped. + +_La Gloire._ Ay, marry! how? + +_Madelon._ Why, as the famine pressed, the holy fathers had boiled all +our punishments, in puddings for the convent; and there was not a +penitential pea left in the town. + +_La Gloire._ O, gluttony! to deprive the innocent of their hard, dry +penances, and apply them, soft, to their own offending stomachs! I +never could abide these pampered friars. They are the pot-bellied +children of the Pope, nursed at the bosom of old mother church; and +plaguy chubby boys they are. One convent of them, in a town, breeds +a famine sooner than an English blockade. But, what says thy father +within, here, Madelon, to our marriage? + +_Madelon._ Truly, he has no objection, but in respect to your being a +soldier. + +_La Gloire._ Sacre bleu! object to my carrying arms! my glory! my pride! + +_Madelon._ Pr'ythee, now, 'tis not for that. + +_La Gloire._ Degrade my profession!--my--look ye, Madelon; I love thee +with all my heart--with an honest soldier's heart--else I could tell +your father, that a citizen could never get on in the world, without a +soldier to do his journey-work:--and your soldier, look ye--'sblood! it +makes me fret like a hot day's march!--your soldier, in all nations, +when he is rusted down to your quiet citizen, and so sets up at home +for himself, is in double respect, for having served such an honourable +apprenticeship. + +_Madelon._ Nay, now, La Gloire, my father meant not---- + +_La Gloire._ Marry, I would tell your father this to his teeth; which, +were it not for my captain and me--two soldiers, mark you me--might +not, haply, have been so soon set a going. + +_Madelon._ Ungenerous! I could not have spoken such cutting words +to you, La Gloire.--My poor father only meant, that the wars might +separate us. But I had a remedy for that, too, for all your unkindness. + +_La Gloire._ Pish!--remedy?--well--psha!--what was the remedy, Madelon? + +_Madelon._ Why, I could have followed you to the camp. + +_La Gloire._ And wouldst thou follow me then? + +_Madelon._ Ay, surely, La Gloire: I could follow him I love all over +the world. + +_La Gloire._ And bear the fatigue of a campaign, Madelon? + +_Madelon._ Any thing with you, La Gloire. I warrant us, we should +be happy enough. Ay, and I could be useful too. I could pack your +knapsack; sing canzonets with you, to make us merry on a day's march; +mix in the soldier's dance upon occasion; and, at sun-set, I would +dress up our little tent, as neat as any captain's in the field: then, +at supper, La Gloire, we should be as cheerful!---- + +_La Gloire._ Now could I cut my tongue out for what I have said!--Cuff +me; slap my face, Madelon; then kiss me, and forgive me: and, if ever +I bestride my great war-horse again, and let him run away with me, and +trample over the heart of my best friends, I wish he may kick me off, +and break my neck in a ditch for my pains.--But--what--ha! ha!--what +should we do with our children, Madelon? + +_Madelon._ Ah! mon Dieu! I had forgot that:--but if your endeavours be +honest, La Gloire, Providence will take care of them, I warrant you. + + +DUETT. LA GLOIRE AND MADELON. + + Madelon. _Could you to battle march away,_ + _And leave me here complaining?_ + _I'm sure 'twould break my heart to stay,_ + _When you are gone campaigning._ + + _Ah! non, non, non!_ + _Pauvre Madelon_ + _Could never quit her rover:_ + _Ah! non, non, non!_ + _Pauvre Madelon_ + _Would go with you all the world over._ + + La Gloire. _No, no, my love! ah! do not grieve;_ + _A soldier true you'll find me:_ + _I could not have the heart to leave_ + _My little girl behind me._ + + _Ah! non, non, non!_ + _Pauvre Madelon_ + _Should never quit her rover:_ + _Ah! non, non, non!_ + _Pauvre Madelon_ + _Should go with me all the world over._ + + Both. _Then let the world jog as it will,_ + _Let hollow friends forsake us,_ + _We both shall be as happy still_ + _As war and love can make us._ + + _Ah! non, non, non!_ + _Pauvre Madelon_ + _Shall never quit her rover:_ + _Ah! non, non, non,!_ + _Pauvre Madelon_ + _Shall go with {you/me} all the world over._ + + +_La Gloire._ By the mass, Madelon, such a wife as thou wilt be, would +make a man, after another campaign,--for another I must have, to +satisfy the cravings of my appetite,--go nigh to forswear the wars. + +_Madelon._ Ah, La Gloire! would it were so! but the sound of a trumpet +will ever lead thee after it. + +_La Gloire._ Tut--a trumpet!--thy voice, Madelon, will drown it. + +_Madelon._ Ah, La Gloire! + [_Shaking her Head._ + +_La Gloire._ Nay, then, I am the veriest poltroon, if I think the sound +of a trumpet would move me any more than--[_A Parley is sounded from +the Walls._]--Eh!--gad--oh!--ecod there's a bustle! a parley from the +walls; which may end in a skirmish, or a battle--or a--I'll be with you +again in the chopping off of a head. + +_Madelon._ Nay, now, La Gloire, I thought the sound of a trumpet---- + +_La Gloire._ A trumpet--simpleton!--that was a--gad I--wasn't it a +drum?--Adieu, Madelon! I'll be back again ere--[_Parley._]----March! +--Charge!--Huzza! + [_Draws his Sword, and exit._ + +_Madelon._ Well-a-day! a soldier's wife must have a fearful time +on't. Yet do I love La Gloire; he is so kind, so tender!--and he has, +simply, the best leg in the army. Heigho!--It must feel very odd to +sleep in a tent:--a camp must be ever in alarms, and soldiers always +ready for surprise.--Dame Toinette, who married a corporal, ere I was +born, told me, that, for one whole campaign, her husband went to bed +in his boots. + + +SONG.--MADELON. + + _Little thinks the townsman's wife,_ + _While at home she tarries,_ + _What must be the lass's life,_ + _Who a soldier marries._ + _Now with weary marching spent,_ + _Dancing now before the tent,_ + _Lira, lira, lira, lira, lira la,_ + _With her jolly soldier._ + + _In the camp, at night, she lies,_ + _Wind and weather scorning,_ + _Only grieved her love must rise,_ + _And quit her in the morning;_ + _But the doubtful skirmish done,_ + _Blithe she sings at set of sun;_ + _Lira, lira, lira, lira, lira la,_ + _With her jolly soldier._ + + _Should the captain of her dear_ + _Use his vain endeavour,_ + _Whisp'ring nonsense in her ear,_ + _Two fond hearts to sever,_ + _At his passion she will scoff;_ + _Laughing, thus, she'll put him off,--_ + _Lira, lira, lira, lira, lira la,_ + _For her jolly soldier._ + [Exit. + + +SCENE II. + + _The Town Hall of Calais._ + +_CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, and CRIER, discovered._ + +_Crier._ Silence!--An ye all talk thus, there's an end to conversation. +Your silence, my masters, will breed a disturbance. Mass, 'tis hard +that I, who am Crier, should be laughed at, and held at nought among +you. + +_All._ Hear! hear! + +_Crier._ Listen.--The good John de Vienne, our governor--a blessing on +his old merry heart!--grieving for your distress, has, e'en now, called +a parley on the walls, with the English; and has chosen me, in his +wisdom, to ring you all into the town hall, here; where, an you abide +his coming, you will hear, what he shall seem to signify unto you. And, +by our lady, here the governor comes!--[_Rings._]--Silence! + +_All._ Silence! + +_Crier._ Nay, 'tis ever so. An I were to bid a dumb man hold his +tongue, by my troth, I think a' would cry "Silence," till the drum of +my ear were bursten. Silence! + +_Enter JOHN de VIENNE, EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE following. JOHN de +VIENNE seats himself at the Head of the Council Table; EUSTACHE sits +in the Front, among the CITIZENS._ + + _De Vienne._ You partly know why I have here convened you. + I pr'ythee, now,--I pr'ythee, honest friends! + Summon up all the fortitude within you, + Which you are masters of. Now, Heaven forgive me! + I almost wish I had not been a soldier;-- + For I have, here, a matter to deliver + Requires a schoolman's preface. 'Tis a task, + Which bears so heavy on my poor old heart, + That 'twill go nigh to crack beneath the burden. + You know I love you, fellow citizens: + You know I love you well. + +_All._ Ay, ay; we know it. + + _De Vienne._ I could be well content, in peace, or peril, + To 'bide with you for ever. + + _Eust._ No one doubts it. + I never, yet, did hear of governor, + Spite of the rubs, and watchful toil of office, + Would willingly forego his place. + + _De Vienne._ Why, how now! + Why, how now, friend! dost thou come o'er me thus? + But I shall find a time--it fits not now-- + When I will teach thee----'Sdeath! old John de Vienne, + A veteran, bluff soldier, bearded thus! + And sneer'd at by a saucy--Mark you me!-- + [_Rises._ + Well, let it pass:--the general calamity + Will sour the best of us.--[_Sits._]--My honest citizens, + I once more pray you, think that ye are men: + I pray you, too, my friends---- + + _Eust._ I pray you, sir, + Be somewhat brief; you'll tire else. These same citizens + These honest citizens, would fain e'en know + The worst at once. When members are impatient + For a plain tale, the orator, (you'll pardon me,) + Should not be too long winded. + + _De Vienne._ Fellow, peace! + Ere now I've mark'd thee.--Thou art he, I take it,-- + 'Tis Eustache de St. Pierre, I think, they call thee-- + Whom all the town, our very children, point at, + As the most growling knave in christendom;-- + Yea, thou art he. + + _Eust._ The same. The mongrels, here, + Cannot abide rough honesty:--I'm hated. + Smooth talking likes them better:--You, good sir, + Are popular among them. + +_All._ Silence! + +_Eust._ Buz! + + _De Vienne._ Thus, then, in brief. Finding we are reduced, + By famine, and fatigue, unto extremity, + I sounded for a parley from the walls;-- + E'en now 't has ended:--Edward order'd forth + Sir Walter Manny; and I needs must own, + A courteous knight, although an enemy.-- + I told him our distress. Sir Knight, said I-- + And here it makes me almost blush to think + An Englishman should see me drop a tear; + But, 'spite of me, it stole upon my cheek;-- + To speak the honest truth, Sir Knight, said I, + My gallant men are perishing with hunger:-- + Therefore I will surrender. + +_Eust._ Surrender! + [_The rest look amazed._ + + _De Vienne._ But, conceive me, + On this condition;--that I do secure + The lives, and liberties, of those brave fellows, + Who, in this galling and disastrous siege, + Have shared with me in each fatigue and peril. + +_All._ Huzza! Long live our governor! Huzza! + + _De Vienne._ I thank you, friends.--It grieves me to repay + Your honest love, with tidings, sure, as heavy + As ever messenger was charged withal. + The King of England steels his heart against us. + He does let loose his vengeance; and he wills,-- + If we would save our city from the sword, + From wild destruction,--that I straight do send him + Six of my first and best reputed citizens, + Bare headed, tendering the city keys; + And,--'sdeath, I choke!--with vile and loathsome ropes, + Circling their necks, in guise of malefactors, + To suffer instant execution. + + [_The CITIZENS appear confounded. A Pause._ + + Friends, + I do perceive you're troubled:--'tis enough + To pose the stoutest of you. Who among you + Can smother nature's workings, which do prompt + Each, to the last, to struggle for himself? + Yet, were I not objected to, as governor, + There might be found--no matter.--Who so bold, + That, for the welfare of a wretched multitude, + Involved with him, in one great common cause, + Would volunteer it on the scaffold? + + _Eust._ [_Rises._] I:---- + E'en I;--the growling knave, whom children point at. + To save those children, and their hapless mothers, + To snatch the virgin from the ravisher, + To shield the bent and hoary citizen, + To push the sword back from his aged throat, + (Fresh reeking, haply, in his house's blood,) + I render up myself for sacrifice.---- + Will no one budge? Then let the English in; + Let in the enemy, to find us wasted, + And winking in the socket. Rouse, for shame! + Rouse, citizens! Think on your wives, your infants! + And let us not be so far shamed in story, + That we should lack six men within our walls, + To save them thus from slaughter. + + _De Vienne._ Noble soul! + I could, for this, fall down and worship thee. + Thou warm'st my heart. Does no one else appear, + To back this gallant veteran? + + _D'Aire._ Eustache,-- + Myself, and these two brothers, my companions, + All of your house, and near of kin to you, + Have ponder'd on your words:--we sure must die, + If we or go, or stay:--but, what weighs most-- + We would not see our helpless little ones + Butcher'd before our eyes. We'll go with thee. + + _Eust._ Now, by our good St. Dennis, + I do feel proud! My lowly house's glory + Shall live on record. What are birth and titles? + Feathers for children. The plain honest mind, + That branches forth in charity and virtue, + Shrinks lordly pomp to nought; and makes vain pedigree + Blush at his frothy boasting.--We are four;-- + Fellows in death and honour.--Two remain + To fill our number. + + _De Vienne._ Pause a while, my friends; + We yet have breathing time;--though troth but little.-- + I must go forth, a hostage to the English, + Till you appear. Break up our sad assembly;-- + And, for the rest, agree among yourselves. + Were the time apt, I could well waste a year + In praising this your valour. + [_To EUSTACHE._ + + _Eust._ Break we up. If any + Can wind his sluggish courage to the pitch, + Meet me anon i'th' market-place: and, thence, + Will we march forth. Ye have but this, remember; + Either plunge bravely into death, or wait + Till the full tide of blood flows in upon you, + And shame and slaughter overwhelm us. Come; + My noble partners, come! + [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III. + + _An apartment in the GOVERNOR's House._ + +_Enter JULIA and RIBAUMONT._ + + _Ribau._ Yet, hear me, Julia---- + + _Julia._ Pr'ythee, good my lord, + Press me not thus: my father's strict command-- + I must not say 'tis harsh--forbids me listen. + + _Ribau._ Is then the path of duty so precise, + That 'twill not for a little deviate? + Sweet, let it wind, and bend to recollection. + Think on our oaths; yes, lady, they are mutual:-- + You said you loved; I treasured the confession, + As misers hoard their gold: nay, 'twas my all.-- + Think not I chatter in the idle school + Of whining coxcombs, where despair and death + Are words of course; I swell not fancied ills + With windy eloquence: no, trust me, Julia, + I speak in honest, simple suffering: + And disappointment, in my life's best hope, + So feeds upon my life, and wears me inward, + That I am nearly spirit-broken. + + _Julia._ Why, why this, my lord? + You urge me past a maiden's modesty. + What should I say?--In nature's course, my lord, + The parent sits at helm, in grey authority, + And pilots the child's action: for my father, + You know what humour sways him. + + _Ribau._ Yes, court policy; + Time-serving zeal: tame, passive, blind, obedience + To the stern will of power; which doth differ + As wide from true, impulsive loyalty, + As puppet work from nature. O, I would + The time were come!--our enemy, the English, + Bid fairest first to show a bright example; + When, 'twixt the ruler and the ruled, affection + Shall be reciprocal: when majesty + Shall gather strength from mildness; and the subject + Shall look with duteous love upon his sovereign, + As the child eyes its father. Now, by Heaven! + Old John de Vienne is turn'd a temporiser; + Making his daughter the poor topmost round + Of his vile ladder to preferment. 'Sdeath! + And you to suffer this! O, fie, fie, Julia! + 'Twould show more noble in you to lay bare + Your mind's inconstancy, than thus to keep + The semblance of a passion; meanly veiling + Your broken faith with the excuse of duty. + Out on't! 'tis shallow--you ne'er loved. + + _Julia._ My lord, my cup of sorrow was brimfull; and you, + I look'd not for it, have thrown in a drop, + Which makes it overflow. No more of that: + You have reviled my father: me, too, Ribaumont; + Heaven knows, I little merit it!--My lord, + Upon this theme we must not meet again.-- + Farewell! and do not, do not think unkindly + On her, you, once, did call your Julia. + If it will sooth your anguish, Ribaumont, + To find a fellowship in grief, why think + That there is one, while struggling for her duty, + Sheds many a tear in private.--Heaven be with you! + [_Exit._ + + _Ribau._ Stay, stay, and listen to me. Gone! and thus too! + And have I lost thee--and for ever, Julia? + Now do I look on life as the worn mariner, + Stretching his eyes o'er seas immeasurable, + And all is drear and comfortless. Henceforward, + My years will be one void; day roll on day, + In sameness infinite, without a hope + To chequer the sad prospect. O! if death + Came yoked with honour to me, I could, now, + Embrace it with as warm and willing rapture, + As mothers clasp their infants. + +_Enter LA GLOIRE._ + + Now, La Gloire! what is the news? + +_La Gloire._ Good faith, my lord, the saddest that ever tongue told! + +_Ribau._ What is't? + +_La Gloire._ The town has surrendered. + +_Ribau._ I guessed as much. + +_La Gloire._ Upon conditions. + +_Ribau._ What are they? + +_La Gloire._ Very scurvy ones, my lord.--To save the city from sacking, +six citizens must swing for it, in Edward's camp. But four have yet +been found; and they are---- + +_Ribau._ Who? + +_La Gloire._ Oh lord!--all of my own family.--There's John d'Aire, +Jacque, and Pierre Wissant; my three good cousins german, my lord: and +the fourth, who was the first that offered, is--is---- + +_Ribau._ Who, La Gloire? + +_La Gloire._ [_Wiping his Eyes._] I crave your pardon, my lord, for +being thus unsoldier-like; but 'tis--'tis my own father. + +_Ribau._ Eustache! + +_La Gloire._ He, my lord! He! old Eustache de St. Pierre:--the +honestest, kindliest soul!--I cannot talk upon't.--Grief plays the +hangman with me, and has almost choked me already. + + _Ribau._ Why, I am courted to't.--The time, example, + Do woo me to my very wish.--Come hither. + Two, it should seem, are wanting, to complete + The little band of those brave men, who die + To save their fellows. + +_La Gloire._ Ay, my lord. There is a meeting upon't, half an hour +hence, in the market-place. + + _Ribau._ Mark me, La Gloire: and see, that you obey me, + Ev'n to the very letter of my orders. + They are the last, perhaps, my honest fellow, + I e'er shall give thee. Seek thy father out, + And tell him this from me: his gallant bearing + Doth school his betters; I have studied o'er + His noble lesson, and have learnt my duty. + Say, he will find me in the market-place, + Disguised in humble seeming; and I fain + Would pass for one allied to him: and thence-- + Dost mark me well?--I will along with him, + Ev'n hand in hand, to death. + +_La Gloire._ My lord,--I--I--[_Bursts into tears, falls on his Knees, +takes hold of RIBAUMONT's Hand, and kisses it._]--I shall lose my +father; when he was gone, I looked you would have been my father. +The thought of still serving you was a comfort to me.--You are my +commander; and I hope I have, hitherto, never disobeyed orders; but, +if I now deliver your message, drum me out for ingratitude, as the +greatest rascal that ever came into a regiment. + + _Ribau._ Pr'ythee, no more, La Gloire? I am resolved;-- + My purpose fix'd. It would be bitter to thee, + To see me die in anger with thee: therefore, + Do thou my bidding; close thy service up, + In duty to my will. Go, find thy father; + I will prepare within the while.--Obey me,-- + Or the last look from thy expiring master, + Darting reproach, shall burst thy heart in twain. + Mark, and be punctual! + [_Exit._ + +_La Gloire._ O, the Virgin! Why was I ever attached to man, woman, or +child? + +_Enter EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE._ + +_Eust._ Where's thy commander, boy--Count Ribaumont? + +_La Gloire._ O father!---- + + _Eust._ Peace!--I must a word with him. + I have a few short thanks I would deliver, + Touching his care of thee: it is the last + Of all my worldly packages; that done, + I may set forward on my journey. + +_La Gloire._ Oh, father! I shall never go to bed again in peace as long +as I live. Sorrow will keep my eyes open half the night; and when I drop +into a doze at day-break, I shall be hanged with you, father, a score of +times every morning. + + _Eust._ I could have spared this meeting.--Boy, I will not-- + Nor would I, had I time for't, ring a chime + Of drowsy document, at this, our parting. + Nor will I stuff the simple plan of life, + That I would have thee follow, with trim angles, + And petty intersections of nice conduct; + Which dotards, rotten in their wisdom, oft + Will mark, in mathematical precision, + Upon a stripling's mind, until they blur + The modest hand of nature. Thou'rt a soldier; + 'Tis said a good one;--and I ne'er yet knew + A rough, true soldier, lack humanity:-- + If, then, thou canst, with one hand, push aside + The buffets of the world, and, with the other, + Stretch'd forth, in warm and manly charity, + Assist the weak,----be thankful for the ground-work, + And e'en let impulse build upon't;--thou needst + No line, nor level, formal age can give thee, + To raise a noble superstructure. Come; + Embrace me;--when thy father sleeps in honour, + Think that--[_Embracing him, he bursts into Tears._]--my son, + my boy!--Psha! pish! this nature-- + Conduct me to---- + +_La Gloire._ [_Catching hold of him._] Hold! hold!--We shall leap here, +from bad to worse. I--I am bidden, father, to deliver a message to you. + +_Eust._ Be quick, then; the time wears. + +_La Gloire._ No, truly, 'twill not come quick. I must force it out +in driblets. My captain bids me say, that--that brave men are scarce. +Find six in the town, and you find all;--so he will join you at the +market-cross, and--go with you--to---- + +_Eust._ The scaffold! + +_La Gloire._ Yes, the sca--that word sticks so in my throat, I can't +squeeze it out, for the life of me. + + _Eust._ Why, this shows nobly now! our honest cause + Is graced in the addition. Lead me--[_Observing LA GLOIRE, + weeping_]--how now? + Out on thee, knave! thoul't bring disgrace upon me. + By Heaven! I feel as proud in this, my death;---- + And thou, the nearest to my blood, to sully + My house's name with womanhood--Shame! shame! + Where is the noble Ribaumont? + [_Going._ + +_La Gloire._ Stay, father, stay! I can hold it no longer. I love +Madelon too well to keep her waking o'nights, with blubbering over her +for the loss of my father, and my captain:--another neck is wanting to +make up the half dozen; so I'll e'en along, father, as the sixth. + + _Eust._ [_After a Pause._] I know not what to answer.--Thou hast shaken + My manhood to the centre.--Follow, boy! + Thy aim is honour; but the dreary road to't, + Which thou must tread, does stir the father in me. + 'Tis such a nice and tickle point, between + The patriot and the parent, that, Heaven knows, + I need a counsellor.--I'll to thy captain. + With him, anon, you'll find me. + [_Exit._ + +_La Gloire._ So! how many a lad, with a fair beginning of life, comes +to an untimely conclusion!--My poor Madelon, too! she little thinks +that---- + +_MADELON peeping in._ + +_Madelon._ Hist! hist! La Gloire! + +_La Gloire._ Eh? + +_Madelon._ Why, where hast thou been, La Gloire? I have been seeking +you all over the town. I feared you would get into danger. Finding the +Governor's gate thrown open, and all the city in confusion, I e'en +ventured in to look for you. Where hast thou been, La Gloire? + +_La Gloire._ Been? no where--but I am going---- + +_Madelon._ Where, La Gloire? + +_La Gloire._ A--a little way with my father. Hast heard the news, +Madelon? + +_Madelon._ Only in part. I hear the town has surrendered: and that six +poor men are to be executed; and march from the town gates. But we +shall then be in safety, La Gloire. Poor fellows! I would not see them +go forth for the world! + +_La Gloire._ Poor fellows!--a hem!--Ay, poor fellows! True, Madelon; +I would not have thee shocked with the sight, I confess. + +_Madelon._ But, pr'ythee, La Gloire, keep at home now with me. You are +ever gadding. You soldiers are so wild and turbulent--How can you, La +Gloire? You must be present, now, at this horrid ceremony? + +_La Gloire._ Why, truly, I----I must be present;--but it will be for +the last time, Madelon. I take little pleasure, in it, believe me. + +_Madelon._ I would thou wouldst home with me! I have provided, out of +thy bounty, a repast for us this evening. My father, who has ne'er +stirred out these three weeks, is filled with joy for thy return;--he +will sit at our table, La Gloire; he will give us his blessing, and +wish us happy in marriage. Come, you shall not away, this evening, +in sooth, now! + +_La Gloire._ I must, Madelon; I must. The throng will press, and--and +I may lose somewhat of value. 'Tis seldom a soldier's pocket is heavy; +but I carry all my worldly goods about me. I would fain not lose it; +so e'en be mistress on't till my return. Here is a casket;--with five +years' wages from my captain; three quarters' pay from my regiment; and +eleven marks, plucked from the boot of a dead English corporal: 'tis +my whole fortune; keep it, Madelon, for fear of accidents: and if any +cross accident ever should befall me, remember, you are heir apparent +to the bulk of my property. + +_Madelon._ But why thus particular? I would you would stay quiet with me! + +_La Gloire._ But for this once, Madelon; and I shall be quiet ever +after.--Kiss me. So;--Adieu! + +_Madelon._ Adieu, La Gloire! Remember, now, at night---- + +_La Gloire._ Adieu!--At night!--Mercy on me!--should I stay three +minutes longer, my heart would rescue my neck; for the breaking of one, +would save the stretching of the other. + [_Aside._--_Exit._ + +_Madelon._ How rich my La Gloire has got in the wars! My father, too, +has something to throw in at our wedding: and, when we meet, we shall +be the happiest couple in Picardy. + + +SONG.--MADELON. + + _I tremble to think, that my soldier's so bold;_ + _To see with what danger he gets all his gold;_ + _Yet danger all over, 'twill keep out the cold,_ + _And we shall be warm when we're married,_ + + _For riches, 'tis true that I covet them not,_ + _Unless 'tis to better my dear soldier's lot;_ + _And he shall be master of all I have got,_ + _The very first moment we're married._ + + _My heart how it beats, but to look to the day,_ + _In church, when my father will give me away!_ + _But that I shall laugh at, I've heard many say,_ + _A day or two after we're married._ + [Exit. + + +SCENE IV. + + _Calais._ + +_A Gate, leading out of the Town._ + +_Enter CITIZENS._ + +_1 Cit._ Stand back; they are coming. + +_3 Cit._ Nay, my masters, they will not forth, this quarter of an hour. +Men seldom move lightly on such a heavy occasion. + +_4 Cit._ Who are the two others that have filled up the number? + +_3 Cit._ Marry, two more of old Eustache's family. His own son; and the +other, as 'tis rumoured, a relation, in the town, that few of us are +acquainted withal. + +_4 Cit._ That's strange. + +_3 Cit._ Why, ay; but when a man chuses a rope for his preferment, few +are found envious enough to dispute the title with him.--By the rood! +here they come! + +_Enter EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE, RIBAUMONT, LA GLOIRE, JOHN D'AIRE, +J. WISSANT, P. WISSANT, going to execution: a Procession of SOLDIERS, +FRIARS, NUNS, &c. accompanying them.--A solemn March; then, a Halt._ + + _Ribau._ I pr'ythee, peace, Eustache! I fain would 'scape + Observance from the rabble. Hurry o'er + This irksome march; and straightway to the camp. + + _Eust._ Enough--Set forth! We are engaged, my friends, + Upon a business here, which most, I wot, + Do think of moment; and we would not waste + The time in idle ceremony. On!-- + Ere we are usher'd to the English camp, + And most of you, I trust, will follow thither,-- + We will bestow the little time allow'd us + In manly leave-taking. Strike, and set onward! + +_Citizens._ Bless our countrymen! Bless our deliverers! + + +GLEE.--_By the Persons of the Procession._ + + _Peace to the heroes! peace! who yield their blood,_ + _And perish, nobly, for their country's good!_ + _Peace to their noble souls! their bodies die;_ + _Their fame shall flourish long in memory;_ + _Recorded still, in future years,_ + _Green in a nation's gratitude, and tears._ + + CHORUS. + + _Sound! sound in solemn strains, and slow!_ + _Dully beat the muffled drum!_ + _Bid the hollow trumpet blow,_ + _In deaden'd tones, clear, firm, and low;--_ + _For, see! the patriot heros come!_ + + [_Towards the End of the Chorus, the Characters proceed on their March + out of the Town; and when the last Persons of the Procession are going + through the Gates, the Curtain drops._ + + + + +ACT THE THIRD. + + +SCENE I. + + _An Apartment in the House of JOHN de VIENNE._ + +_Enter JULIA, in Man's Apparel, and O'CARROL._ + +_Julia._ Come on; bestir thee, good fellow! Thou must be my guide, and +conduct me. + +_O'Carrol._ 'Faith, and I'll conduct you, with all my heart and soul; +and some good creature, I warrant, will be kind enough to show me the +way. + +_Julia._ But art thou well assured, O'Carrol, of what thou hast +informed me? + +_O'Carrol._ To be sure I am well assured; for I informed myself, and +I never yet catched myself out in telling a lie. There was six of +them, as tall fellows as any in France, with ugly ropes about their +good-looking necks, going to the town-gates; and Count Ribaumont +marched second in the handsome half dozen. The whole town followed them +with their eyes, till they were as full of water as if they had been +peeping into so many mustard pots. And so, madam, knowing he loves you +better than dear life,(which, to be sure, he seems to hold cheap enough +at present), and thinking you would be glad to hear the terrible news, +why, I made all the haste I could to come and tell it to you. + +_Julia._ And thus, in haste, have I equipped myself. Come, good +O'Carrol;--dost think I shall 'scape discovery in these accoutrements? + +_O'Carrol._ Escape!--By my soul, lady, one would think you had been a +young man, from the very first day you were born. Och! what a piece of +work a little trimming and drapery makes in a good fellow's fancy! A +foot is a foot, all the world over;--but take the foot of the sweetest +little creature that ever tripped over green sward, and if it doesn't +play at bo-peep under a petticoat--'faith, I don't know the reason of +it; but it gives a clean contrary turn to a man's imagination. But what +is it you would be after now, Lady Julia? + +_Julia._ Something I will do; and it must be speedy: at all hazards, we +will to the English camp, O'Carrol:--opportunity must shape the rest. + +_O'Carrol._ The camp?--O, 'faith, that's my element; and Heaven send us +success in it! If an Irishman's prayers, lady, could make you happy, +your little heart should soon be as light as a feather-bed. + +_Julia._ I thank thee, my honest fellow: thy care for me shall not long +go unrewarded. + +_O'Carrol._ Now the devil fetch rewarding, say I! If a man does his +best friends a piece of service, he must be an unconscionable sort of +an honest fellow, to look for more reward than the pleasure he gets in +assisting them. + +_Julia._ Well, well! each moment now is precious! Haste thee, O'Carrol; +Time has wings. + +_O'Carrol._ Och! be asey, madam; we'll take the ould fellow by the +forelock, I warrant him. When honest gentlemen's business calls them on +a small walk to the gallows, a man may set out a quarter of an hour +behind them, and be certain of meeting them upon the road:--and, now I +bethink me, madam, if we go out at the draw-bridge, from the citadel, +hard by the house here, we may be at the camp, ere the poor souls have +marched their body round the battlements. + + _Julia._ Thou say'st well; and we will forth that way: + 'Twill be most private too. Thou'lt follow me, O'Carrol? + +_O'Carrol._ Ay, that I would, to the end of the wide world, and a +thousand miles beyond it. + +_Julia._ Yet, tarry here a while, till I prepare the means of our going +forth. Join me a few minutes hence in the hall, O'Carrol. + + And, Fortune, frown not on a poor weak woman! + Who, if she fail in this, her last, sad struggle, + Is so surrounded by a sea of grief + That she must sink for ever! + [_Exit._ + +_O'Carrol._ And, sink or swim, I'll to the bottom along with you.--Och! +what a sad thing it is to see sorrow wet the sweet cheeks of a woman! +Faith, now, I can't make out that same crying, for the life of me. My +sorrow is always of a dry sort; that gives me a sore throat, without +ever-troubling my eyes about the business. The camp! Well, with all my +heart: it won't be the first time I have been present at a bit of a +bustle. + + +SONG.--O'CARROL. + + _When I was at home, I was merry and frisky;_ + _My dad kept a pig, and my mother sold whisky:_ + _My uncle was rich, but would never be asy,_ + _Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey._ + _Oh! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!_ + _My dear little Sheelah I thought would run crazy,_ + _When I trudged away with tough Corporal Casey._ + + _I march'd from Kilkenny, and as I was thinking_ + _On Sheelah, my heart in my bosom was sinking;_ + _But soon I was forced to look fresh as a daisy,_ + _For fear of a drubbing from Corporal Casey._ + _Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!_ + _The devil go with him, I ne'er could be lazy,_ + _He stuck in my skirts so, ould Corporal Casey._ + + _We went into battle; I took the blows fairly,_ + _That fell on my pate, but they bother'd me rarely:_ + _And who should the first be that dropp'd? why, an plase ye,_ + _It was my good friend, honest Corporal Casey._ + _Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!_ + _Thinks I, you are quiet, and I shall be asy;_ + _So eight years I fought, without Corporal Casey._ + [Exit. + + +SCENE II. + + _The English Camp._ + +_A Scaffold in the Back of the Scene: TWO WORKMEN descend from it._ + +_1 Work._ There 'tis;--and finished: as pleasing a piece of work, as +man could wish to turn out of hand. If King Edward, (Heaven bless him!) +give me not a pension for this, let'n make the next scaffold himself. +Mass! I would (with reverence be it spoken), build a scaffold, and fix +a gallows, with any king in Christendom. + +_2 Work._ Yea, marry, if he had not served his time to the trade. + +_1 Work._ Yea, or if he had. I have been prime gallows maker, and +principal hangman, now, nine-and-twenty years.--Thank Heaven! +neighbour, I have long been notorious. + +_2 Work._ Thou say'st true, indeed. Thy enemies cannot deny thee that. + +_1 Work._ And why, I pray you? why have I been so? + +_2 Work._ Mass, I know not! I think 'tis thy good luck. + +_1 Work._ Tut, I will tell thee. My parents, I thank them, bred me to +the gallows: marry, then, how was it?--why, look you, I took delight +in my business.--An you would be a good workman, ever, while you live, +take a delight in your business. I have been an honest, pains-taking +man, neighbour. No one is notorious, without taking pains for it. + +_2 Work._ Truly, then, I fear my character is naught. I never can bring +myself to take pains for it. + +_1 Work._ Thou art the more to be pitied. I never made but one small +mistake, since I entered on business. + +_2 Work._ I pr'ythee, now, tell me that. + +_1 Work._ 'Twas on execution day; we were much thronged, and the signal +was given full soon; when, a pize on it! I whips me, in haste, the +halter over the neck of an honest stander-by:--and I jerks me him up to +the top of a twenty foot gibbet. Marry, the true rogue escaped by't; +for 'twas a full hour ere the error was noted. But, hast heard who the +six be, that will be here anon? + +_2 Work._ Only that they be citizens. They are e'en now coming hitherward. +Some of our men have seen them: they march, as 'tis reported, wondrous +doleful. + +_1 Work._ No matter; tarry till they see my work;--that's all. An that +do not content them, mark them for sour knaves. An a man be not +satisfied when a sets foot on my scaffold, say he is hard to please. +Rot them, your condemned men, now-a-days, have no discernment. I would +I had the hanging of all my fellow craft! I should then have some +judges of my skill; and merit would not go praiseless.--[_A +Flourish._]--So!--the king is coming--stand clear, now, neighbour:--an +the king like not my scaffold, I am no true man. + + [_They go on the Scaffold._ + +_Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN, HARCOURT, SIR WALTER MANNY, ARUNDEL, WARWICK, +TRAIN-BEARERS, Standards, &c._ + + _King._ Yes, good Philippa, 'tis our firm decree, + And a full wise one too;--'tis but just recompense, + For near twelve weary months, their stubbornness + Has caused us linger out before their city. + Should we not now resent, in future story + Our English would be chronicled as dullards;-- + These French would mock us for the snails of war, + Who bring our houses on our sluggish backs, + To winter it before their mould'ring walls; + Nay, every village, circled by a ditch, + Would think itself a town impregnable; + Check the full vigour of our march, and worry + Our armies with resistance. + + _Queen._ And yet, my liege, I cannot chuse but pity + The wretched men, who now must suffer for it. + + _King._ Justice, madam, + Minute in her stern exercise of office, + Is comprehensive in effect; and when + She points her sword to the particular, + She aims at general good.-- + [_Solemn Music, at a Distance._ + But, hark! they come. + Are they within our lines? + +_Sir W._ They are, my liege. + +_King._ Deliver up Sir John de Vienne. + + [_KING EDWARD and QUEEN seat themselves on a Throne, erected + in the Camp, on the occasion of the Execution._ + +_Enter EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE, with the Keys; RIBAUMONT, LA GLOIRE, +JOHN D'AIRE, J. WISSANT, and P. WISSANT, with Halters round their Necks; +a Multitude of French following._ + +_King._ Are these the six must suffer? + + _Eust._ Suffer!--no:---- + We do embrace our fate: we glory in't. + They who stand forward, sir, to yield their lives, + A willing forfeit, for their country's safety, + When they meet death, meet honour, and rejoice + In the encounter. Suffer, is a term + The upright, and undaunted spirit, blots + From death's vocabulary. + + _King._ Now, beshrew thee, knave! + Thou dost speak bluntly. + + _Eust._ Ay, and cheerily. + But to our purpose.--I am bidden, sir, + I and my noble comrades, here, of Calais, + Thus lowly, at your feet, to tender to you + Our city's keys;--[_Kneels and lays the Keys at the Foot of the + Throne._]--and they do guard a treasure + Well worth a king's acceptance; for they yield + A golden opportunity to mightiness + Of comforting the wretched. Take but these, + And turn our ponderous portals on the hinge, + And you will find, in every street, a document, + A lesson, at each step, for iron power + To feel for fellow men:--Our wasted soldiers + Dropping upon their watch; the dying mother + Wailing her famish'd child; the meagre son + Grasping his father's hand in agony, + Till their sunk eyes exchange a feeble gleam + Of love and blessing, and they both expire. + + _King._ Your citizens may thank themselves for't; wilfulness + Does ever thus recoil upon itself. + + _Eust._ Sworn liegemen to their master, and their monarch, + They have perform'd their duty, sir. I trust + You, who yourself are king, can scarcely blame + Poor fellows for their loyalty. 'Tis plain + You do not, sir; for now, your royal nature + O'erflows in clemency; and setting by + All thought of crushing those beneath your feet, + Which, in the heat and giddiness of conquest, + The victor sometimes is seen guilty of; + Our town finds grace and pity at your hands. + Your noble bounty, sir, is pleas'd consider + Some certain trifles we have suffer'd; such + As a bare twelvemonth's siege--a lack of food; + Some foolish grey-beards dead by't; some few heaps + Of perish'd soldiers; and, humanely weighing + These nothings as misfortunes, spare our people: + Simply exacting, that six useless citizens, + Mere logs in the community, and prized + For nothing but their honesty, come forth, + Like malefactors, and be gibbetted! + + _King._ Villain and slave! for this thy daring taunt, + (Howe'er before we might incline to listen), + We henceforth shut the ear to supplication. + + _Eust._ Mighty sir! + We march'd not forth to supplicate, but die. + Trust me, king, + We could not covet aught, in your disposal, + Would swell our future name with half the glory + As this same sentence, which, we thank you for't, + You have bestow'd, unask'd. + +_King._ Conduct them straight to execution! + +_La Gloire._ [_Advancing to the left of EUSTACHE._] Father! + +_Eust._ How now? thou shakest! + +_La Gloire._ 'Tisn't for myself, then.--For my own part, I am a man: +but I cannot look on our relations, and my captain, and on you, father, +without feeling a something, that makes a woman of me.--But I---- + +_Eust._ Briefly, boy; what is't? + +_La Gloire._ Give me thy hand, father! So--[_Kisses it._]--And now, if +I part with it, while a puff of breath remains in my body, I shall lose +one of the most sorrowful comforts, that ever poor fellow in jeopardy +fixed his heart upon. Were I but well assured poor Madelon would +recover the news, I could go off as tough as the stoutest. + + _Rib._ [_Advances to the right of EUSTACHE._] + Farewell, old heart! thy body doth incase + The noblest spirit soldier e'er could boast, + To face grim death withal. Inform our fellows, + At the last moment given, on the scaffold, + We will embrace, and---- + [_A Muffled Drum beats._ + ----Hark! the signal beats. + +_Eust._ Lead on. + [_They march up to the Scaffold._ + +_Soldier._ [_Without._] You cannot pass. + +_Julia._ [_Without._] Nay, give me way! + +_Enter JULIA and O'CARROL._ + +_Julia._ Stay, stay your hands! desist, or---- + + _King._ How now! + Wherefore this boldness? + + _Julia._ Great and mighty King! + Behold a youth much wrong'd. Men do esteem + The Monarch's throne as the pure fount and spring + Whence justice flows: and here I cry for it. + +_King._ What is the suit thus urges? + + _Julia._ Please you, sir, + Suspend a while this fatal ceremony,-- + For therein lies my grief,--and I will on. + +_King._ Pause ye a while.--Young man, proceed. + + _Julia._ Now, Heaven! + Make firm my woman's heart! [_Aside._]--Most royal sir! + Although the cause of this my suit doth wound + My private bosom, yet it doth involve, + And couple with me, a right noble sharer.-- + 'Tis you, great sir, you are yourself abused; + My countrymen do palter with thee, King:---- + You did require + Six of our citizens, first in repute, + And best consider'd of our town, as victims + Of your high-throned anger. Here is one + [_Pointing to RIBAUMONT._ + I single out, and challenge to the proof;-- + Let him stand forth;--and here I do avouch + He is no member of our city: + He does usurp another's right; defeats + Your mighty purpose: and your rage, which thirsted + For a rich draught of vengeance, must be served + With the mere dregs of our community. + +_Ribau._ [_Advances._] Shame! I shall burst!--the dregs!---- + + _King._ Thou self-will'd fool, + Who would run headlong into death, what art thou? + + _Ribau._ A man:--let that content you, sir!--'Tis blood + You crave,--and with an appetite so keen, + 'Tis strange to find you nice about its quality. + But for this slave, + Who thus has dared belie me, did not circumstance + Rein in my wish--(O grant me patience, Heaven! + The dregs!)--now, by my soul! I'd crush the reptile + Beneath my feet; now, while his poisonous tongue + Is darting forth its venom'd slander on me. + + _King._ I will be satisfied in this. Speak, fellow? + Say, what is thy condition? + + _Ribau._ Truly, sir, + 'Tis waste of royal breath to make this stir, + For one, whom some few minutes hence your sentence + Must sink to nothing. Henceforth I am dumb + To all interrogation. + + _King._ Now, by our diadem!--but answer you. + What is his state?--Say, of whose wreched place + Is he the bold usurper? + + _Julia._ Sir, of mine. + He does despoil me of my title; comes + Bedeck'd in my just dues; which, as a citizen, + (A young one though I be,) I here lay claim to. + I am your victim, sir; dismiss this man, + Who, haply, comes, in pity to my youth, + And plucks the glory from me, which this ceremony + Would grace my name withal, and let me die. + +_O'Carrol._ Die!--Och, the devil! did I come to the camp for +this?--Madam, dear, dear madam!-- + [_Aside._ + + + _King._ The glory!--Why, by Heaven! these headstrong French + Toy with our punishments! + For thee, rash stripling! who dost brave our vengeance, + Prepare to meet it. Yoke thee with this knave, + Whose insolence hath roused our spleen, and, straight, + You both shall suffer for't together. + + _Julia._ [_Kneeling._] Sir! + Ere I do meet my fate, upon my knees + I make one poor request. This man, great sir! + (Tho' now, there's reason why he knows me not,) + I own doth touch me nearly.--I do owe him + A debt of gratitude;--'twould shock me sore + To see him in his agony;--so please you, + Command, that, in the order of our deaths, + I may precede him. + + _King._ Well;--so be it, then.-- + Guards! lead them forth. + + _Julia._ And might he--oh, dread sir! + Might he but live, I then should be at peace. + + _King._ Conduct them to their fate. + + _Julia._ [_Rises._] Then, ere we go, a word at parting;-- + For here your spleen o'erleaps the bound of prudence. + The blood you now would spill, is pure and noble; + Nor will the shedding of it lack avengers. + Shame on disguise! off with't, my lord! [_To RIBAUMONT._]--Behold + Our France's foremost champion: and remember, + In many a hardy fight, the gallant deeds + (For fame has blown them loudly King!) of Ribaumont. + Oft has he put you to't:--nay, late, at Cressy, + Ask of your Black Prince Edward, there, how long + Count Ribaumont and he were point to point. + He has attack'd our foe; reliev'd our people; + Succour'd our town, till cruel disappointment, + Where he had fix'd his gallant heart, did turn him + Wild with despairing love. Old John de Vienne + Denied his daughter to him;--drove him hither, + To meet your cruelty;--and now, that daughter, + Grown desperate as he, doth brave it, King! + And we will die together. + [_Runs and embraces RIBAUMONT._ + + _Ribau._ Heaven!--my Julia! + Art thou then true?--O give me utterance! + Now, fortune, do thy worst!-- + [_Throws off his Disguise._ + You cannot, King! + You dare not, for your life, lay savage hands + On female innocence!--and, for myself, + E'en use your will. + + [_KING descends from the Throne; HARCOURT kneels and + offers his Arm; and the QUEEN descends, and goes + opposite to the KING._ + + _King._ Lady, you are free:---- + Our British Knights are famed for courtesy; + And it will ne'er, I trust, be said an Englishman + Denied protection to a woman. You + Must, under guard, my lord! abide our pleasure:-- + For the remainder, they have heard our will, + And they must suffer: 'tis but fit we prove, + Spite of their obstinate and close defence, + Our English excellence. + + _Queen._ [_Kneels._] Oh! then, my liege, + Prove it in mercy. + War, noble sir! when too far push'd, is butchery: + When manly victory o'erleaps its limits, + The tyrant blasts the laurels of the conqueror. + Let it not dwell within your thoughts, my liege, + Thus to oppress these men. And, royal sir! + Since you were free to promise + Whatever boon I begg'd,--now, on my knee, + I beg it, sir. Release these wretched men: + Make me the means of cheering the unhappy: + And, though my claim were tenfold what it is + Upon your bounty, 'twould reward me nobly. + + _King._ Rise, madam. Tho' it was our fix'd intent + To awe these French, by terrible example, + Our promise still is sacred, good Philippa. + Your suit is won; and we relax our rigour.---- + Let them pass free; while we do here pronounce + A general pardon. + +_La Gloire._ A pardon! no!--Oh diable!--My father! and my commander +too!--Huzza!--[_Takes the Rope from his Father's Neck, then from his +own, and runs down with the Three Kinsmen._]---Oh! that I should live +to unrope my poor old father, and master! + + [_Runs to RIBAUMONT, and takes the Rope off his Neck._ + +_Enter MADELON._ + + [_She and LA GLOIRE rush into each other's Arms._ + +_Madelon._ Oh! my poor La Gloire!--My tears-- + +_La Gloire._ That's right! Cry, Madelon!--cry for joy, wench!--Old +Eustache is safe!--my Captain and relations free!--Here's a whole +bundle of honest necks recovered: mine's tossed in, in the lump; and +we'll be married, Madelon, to-morrow. + + _King._ Now, my lord! for you:-- + We have, I trust, some influence here; + Nor will we quit your town, until we see + Your marriage solemnized-- + [_To RIBAUMONT._ + +_O'Carrol._ Well, if I didn't know what crying was before, I have found +it out at last.--'Faith it has a mighty pleasant relieving sort of a +feel with it. + + _King._ Prepare we, then, to enter Calais; straight + Give order for our march-- + Breathe forth, our instruments of war; and, as + We do approach the rugged walls, sound high + The strains of victory. + + +GRAND CHORUS. + +_Rear, rear our English banner high_ +_In token proud of victory!_ +_Where'er our god of battle strides,_ + _Loud sound the trump of fame!_ +_Where'er the English warrior rides,_ + _May laurel'd conquest grace his name._ + + [_Exeunt omnes._ + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Surrender of Calais, by George Colman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURRENDER OF CALAIS *** + +***** This file should be named 36607.txt or 36607.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/6/0/36607/ + +Produced by Steven desJardins, David Garcia and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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