SONG.—O'CARROL.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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!

EnterJohn de VienneandRibaumont.

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 discernYour 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.

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.

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.

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 meSome curious scars, the soldier's coxcombry,In which he struts, fantastically carvedUpon 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?

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;—[Countattempts 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 signifiedMy 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, yetBeing a veteran French soldier, stuff'dWith right enthusiastic loyalty,My house, myself, my child—Heaven knows I love her!—Should perish, piece-meal, ere I could infringeThe faintest line or trace of the proceeding,The king, our master, honours me in marking.

De Vienne.Thus, then:

I have a daughter, look you; here she stands;

Right fair and virtuous;—

[Countattempts 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 friendTo 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.

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!

Rib.I fain would speak one word, and—'sdeath! I cannot.—

Pardon me, madam; I attend.—Oh, Julia!

[Exit, leading outJulia.

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.

The English Camp.

EnterKing,Sir Walter Manny,Harcourt,Arundel,Warwick, andAttendants.

King.Fie, lords! it slurs our name;—the town is succour'd.'Twas dull neglect to let them pass: a blotUpon our English camp; where vigilanceShould be the watch-word. Which way got they in?

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 oceanIn idle mockery? It should float to aweThese Frenchmen here. How are they stored, my lord?

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.

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 comesFrom England, deck'd in conquest. Say, Lord Harcourt,Are all prepared to welcome her arrival?

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 linedWith English soldiery, in ardent watch,Fixing their eyes upon the bark, which bearsOur royal mistress. It was hoped, ere this,'T had reach'd the harbour.—[Grand Flourish.Hark! the queen has landed.

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.[ExitHarcourt.Sir Walter Manny?

King.Do you then, good my lord! escort her hither.

[ExitHarcourt.

Sir Walter Manny?

Sir W.Ay, my gracious sovereign.

King.Guard well this packet. When the GovernorOf 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 whichWe do allow them to capitulate.

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 theQueen Philippa, attended.

Oh, welcome! welcome! We shall give you hereRude martial fare, and soldiers' entertainment.

Oh, welcome! welcome! We shall give you here

Rude martial fare, and soldiers' entertainment.

Queen.Royal sir!Well met, and happily. I learn your laboursDraw 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.

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 influenceThroughout our camp.—Strike, there, our martial music!For want of better, good Philippa, takeA soldier's noisy concert. Strike! I say.

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.

War has still its melody;——When blows come thick, and arrows fly,When the soldier marches o'erThe 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 strifeHe 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.

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 strifeHe 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.

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.

Madelon's Apartment.

La GloireandMadelondiscovered.Madelonseated at a Table covered with Eatables, Wines, &c.La Gloirestanding 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 santé, 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, andall! 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.

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 MadelonCould never quit her rover:Ah! non, non, non!Pauvre MadelonWould 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 leaveMy little girl behind me.Ah! non, non, non!Pauvre MadelonShould never quit her rover:Ah! non, non, non!Pauvre MadelonShould 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 stillAs war and love can make us.Ah! non, non, non!Pauvre MadelonShall never quit her rover:Ah! non, non, non,!Pauvre MadelonShall go with {you/me} all the world over.

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.

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 MadelonCould never quit her rover:Ah! non, non, non!Pauvre MadelonWould go with you all the world over.

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 leaveMy little girl behind me.

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 MadelonShould never quit her rover:Ah! non, non, non!Pauvre MadelonShould go with me all the world over.

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 stillAs war and love can make us.

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 MadelonShall never quit her rover:Ah! non, non, non,!Pauvre MadelonShall go with {you/me} all the world over.

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 afearful 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.

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 dearUse 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.

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.

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 dearUse 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.

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.

The Town Hall of Calais.

Citizens,Soldiers, andCrier, 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!

EnterJohn de Vienne,Eustache de St. Pierrefollowing.John de Vienneseats himself at the Head of the Council Table;Eustachesits in the Front, among theCitizens.

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 deliverRequires 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.

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.

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.

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 calamityWill 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——

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 citizensThese honest citizens, would fain e'en knowThe worst at once. When members are impatientFor a plain tale, the orator, (you'll pardon me,)Should not be too long winded.

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.

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.

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 forthSir 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 thinkAn 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.

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 secureThe lives, and liberties, of those brave fellows,Who, in this galling and disastrous siege,Have shared with me in each fatigue and peril.

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 repayYour honest love, with tidings, sure, as heavyAs 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 himSix 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.

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.

[TheCitizensappear confounded. A Pause.

Friends,I do perceive you're troubled:—'tis enoughTo pose the stoutest of you. Who among youCan smother nature's workings, which do promptEach, 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?

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.

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?

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 onesButcher'd before our eyes. We'll go with thee.

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 gloryShall 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 pedigreeBlush at his frothy boasting.—We are four;—Fellows in death and honour.—Two remainTo fill our number.

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 yearIn praising this your valour.[ToEustache.

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.

[ToEustache.

Eust.Break we up. If anyCan 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 waitTill the full tide of blood flows in upon you,And shame and slaughter overwhelm us. Come;My noble partners, come!

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.

An apartment in theGovernor's House.

EnterJuliaandRibaumont.

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.

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 schoolOf whining coxcombs, where despair and deathAre words of course; I swell not fancied illsWith 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.

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.

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, obedienceTo the stern will of power; which doth differAs wide from true, impulsive loyalty,As puppet work from nature. O, I wouldThe time were come!—our enemy, the English,Bid fairest first to show a bright example;When, 'twixt the ruler and the ruled, affectionShall be reciprocal: when majestyShall gather strength from mildness; and the subjectShall 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 roundOf his vile ladder to preferment. 'Sdeath!And you to suffer this! O, fie, fie, Julia!'Twould show more noble in you to lay bareYour mind's inconstancy, than thus to keepThe semblance of a passion; meanly veilingYour broken faith with the excuse of duty.Out on't! 'tis shallow—you ne'er loved.

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 unkindlyOn her, you, once, did call your Julia.If it will sooth your anguish, Ribaumont,To find a fellowship in grief, why thinkThat there is one, while struggling for her duty,Sheds many a tear in private.—Heaven be with you!

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 hopeTo chequer the sad prospect. O! if deathCame yoked with honour to me, I could, now,Embrace it with as warm and willing rapture,As mothers clasp their infants.

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.

EnterLa 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 completeThe little band of those brave men, who dieTo save their fellows.

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 bearingDoth school his betters; I have studied o'erHis noble lesson, and have learnt my duty.Say, he will find me in the market-place,Disguised in humble seeming; and I fainWould pass for one allied to him: and thence—Dost mark me well?—I will along with him,Ev'n hand in hand, to death.

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 ofRibaumont'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.

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