Peter. A delicate song. Where didst learn it, fellow? Dan. Even there, where thou learnest thy oaths and thy politics-at our master's table.Where else should a serving-man pick up his poor accomplishments? Mar. Well spoken, Daniel. O rare Daniel ! his oaths and his politics! excellent! Fran. And where didst pick up thy knavery, Daniel? Peter. That came to him by inheritance. His family have supplied the shire of Devon, time out of mind, with good thieves and bad servingAll of his race have come into the world without their conscience. men. Mar. Good thieves, and bad serving-men! Better and better. I marvel what Daniel hath got to say in reply. Dan. I marvel more when thou wilt say any thing to the purpose, thou shallow serving-man, whose swiftest conceit carries thee no higher than to apprehend with difficulty the stale jests of us thy compeers. When was't ever known to club thy own particular jest among us? Mar. Most unkind Daniel, to speak such biting things of me! Fran. See-if he hath not brought tears into the poor fellow's eyes with the saltness of his rebuke. Dan. No offence, brother Martin-I meant none. "Tis true, Heaven gives gifts, and withholds them. It has been pleased to bestow upon me a nimble invention to the manufacture of a jest; and upon thee, Martin, an indifferent bad capacity to understand my meaning. Mar. Is that all? I am content. Here's my hand. Fran. Well, I like a little innocent mirth myself, but never could endure bawdry. Dan. Quot homines tot sententiæ. Mar. And what is that ! Dan. 'Tis Greek, and argues difference of opinion. Mar. I hope there is none between us. Dan. Here's to thee, brother Martin. (Drinks.) Mar. And to thee, Daniel. (Drinks.) Fran. And to thee, Peter. (Drinks.) Peter. Thank you, Francis. thee. (Drinks.) Mar. I shall be fuddled anon. And here's to Mar. Now I know I am going to be drunk. came to be excepted by name in the late Act of Dan. How canst tell, dry-bones? Mar. Because I begin to be melancholy. That's always a sign. Fran. Take care of Martin, he'll topple off his seat else. [MARTIN drops asleep. Peter. Times are greatly altered, since young master took upon himself the government of this household. All. Greatly altered. Fran. I think every thing be altered for the better since His Majesty's blessed restoration. Peter. In Sir Walter's days there was no encouragement given to good house-keeping. All. None. Oblivion. Dun. Shall I tell the reason? Dan. 'Tis thought he is no great friend to the Peter. Fellow servants, a thought strikes me. -Do we, or do we not, come under the penalties of the treason-act, by reason of our being privy to this man's concealment ? All. Truly a sad consideration. To them enters SANDFORD suddenly. Dan. For instance, no possibility of getting Maintain'd for state, not use; drunk before two in the afternoon. You lazy feasters at another's cost, Peter. Every man his allowance of ale at break- That eat like maggots into an estate, fast-his quart! All. A quart!! (In derision.) Dan. Nothing left to our own sweet discretions. Peter. Whereby it may appear, we were treated more like beasts than what we were-discreet and reasonable serving-men. All. Like beasts. Mar. (Opening his eyes.) Like beasts. Fran. I marvel all this while where the old gentleman has found means to secrete himself. It seems no man has heard of him since the day of the King's return. Can any tell why our young master, being favoured by the court, should not have interest to procure his father's pardon? Dan. Marry, I think 'tis the obstinacy of the old Knight, that will not be beholden to the court for his safety. Mar. Now that is wilful. Being indeed but foul excrescences, Who act up to the height your master's vices, Sand. No prating, loon, but tell me who be was, That I may brain the villain with my staff, With minds more slavish than your slave's estate, Which took you from the looms, and from the Which better had ye follow'd, fed ye, clothed ye, Fran. But can any tell me the place of his Where your best wages was the world's repute, concealment? That thus ye seek his life, by whom ye live. Peter. That cannot I; but I have my con- Have you forgot too, jectures. How often in old times Dan. Two hundred pounds, as I hear, to the Your drunken mirths have stunn'd day's sober man that shall apprehend him. ears, Carousing full cups to Sir Walter's health ?-- Our master's secret sleeps with trustier tongues, staff Shall teach you better manners else. All. Well, we are going. Enquire the times and seasons when to put I am somewhat proud: and Woodvil taught me I was his favourite once, his playfellow in infancy, None once so pleasant in his eyes as Margaret. Sand. And quickly too, ye had better, for I see His dear heart's confessor, a heart within that Young mistress Margaret coming this way. [Exeunt all but SANDFORD. Enter MARGARET, as in a fright, pursued by a Gentleman, who, seeing SANDFORD, retires muttering a curse. Sand. Good morrow to my fair mistress. "Twas a chance I saw you, lady, so intent was I On chiding hence these graceless serving-men, Since my old master quitted all his rights here. scorn Of Woodvil's friends, the uncivil jests mirth. Sand. Does my young master know of these affronts? heart, And all dear things summ'd up in her alone. His dress, speech, gesture, studies, friendships, Being fashion'd to her liking. His flatteries taught me first this self-esteem, And ladies envied me the love of Woodvil. Whose art is to forget, And that has wrought this seeming change in him, That was by nature noble. 'Tis these court-plagues, that swarm about our Have done the mischief, making his fancy giddy Marg. I cannot tell. Perhaps he has not been Tainting his generous spirits with ambition. told. Perhaps he might have seen them if he would. I have known him more quick-sighted. Let that pass. Marg. I know not how it is; A cold protector is John grown to me. All things seem changed, I think. I had a A man, her equal, to redress those wrongs, Which he was bound first to prevent; But which his own neglects have sanction'd rather, Both sanction'd and provok'd: a mark'd neglect, To leave this house this night, and lukewarm And trust for food to the earth and Providence. Of these indefinite and spleen-bred resolves. Sand. 'Twere best he should be told of these You know not half the dangers that attend affronts. Marg. I am the daughter of his father's friend, I am not his servant maid, that I should wait Upon a life of wand'ring, which your thoughts now, Feeling the swellings of a lofty anger, To your abused fancy, as 'tis likely, Portray without its terrors, painting lies R R And representments of fallacious liberty For then I'll bid this house and love farewell: You know not what it is to leave the roof that Farewell, sweet Devon; farewell, lukewarm Of Sherwood, nigh which place they have ta'en a times past have deserved well of me) from the house now daily, and not-to-be-endured tribute of In the town of Nottingham, and pass for forced love, and ill-dissembled reluctance of foreigners, Wearing the dress of Frenchmen.— All which I have perused with so attent And child-like longings, that to my doting ears Two sounds now seem like one, One meaning in two words, Sherwood and Liberty. And, gentle Mr. Sandford, 'Tis you that must provide now The means of my departure, which for safety Must be in boy's apparel. Sand. Since you will have it so (My careful age trembles at all may happen), I will engage to furnish you. I have the keys of the wardrobe, and can fit you With garments to your size. I know a suit affection. MARGARET." Gone! gone! my girl? so hasty, Margaret ! In the same tone he cries "God speed you, sir?" Or tells of joyful victories at sea, Where he hath ventures; does not rather muffle His organs to emit a leaden sound, To suit the melancholy dull "farewell," Which they in Heaven not use ? So peevish, Margaret? But 'tis the common error of your sex Of lively Lincoln green, that shall much grace When our idolatry slackens, or grows less, you (As who of woman born can keep his faculty In the wear, being glossy fresh, and worn but Of Admiration, being a decaying faculty, seldom. Young Stephen Woodvil wore them while he lived. I have the keys of all this house and passages, And ere day-break will rise and let you forth. What things soe'er you have need of I can furnish you; And will provide a horse and trusty guide, For ever strain'd to the pitch? or can at pleasure Make it renewable, as some appetites are, case, They tax us with neglect, and love grown cold, I know them all. They are jealous, when our larger hearts receive More guests than one. (Love in a woman's a malady incident to young men; physicians heart call it caprice. Nothing else. He that slighted Being all in one.) For me, I am sure I have her knew her value: and 'tis odds, but, for thy room here sake, Margaret, John will yet go to his grave a bachelor. [A noise heard, as of one drunk and singing. Lovel. Here comes one, that will quickly dissipate these humours. For more disturbers of my sleep than one. Love shall have part, but love shall not have all. Ambition, Pleasure, Vanity, all by turns, Shall lie in my bed, and keep me fresh and Yet Love not be excluded.-Foolish wench, To him enters LOVEL. Lovel. Bless us, Woodvil! what is the matter? I protest, man, I thought you had been weeping. Wood. Nothing is the matter; only the wench has forced some water into my eyes, which will quickly disband. Lovel. I cannot conceive you. Wood. Neglect on my part: which it seems she has had the wit to discover, maugre all my pains to conceal it. Enter one drunk. Drunken Man. Good-morrow to you, gentlemen. Mr. Lovel, I am your humble servant. Honest Jack Woodvil, I will get drunk with you to-morrow. Wood. And why to-morrow, honest Mr. Freeman? Drunken Man. I scent a traitor in that question. A beastly question. Is it not his Majesty's birthday the day of all days in the year, on which King Charles the Second was graciously pleased to be born. (Sings.) "Great pity 'tis such days as those should come but once a year." Lovel. Drunk in a morning! foh! how he stinks! Drunken Man. And why not drunk in a morning? canst tell, bully? Wood. Because, being the sweet and tender infancy of the day, methinks, it should ill endure such early blightings. Drunken Man. I grant you, 'tis in some sort the youth and tender nonage of the day. Youth Wood. To say the truth, my love for her has is bashful, and I give it a cup to encourage it. Lovel. Then, you confess the charge? of late stopped short on this side idolatry. Lovel. As all good Christians' should, I think. Wood. I am sure, I could have loved her still within the limits of warrantable love. Lovel. A kind of brotherly affection, I take it. Wood. We should have made excellent man and wife in time. Lovel. A good old couple, when the snows fell, to crowd about a sea-coal fire, and talk over old matters. Wood. While each should feel, what neither cared to acknowledge, that stories oft repeated may, at last, come to lose some of their grace by the repetition. Lovel. Which both of you may yet live long enough to discover. For, take my word for it, Margaret is a bird that will come back to you without a lure. Wood. Never, never, Lovel. Spite of my levity, with tears I confess it, she was a lady of most confirmed honour, of an unmatchable spirit, and determinate in all virtuous resolutions; not hasty to anticipate an affront, nor slow to feel, where just provocation was given. Lovel. What made you neglect her, then? (Sings.) "Ale that will make Grimalkin prate."-At noon I drink for thirst, at night for fellowship, but, above all, I love to usher in the bashful morning under the auspices of a freshening stoop of liquor. (Sings.) "Ale in a Saxon rumkin then, makes valour burgeon in tall men."-But, I crave pardon. I fear I keep that gentleman from serious thoughts. There be those that wait for me in the cellar. Wood. Who are they? Drunken Man. Gentlemen, my good friends, Cleveland, Delaval, and Truby. I know by this time they are all clamorous for me. [Exit singing. Wood. This keeping of open house acquaints a man with strange companions. Enter, at another door, Three calling for HARRY FREEMAN, He is not here. Let us go look for him. [Exeunt the Three, calling for Wood. Did you ever see such gentry? (laughing.) These are they that fatten on ale and tobacco in a morning, drink burnt brandy at noon to promote digestion, and piously conclude with |