in the heart of woman, you cannot comprehend. Even when it is breaking
from ill-treatment, it yearns towards her husband. I must go away,
Sancho; I cannot bear to see him--nor you; for you did slay him.
_San._ Where are you going?
_Nina._ I'll meet you in the further walk. [_Exit Nina, sobbing._
_San._ Here's a pretty mess! Women are never of one mind: change, and
change, and change for ever. This rascal deserted her at Toledo, took
all her money, and her very clothes--and yet she grieves for him. I
should not wonder if she rejected me now, believing that I killed him.
(_Going up to Antonio._) How bloody he is! Thou filthy carcase of a
filthy knave! I've a great mind to have a thrust at thee, that I may
swear my sword went through thy body. Saint Petronila bless the idea!
(_Half drawing his sword._) There's some one coming; and if I am found
here, with my naked sword, near this bloody corpse, I shall be
apprehended for his murder. [_Exit hastily._
(_Antonio looks up and then lies down._)
_Enter Beppa._
_Bep._ I cannot find my mistress. She came with me into the garden,
worked up to desperation against Don Gaspar, and earnest for his death.
Alas! the tide is turned, and now, in some sequestered spot, she weeps
his falsehood. I must go seek her, and steel her heart by praising
Isidora. What's here? the body of a man (_going to Antonio_). Why! 'tis
Antonio, my worthless husband; alas! and called away without repentance,
full of misdeeds and roguery. Heaven pardon him! Whose deed was this?
that villain Garcias'?--if so, he hath but gained the sin; for I would
sooner hug an adder, than listen to his wooing. I must seek my mistress;
then will I return to give him honest burial, and pay for masses for his
guilty soul. [_Exit._
[_Antonio rises slowly, resumes his friar's dress, and comes forward._]
_Ant._ That cowardly rascal, Sancho, had nearly brought me to life
again, instead of having killed me, as he said he had. Pitiful
scoundrel, to thrust at a dead man! He'll never kill one living. Nina, I
respect thee; yet must we part, for 'tis evident thou lov'st another.
I'll meet them in this grove, and persuade them to marry. As for Beppa,
if I am missing, 'tis clear she'll never look for me. [_Exit._
_Scene IV._
_Another Part of the Garden._
_Enter Nina and Sancho._
_Nina._ Nay, no more, Sancho. To me there's something dreadful in such a
hasty fresh espousal. My husband's body yet uninterred, still would you
have me enter into fresh bonds.
_San._ He was no husband to you, Nina, but a worthless wretch, who
deceived you. Remember, it is for years that I have loved you. Saint
Petronila be my witness.
_Nina._ I know it, Sancho, and wish I had never married Lopez. Why did
you leave me?
_San._ I could but leave you, when I followed my master: but remember,
when we parted, I offered you my troth. You have been unjust to me, and
owe some reparation; by Saint Petronila, you do!
_Nina._ And in good time I'll make it, Sancho.
_San._ The present is good time; now we are together, and my master is
no more. Come, Nina, keep your promise, and the Saint will reward you.
_Nina._ Nay, Sancho, do not thus persuade me. Were I to yield to your
wish, you would hate me after we were married.
_San._ Never; by this kiss (_kisses her_), I swear. I have you now, and
will not part with you.
[_Nina throws herself into his arms._
_Enter Antonio in friar's gown and hood._
_Ant._ (_in a feigned voice_). Good hugging people, are you man and wife?
_San._ We are not yet, but soon we hope to be.
_Ant._ The sooner it were better, for this dalliance
In the ev'ning, in a sequester'd grove,
Is most unseemly, if not dangerous.
Woman, lovest thou this man?--
_Nina._ I do, most holy father.
_Ant._ And I must tell thee, maiden, it were better
That you delay no longer. I have witness'd
Your stolen embraces; and, by Holy Church!
I think it right that you be married straight,
Ere vice usurps the throne that should be held
By virtue only. Children, not far from hence
There is a chapel, where attending priests
Chant holy masses for a soul's repose.
There may you join your hands, and there receive
The nuptial benediction.
_San._ Nina, you must obey this holy friar, and make me happy; Saint
Petronila sent him.
_Nina._ It is against my wish that I consent; yet, father, you know
best, although you know not all.
_Ant._ (_aside_). Indeed I do! (_Aloud_) Come with me, my children,
I'll point you out the path, to where you may,
By holy rites pronounced, become one flesh. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Serafina and Beppa._
_Ser._ My distracted mind, like some wild spendthrift,
Has drawn upon my heart till it is bankrupt.
God, how my soul is weary! I fear the sword
Of that Don Felix may prevail against him.
He is a man well knit in sinewy strength;
Gaspar a boy. O spare him, gracious Heaven!
_Bep._ To wed with Isidora, and with gibes
Mock at the tears of Donna Serafina!
Madam, you've not the lofty soul of woman,
Or you would act, and not thus vainly talk.
He's lost to you for ever! I've discover'd,
That since this noon he hath not left her house,
And all's in preparation for their union.
_Ser._ Have they been left together? Then, perchance,
She hath been foolish too, and much too fond.
Then will he quit her soon. Truant Gaspar,
These arms shall win thee back!
_Bep._ Oh, no!
She is too wise, too prudent, and too good.
Such charms of mind and body she possesses,
That all do worship her; but not as one
Of us mere mortals. He dare not think of it.
She is too perfect. Gaspar is hers alone,
And you--are thrown aside for ever!
_Ser._ Is it so?
Don Gaspar hers! Never, never! by Heav'n,
If I lose him, he shall be lost to her!
If I must weep, her tears shall fall with mine!
If my heart breaks, hers shall be riven too!
If I must die,--and that I shall, I feel,
Loves she as I do, they may dig her grave.
Don Felix, may thy practised sword prove true!--
And it will save me from a deed of horror.
_Bep._ Now do you speak as a wrong'd woman should.
Keep up this spirit--you will be avenged.
We must retire; for soon they will appear. [_Exeunt._
_Scene V._
_Another part of the Garden attached to the House of Donna Serafina._
_Enter Anselmo._
I would that it were o'er! A heavy gloom
Hangs on my spirits, like some threat'ning cloud
O'erspreading the wide firmament, without
One speck of blue, like hope, to cheer th' horizon.
Yet, from what cause it springs, I cannot tell.
His sword I fear not. It is mine estate,
So promising. He that hath nought to lose,
Is spurr'd to action with the hope of gain.
He that is wealthy, and 'gainst fortune plays,
Is like the gambler, who will risk his means
With those who nothing have.
_Enter Felix._
_Felix._ If you have waited for me long, Don Gaspar,
It was against my will. I'm most impatient
To bring this meeting to a speedy issue.
_Ans._ At your request, Don Felix, I am here;
And if you please there should be strife between us,
You'll find me not unnerved. To be sincere,--
I do not wish this needless controversy.
Recall your words, offensive, as untrue,
And take my proffer'd hand. Then will I prove,
And not till then, how greatly you have wrong'd me.
_Felix._ That which is said, is said. I'll not retract.
But were it false, which I cannot believe,
You've slain my bosom friend, the brave Don Perez.
_Ans._ He wrong'd me much. Upon my soul he did.
I must not prove it now.
_Felix._ Then prove yourself, and draw.
For see, the sun is down, and daylight flies;
We have no time for parley. (_Draws._)
[_Beppa and Serafina pass behind from r. to l._
_Ans._ (_drawing_). Then, whether you or I, Don Felix, live
To hail that glorious orb, must now be tried.
Don Felix, to your guard. Whate'er the issue,
You will repent this most ungovern'd haste.
[_They fight. Don Felix is disarmed and he falls.
Anselmo stands over him with his sword pointed to his breast._]
_Ans._ You question'd if I'd manhood in my frame;
Allow, Don Felix, that the question's answer'd.
You call'd me an impostor,--name for those
Who clothe themselves in borrow'd plumes, t'appear
Greater, not less, than what they are. Then know,
He you upbraided as of no parentage,
Whose sword, impatient, waits its master's bidding,
T'avenge the affront, is heir to Guzman's house,
To which, in ancestry, thine own is nothing.
This truth, Don Felix, I could not reveal,
[_Serafina and Beppa appear behind in the wood._]
Till we had measured swords. Honour forbade it.
Now manifest. I give you life, and proffer,
If that you please, my hand in amity.
[_Felix rising, Anselmo presents him his sword._]
_Felix._ Your actions prove that you are truly noble.
I do regret the language which I used,
And cheerfully retract what proves so false.
Don Gaspar, are you satisfied? (_offering hand_).
_Ans._ (_taking Don Felix's hand_). And happy.
Now, Isidora, thou art surely mine;
Vistas of bliss are opening to my view;
My heart expands with gratitude to Heav'n,
And tears would flow of penitence and joy,
That one so little worthy, thus is bless'd.
O, may my life be long, that I may prove
To gracious Heav'n, I'm worthy Isidora.
Joy! joy! with lightning's speed, I fly----
[_Serafina, who has advanced, stabs Anselmo in the back._]
_Ser._ To death! (_Then wishing to rush to him, she holds out
her arms and exclaims_) Gaspar! Gaspar!
[_Serafina is borne off fainting by Beppa and Garcias, who have
entered. Anselmo leans against Don Felix, who supports him, and
then gradually sinks out of his arms to the ground._]
_Ans._ I felt the blow would come. From whom, or where,
Was hid in the obscure. 'Twas Serafina!
I knew the voice, the knell----
_Felix._ Where are you hurt?
_Ans._ Don Felix, by that friendship we have pledged
So newly, one kind office I request.
_Felix._ Curs'd be the infuriate jealous wretch,
That one so noble should so basely fall!
_Ans._ Nay, curse her not, she is too curs'd already.
Her future life will be a constant shower
Of curses on herself. I do forgive her.
And yet to die so young, and late so happy.
More painful still to part from Isidora.
Would she were here, that I might comfort her!
My mother, too! O God! 'twill break her heart!
_Enter Superior, Inez, Isidora, Nina, and Sancho. Inez and Isidora run
to Anselmo and kneel down by him._
_Inez._ (_to Felix_). Wretch! that hath done this bloody, hateful deed,
Receive a frantic mother's bitter curse!
_Ans._ You are deceived, my mother; 'twas not he
Who dealt the fatal blow. It was a woman.
_Inez._ A woman! say you;
Who was this treach'rous woman? Let me know her,
That I may work on her a woman's vengeance.
_Isid._ I ne'er have learn'd to curse--I wish I had:
I can but weep. Look, mother, at his blood!
Oh, staunch it, or he'll bleed to death.
_Inez._ Are you much hurt, Anselmo?
_Ans._ Mother, to death.
'Tis useless to deceive you. You scarcely found me
But I am lost again: 'twill soon be over.
(_Faintly_) E'en now the blood's collecting in my heart
For its last rally;--Isidora, I would tell thee
What pain it is to part, but my strength fails,
And my parch'd tongue cannot perform its duty.
_Isid._ To part, Anselmo? Dost thou say to part?
No, no; thou shalt not die,--we must not part.
What false, already! How could'st thou utter
That which, to me, must be the knell of death?
(_Bursts into tears and embraces him._)
_Ans._ Would that your gentle power o'er me was the same
In death, as life: then should I live for ever.
But--mother--fare you well--farewell--my Isidora.
[_Groans and falls dead. Donna Inez faints, and is supported by Don
Felix and Nina. Isidora, whose face was hidden in Anselmo's breast,
lifts up her head and looks wildly at the body._
_Isid._ Anselmo! (_More loudly_) Anselmo! (_Shrieks. Throws herself on
the body. The rest of the characters group round the body, and the
curtain falls._)
THE GIPSY;
OR,
"WHOSE SON AM I?"
A COMEDY, IN THREE ACTS.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
_Men._
SIR GILBERT ETHERIDGE, _An old Admiral._
CAPTAIN ETHERIDGE, _His son; grave._
CAPTAIN MERTOUN; _gay._
OLD BARGROVE.
YOUNG PETER BARGROVE, _His son._
WILLIAM, _The Admiral's sailor-footman._
BILL,}
} _Gipsies._
DICK,}
_Women._
LADY ETHERIDGE, _The Admiral's wife._
AGNES, _Her daughter._
LUCY, _The daughter of Bargrove._
MRS BARGROVE.
NELLY, _The gipsy._
The Gipsy
_Scene.--The Hall, the residence of Sir Gilbert, and the vicinity. Time
that of acting._
_Act I. Scene I._
_A Room in a respectable country inn.--Enter Captain Etheridge and
Captain Mertoun, ushered in by the Landlord._
_Land._ Will you be pleased to take anything, gentlemen?
_Capt. Eth._ I can answer for myself, nothing.
_Capt. Mer._ I agree, and disagree, with you; that is, I coincide with
you in--nothing.
_Capt. Eth._ Then I trust, Mr Harness, that you will coincide with us in
expediting the greasing of that radical wheel as soon as possible, and
let us know when the horses are put to.
_Land._ Most certainly, Captain Etheridge; I will superintend it myself.
[_Exit Landlord._
_Capt. Eth._ An old butler of my father's, who set up many years ago
with a few hundred pounds, and the Etheridge Arms as a sign. He has done
well.
_Capt. Mer._ That is to say, the Etheridge Arms have put him on his
legs, and drawing corks for your father has enabled him to draw beer for
himself and his customers. Of course he married the lady's maid.
_Capt. Eth._ No, he did more wisely; he married the cook.
_Capt. Mer._ With a good fat portion of kitchen stuff, and a life
interest of culinary knowledge. I have no doubt but that he had a
further benefit from your liberal father and mother.
_Capt. Eth._ By-the-bye, I have spoken to you of my father repeatedly,
Edward; but you have not yet heard any remarks relative to my mother.
_Capt. Mer._ I take it for granted, from your report of your father, and
my knowledge (_bowing_) of the offspring, that she must be equally
amiable.
_Capt. Eth._ Had she been so, I should not have been silent; but as I
have no secrets from you, I must say, she is not the--the very paragon
of perfection.
_Capt. Mer._ I am sorry for it.
_Capt. Eth._ My father, disgusted with the matrimonial traps that were
set for the post-captain, and baronet of ten thousand a year, resolved,
as he imagined wisely, to marry a woman in inferior life; who, having no
pretensions of her own, would be humble and domestic. He chose one of
his tenant's daughters, who was demure to an excess. The soft paw of the
cat conceals her talons. My mother turned out the very antipodes of his
expectations.
_Capt. Mer._ Hum!
_Capt. Eth._ Without any advantages, excepting her alliance with my
father, and a tolerable share of rural beauty, she is as proud as if
descended from the house of Hapsburg--insults her equals, tramples on
her inferiors, and--what is worse than all--treats my father very ill.
_Capt. Mer._ Treats him ill! what! he that was such a martinet, such a
disciplinarian on board! She does not beat him?
_Capt. Eth._ No, not exactly; but so completely has she gained the upper
hand, that the Admiral is as subdued as a dancing bear, obeying her
orders with a growl, but still obeying them. At her command he goads
himself into a passion with whomsoever she may point as the object of
his violence.
_Capt. Mer._ How completely she must have mastered him! How can he
submit to it?
_Capt. Eth._ Habit, my dear Mertoun, reconciles us too much; and he, at
whose frown hundreds of gallant fellows trembled, is now afraid to meet
the eye of a woman. To avoid anger with her, he affects anger with every
one else. This I mention to you, that you may guide your conduct towards
her. Aware of your partiality to my sister, it may be as well----
_Capt. Mer._ To hold the candle to the devil, you mean. Your pardon,
Etheridge, for the grossness of the proverb.
_Capt. Eth._ No apology, my dear fellow. Hold the candle when you will,
it will not burn before a saint, and that's the truth. Follow my advice,
and I will insure you success. I only wish that my amatory concerns had
so promising an appearance.
_Capt. Mer._ Why, I never knew that you were stricken.
_Capt. Eth._ The fact is, that I am not satisfied with myself; and when
I am away from my Circe, I strive all I can to drive her from my memory.
By change of scene, absence, and occupation, I contrive to forget her
indifferent well. Add to all this, I have not committed myself by word
or deed. I have now been three years in this way; but the moment I find
myself within two miles of my fair one, as the towers of my home rise
upon my sight, so rises the passion in my bosom; and what I supposed I
had reasoned away to a mere dwarfish penchant, becomes at once a mighty
sentiment.
_Capt. Mer._ That looks very like attachment. Three years, did you say?
My dear brother in affliction, make me your confident.
_Capt. Eth._ I intended to do so, or I should not have originated the
subject. My father brought up the daughter of our steward, Bargrove,
with my sister Agnes. I have therefore known Lucy from her infancy; and
ought I to be ashamed to say, how much I am in love with her?
_Capt. Mer._ Etheridge, this is a point on which, I am afraid, my advice
would not be well received.
_Capt. Eth._ Of course you would imply that she must be renounced.
_Capt. Mer._ Most assuredly; that is my opinion on a _prima facie_ view
of the case. You have your father's example.
_Capt. Eth._ I have, but still there are many points in my favour.
Bargrove is of a very old, though decayed family. Indeed, much more
ancient than our own.
_Capt. Mer._ I grant you, there is one difficulty removed. But still
your relative position. He is now your father's steward.
_Capt. Eth._ That is certainly a great obstacle; but on the other hand,
she has been really well educated.
_Capt. Mer._ Another point in your favour, I grant.
_Capt. Eth._ With respect to Lucy herself, she is----
_Capt. Mer._ As your father thought your mother--perfection. Recollect,
the soft paw of the cat conceals the talons.
_Capt. Eth._ Judge for yourself when you see and converse with her. I
presume I am to consider myself blind. At all events, I have decided
upon nothing; and have neither, by word or deed, allowed her to suppose
an attachment on my part: still it is a source of great anxiety. I
almost wish that she were happily married. By-the-bye, my mother hates
her.
_Capt. Mer._ That's not in your favour, though it is in hers.
_Capt. Eth._ And my father doats upon her.
_Capt. Mer._ That's in favour of you both.
_Capt. Eth._ Now, you have the whole story, you may advise me as you
please: but remember, I still preserve my veto.
_Capt. Mer._ My dear Etheridge, with your permission, I will not advise
at all. Your father tried in the same lottery and drew a blank; you may
gain the highest prize; but my hopes with your sister render it a most
delicate subject for my opinion. Your own sense must guide you.
_Capt. Eth._ Unfortunately it often happens, that when a man takes his
feelings for a guide, he walks too fast for good sense to keep pace with
him.
_Capt. Mer._ At all events, be not precipitate; and do not advance one
step, which, as a man of honour, you may not retrace.
_Capt. Eth._ I will not, if I can help it. But here comes Mr Harness.
_Enter Landlord._
_Land._ The horses are to, Captain Etheridge, and the wheel is in order.
_Capt. Eth._ Come then, Edward, we shall not be long getting over these
last eight miles. The boys know me well.
_Capt. Mer._ (_Going out_). Yes, and the length of your purse, I
suspect, my dear fellow. (_Exeunt ambo._)
_Scene II._
_A Wood in the back-ground, Gipsies' tents, etc. Gipsies come forward,
group themselves, and sing._
The king will have his tax,
Tithes to parsons fall,
For rent the landlord racks,
The tenant cheats them all;
But the gipsy's claim'd right is more ancient yet,
And that right he still gains by the help of his wit.
_Chorus (joining hands)._
Then your hands right and left, see saw,
(_All turn._)
Turn your backs on the church and the law;
Search all the world through,
From the king on his throne,
To the beggar--you'll own
There are none like the gipsy crew.
Wherever we rove,
We're sure to find home;
In field, lane, or grove,
Then roam, boys, roam!
'Tis only when walls his poor body surround,
That homeless a free roving gipsy is found.
(_Chorus as before._)
[_Exeunt all the gipsies except Nelly, who, with Bill, comes forward;
Bill, with a bundle on a pitchfork, over his shoulder. Throws down
the bundle, and takes out a turkey._
_Nelly._ Is that all that thou hast gathered?
_Bill._ All! Enough too, did ye know the sarcumstances. Travelled last
night good twelve miles before I could light on this here cretur. Never
seed such a scarcity o' fowl. Farmers above tending sich like things
now-a-days, dom pride! says I.
_Nelly._ But what kept ye out till morning?
_Bill._ 'Cause why I was kept in. Lock'd up, by gosh! Why, arter dark,
I'd just nabbed this here, when out pops on me the farmer's wife; and so
she twists her scraggy neck round like a weathercock in a whirlwind,
till at last she hears where Master Redcap wor a gobbling. I'd just time
to creep under a cart, when up she comes; so down goes I on all fours
and growls like a strange dog.
_Nelly._ And one day thou wilt be hung like one.
_Bill._ Every one gets his promotion in time. In goes the woman and
calls her husband; and though on all fours, I warn't a match for two; so
I slinks into a barn and twists the neck of the hanimal, that a might
not peach. Well; farmer comes out, and seeing nought but barn door open,
curses his man for a lazy hound and locks it, then walks home, leaving I
fixed. Warn't that a good un?
_Nelly._ How did'st thou contrive to escape?
_Bill._ I burrowed into the back of the wheat. Two jockies came in at
daylight to thrash----
_Nelly._ And they would have done well to have begun upon the rogue in
grain.
_Bill._ Thank ye, mistress. But, howsomdever, the farmer came wi 'um,
and a waundy big dog that stagged me, and barked like fury. "There be
summut there," says farmer; so I squealed like a dozen rats in the
wheat. "Rats agen," says he. "Tummus, go fetch the ferrets; and Bob, be
you arter the terriers. I'll go get my breakfast, and then we'll rout
un out. Come, Bully." But Bully wouldn't, till farmer gave un a kick
that set un howling; and then out they all went, and about a minute
arter I makes a bolt. Terrible fuss about a turkey; warn't it, Nell?
_Nelly._ Hast thou seen Richard?
_Bill._ Never put eyes on him since we parted last night; but, as his
tongue is as well hung as he will be himself, he'll gie ye a triple bob
major, for here he comes.
_Enter Dick, pulls out two geese, and flings them down._
_Dick._ Ah, missus, I sha'n't last long. I shall soon be scragged. I'm
growing honest. Out of a flock of forty, I've only prigged two. To make
amends, I did gnaw off the heads of two more, and so the foxes will have
the credit of the job.
_Bill._ That was well thought of, my pal.
_Dick._ May I one day grow honest, if I don't make up for last night's
paltry prig. Come, let's have one roasted, missus--I prefers roast
goose. Honest hanimal! only fit to be plucked and eaten. I say, missus,
I stumbled on a cove this morning, that I thinks will prove a bleeding
cull,--honest hanimal, only fit to be plucked----
_Bill._ And eaten, Dick?
_Dick._ Yes, with your dom'd jaw, and so cly it. This here cove sits him
down under a tree, with his head a-one side, like a fowl with the pip,
and, with a book in his hand talks a mortal deal of stuff about shaking
spears and the moon. So, when I had spied enow, I gets up and walks
straight to him, and axes him, could he tell where the great
fortin-telling woman were to be found in the wood; she as knew the past,
the present, and the future. Laid a coil for him, my girl. He be the son
of the great Squire's steward, that lives at the Hall, and he says that
he be mightily anxious to have his fortin told. He seems to be mortal
simple.
_Nelly._ What didst thou hear him mouth about?
_Dick._ May I grow honest if I bees able to tell, 'twere sich
outlandish gibberish. What have the rest done, missus?
_Nelly._ Why, like you, Richard, they're growing honest.
_Dick._ Ah! ware o' that. My grandam, who was the real seventh daughter
of a seventh daughter, said of I, in my cradle, "The moment this here
child grows honest, he'll be hung." I've done my best, all my life, to
keep my neck out of the halter.