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[Illustration:
BATTLE OF HEXHAM
MARGARET--STRIKE NOT ON THY ALLEGIANCE
ACT II. SCENE III
PAINTED BY HOWARD PUBLISHD BY LONGMAN & CO ENGRAVD BY STOW]
THE BATTLE OF HEXHAM; OR, DAYS OF OLD;
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 ORME, PATERNOSTER ROW.
WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER,
LONDON.
REMARKS.
Mr. Colman acquaints his readers, in his Preface to this play, dated
1808, that it was written near twenty years ago: then, stating, as an
apology to his jocose accusers, this reason for having made Shakespeare
the model for his dialogue--that plays, which exhibit incidents of
former ages, should have the language of the characters conform to
their dress--he adds--"To copy Shakspeare, in the general _tournure_ of
his phraseology, is a mechanical task, which may be accomplished with
a common share of industry and observation:--and this I have attempted
(for the reason assigned); endeavouring, at the same time, to avoid a
servile quaintness, which would disgust. To aspire to a resemblance of
his boundless powers, would have been the labour of a coxcomb;--and had
I been vain enough to have essayed it, I should have placed myself in a
situation similar to that of the strolling actor, who advertised his
performance of a part"--"In imitation of the inimitable Garrick."
"The Battle of Hexham" has been one of the author's most popular works;
and has, perhaps, to charge its present loss of influence with the
public, to those historical events of modern times, which have steeled
the heart against all minor scenes of woe, and deprived of their
wonted interest the sorrows of Queen Margaret and her child.
There is a short, but well known narrative, written by one Clery,
an humble valet de chambre--which, for pathetic claims, in behalf of
suffering majesty and infant royalty, may bid defiance to all that
history has before recorded, or poets feigned, to melt the soul to
sympathy.
Nor can anxiety be now awakened in consequence of a past battle at
Hexham, between a few thousand men, merely disputing which of two
cousins should be their king, when, at this present period, hundreds
of thousands yearly combat and die, in a cause of far less doubtful
importance.
The loyal speeches of Gondibert, in this play, his zeal in the cause of
his sovereign, every reader will admire--yet one difficulty occurs to
abate this admiration--Did Gondibert know who his sovereign _was_? This
question seems to be involved in that same degree of darkness, in which
half the destructive battles which ever took place have been fought.
The adverse parties at Hexham had each a sovereign. Edward the Fourth
was the lawful king of the York adherents, as Henry the Sixth was of
those of Lancaster; and Edward had at least birthright on his side,
being the lineal descendant of the elder brother of Henry the Fourth,
and, as such, next heir to Richard the Second, setting aside the
usurper.--But, possibly, the degraded state of Henry the Sixth was
the strongest tie, which bound this valiant soldier to his supposed
allegiance;--for there are politicians so compassionate towards the
afflicted, or so envious of the prosperous, they will not cordially
acknowledge a monarch until he is dethroned.--Even the people of
England never would allow the Bourbon family to be the lawful kings
of France, till within these last fifteen years[1].
The youthful reader will delight in the conjugal ardour of Adeline;
whilst the prudent matron will conceive--that, had she loved her
blooming offspring, as she professes, it had been better to have
remained at home for their protection, than to have wandered in camps
and forests, dressed in vile disguise, solely for the joy of seeing
their father.--But prudence is a virtue, which would destroy the best
heroine that ever was invented. A mediocrity of discretion even,
dispersed among certain characters of a drama, might cast a gloom over
the whole fable, divest every incident of its power to surprise, take
all point from the catastrophe, and, finally, draw upon the entire
composition, the just sentence of condemnation.
[Footnote 1: It was since the French Revolution that the crown of
England relinquished its title and claim to the kingdom of France.]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE _Mr. Gardner._
DUKE OF SOMERSET _Mr. Johnson._
A NOBLEMAN _Mr. Iliffe._
LA VARENNE _Mr. Williamson._
PRINCE OF WALES _Miss Gaudry._
GONDIBERT _Mr. Bannister, jun._
BARTON _Mr. Aickin._
GREGORY GUBBINS _Mr. Edwin._
FOOL _Mr. R. Palmer._
CORPORAL _Mr. Baddeley._
DRUMMER _Mr. Moss._
FIFER _Mr. Barret._
FIRST ROBBER _Mr. Bannister, sen._
SECOND DITTO _Mr. Davies._
THIRD DITTO _Mr. Chapman._
FOURTH DITTO _Mr. Rees._
OTHER ROBBERS _Mr. Mathews_, _Mr. Chambers_, _&c._
FIRST MALE VILLAGER _Mr. Burton._
SECOND DITTO _Mr. Painter._
FIRST FEMALE SINGING VILLAGER _Mrs. Bannister._
SECOND DITTO _Mrs. Iliffe._
MARGARET _Mrs. S. Kemble._
ADELINE _Mrs. Goodall._
_Various ROBBERS, SOLDIERS, VILLAGERS, &c. &c._
_SCENE--Northumberland._
THE BATTLE OF HEXHAM.
* * * * *
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
_An open Country, near Hexham, in Northumberland; with a distant
View of HENRY THE SIXTH'S Camp. Time Day-break._
_Enter ADELINE, in Man's Habit and Accoutrements._
_Adeline._ Heigho! Six dark and weary miles, and not yet at the camp.
How tediously affliction paces!--Come, Gregory! come on. Why, how you
lag behind!--Poor simple soul! what cares has he to weigh him down? Oh,
yes,--he has served me from my cradle; and his plain honest heart feels
for his mistress's fallen fortunes, and is heavy.--Come, my good
fellow, come!
_Enter GREGORY._
_Gregory._ Mercy on us, how my poor legs do ache!
_Adeline._ What, with only six miles this morning?--Fie!
_Gregory._ Six!--sixteen, if we've gone an inch; my feet are cut
to pieces. A man may as well do penance, with pease in his shoes,
as trudge over these confounded roads in Northumberland. I used to
wonder, when we were at home, in the south, where it is as smooth as
a bowling-green, what the labourers did with all the loose stones they
carried off the highways; but now, I find, they come and shoot their
rubbish in the northern counties. I wish we had never come into them,
with all my heart!
_Adeline._ Then, you are weary of my service--you wish you had not
followed me.
_Gregory._ Who I? Heaven forbid!--I'd follow you to the end of the
world:--nay, for that matter, I believe I shall follow you there; for
I have tramped after you a deuced long way, without knowing where we
are going. But I'd live, ay, and die for you too.
_Adeline._ Well, well; we must to the wars, my good fellow.
_Gregory._ The wars! O lud! that's taking me at my word with a
vengeance! I never could abide fighting--there's something so plaguy
quarrelsome in it.
_Adeline._ Then you had best return. We now, Gregory, are approaching
King Henry's camp.
_Gregory._ Are we? Oh dear, oh dear! Pray, then, let us wheel about as
fast as we can.
_Adeline._ Don't you observe the light breaking through the tents
yonder?
_Gregory._ Mercy on me! they are tents, sure enough! Come, madam, let's
be going, if you please.
_Adeline._ Why, whither should I go, poor simpleton? My home is
wretchedness. The wars I seek have made it so; they have robbed me of
my husband; comfort now is lost to me. Oh! Gondibert, too faithful to
a weak cause, our ruin is involved with our betters!
_Gregory._ Oh, rot the cause, say I! Plague on the House of Lancaster!
it has been many a noble gentleman's undoing. The white and red roses
have caused more eyes to water in England, than if we had planted
the whole island with onions. Such a coil kept up with their two
houses!--one's so old and t'other's so old!--they ought both to be
pulled down, for a couple of nuisances to the nation.
_Adeline._ Peace! peace, man!--half such a word, spoken at random,
might cost your life. The times, Gregory, are dangerous.
_Gregory._ Very true, indeed, madam. Death has no modesty in him
now-a-days; he stares every body full in the face. I wish we had kept
quiet at home, out of his way. Who knows but my master, Lord Gondibert,
might have returned to us, unexpectedly; I'm sure he left us
unexpectedly enough; for the deuce a bit of any notice did he give us
of his going.
_Adeline._ Ay, Gregory; was it not unkind? And yet I will not call him
so--the times are cruel--not my husband.--His affection had too much
thought in it to change. His regular love, corrected by the steady
vigour of his mind, knew not the turbulence of boyish raptures; but,
like a sober river in its banks, flowed with a sweet and equal current.
Oh! it was such a placid stream of tenderness!--How long is it since
your master left us, Gregory?
_Gregory._ Six months come to-morrow, madam. I caught a violent cold
the very same day: it has settled in my eyes, I believe, for they have
been troublesome to me ever since. Ah! I shall never forget that morning;
when the spies of the House of York, that's got upon the throne,
surrounded him for being an old friend to the Lancasters. Egad, he laid
about him like a lion!--Out whips his broad-sword; whack he comes me
one over the sconce; pat he goes me another on the cheek; and, after
putting them all out of breath, about he wheels his horse, and we have
never seen nor heard of him since.
_Adeline._ And, from that day to this, I have in vain cherished hopes
of his return.--Fearful, no doubt, of being surprised, he keeps
concealed.--Thus is he torn from me--torn from his children--poor
tender blossoms! too weak to be exposed to the rude tempest of the
times, and leaves their innocence unsheltered!
_Gregory._ Yes, and mine among the rest. But what is it you mean to
do, madam?
_Adeline._ To seek him in the camp. The Lancasters again are making
head, here, in the north. If he have had an opportunity of joining
them, 'tis more than probable he is in their army. Thither will
we;--and for this purpose have I doff'd my woman's habit; leaving my
house to the care of a trusty friend: and, thus accoutred, have led
you, Gregory, the faithful follower of my sorrows, a weary journey half
over England.
_Gregory._ Weary! oh dear, no--not at all--I could turn about again
directly, and walk back, brisker by half than I came.
_Adeline._ What, man, afraid! Come, come; we run but little risk.
Example, too, will animate us. The very air of the camp, Gregory, will
brace your courage to the true pitch.
_Gregory._ That may be, madam; and yet, for a bracing air, people are
apt to die in it, sooner than in any other place.
_Adeline._ Pshaw! pr'ythee, man, put but a confident look on the
matter, and we shall do, I warrant. A bluff and blustering outside
often conceals a chicken heart. Mine aches, I am sure! but I will hide
my grief under the veil of airy carelessness.--Down, sorrow! I'll be
all bustle, like the occasion. Come, Gregory! Mark your mistress, man,
and learn: see how she'll play the pert young soldier.
SONG.--ADELINE.
_The mincing step, the woman's air,_
_The tender sigh, the soften'd note,_
_Poor Adeline must now forswear,_
_Nor think upon the petticoat._
_Since love has led me to the field,_
_The soldier's phrase I'll learn by rote;_
_I'll talk of drums, of sword and shield,_
_And quite forget my petticoat._
_When the loud cannon's roar I hear,_
_And trumpets bray with brazen throat,_
_With blust'ring, then, I'll hide my fear,_
_Lest I betray my petticoat._
_But ah! how slight the terrors past,_
_If he on whom I fondly dote,_
_Is to my arms restored at last;--_
_Then--give me back my petticoat!_
[Exit ADELINE.
_Gregory._ Well, if I must go, I must. I cannot help following my poor
Lady Adeline--affection has led many a bolder man by the nose than I.
I wonder, though, how your bold fellows find themselves just before
they're going to fight. I wonder if they have any uncomfortable sort
of sticking in the throat, and a queer kind of a cold tickling feel in
some part of the flesh. Ah! Gregory, Gregory Gubbins! your peaceable
qualities will never do for a camp. I never could bear gunpowder, since
I got fuddled at the fair, and the boys tied crackers, under Dobbin's
tail, in the Market Place.
SONG.--GREGORY GUBBINS.
_What's a valiant Hero?_
_Beat the drum,_
_And he'll come:--_
_Row de dow dero!_
_Nothing does he fear, O!_
_Risks his life,_
_While the fife--_
_Twittle, twittle twero--_
_Row de dow de dow,_
_Twittle, twittle twero._
_Havock splits his ear, O!_
_Groans abound,_
_Trumpets sound,_
_Ran tan tan ta tero--_
_Twittle, twittle twero._
_Then the scars he'll bear, O!_
_Muskets roar,_
_Small shot pour--_
_Rat tat tat to tero--_
_Pop, pop, pop,_
_Twittle, twittle twero._
_What brings up the rear, O?_
_In comes Death;_
_Stops his breath;--_
_Good bye, valiant Hero!--_
_Twittle twittle, rat a tat,_
_Pop, pop, pop, row de dow, &c. &c._ [Exit.