_Enter_ WAITER.
WAITER. Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you.
BEEF. [_Goes to the door and returns with a letter, which he opens. On
perusing it his countenance becomes illuminated, and expands
prodigiously._] Ah, my friend, what joy!
[_Turning to_ PUDDINGFIELD.
PUDD. What? tell me—let your Puddingfield partake it.
BEEF. See here.
[_Produces a printed paper._
PUDD. What?
[_With impatience._
BEEF. [_In a significant tone._] A newspaper!
PUDD. Ah, what sayst thou?—A newspaper!
BEEF. Yes, Puddingfield, and see here [_shows it partially_], from
England.
PUDD. [_With extreme earnestness._] Its name?
BEEF. The _Daily Advertiser_.
PUDD. Oh, ecstasy!
BEEF. [_With a dignified severity._] Puddingfield, calm
yourself—repress those transports—remember that you are a man.
PUDD. [_After a pause, with suppressed emotion._] Well, I will be—I am
calm—yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news?
BEEF. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield—the Barons are
victorious—King John has been defeated—Magna Charta, that venerable
immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three
weeks, the third of July, Old Style.
PUDD. I can scarce believe my ears—but let me satisfy my eyes—show me
the paragraph.
BEEF. Here it is, just above the advertisements.
PUDD. [_Reads._] “The great demand for Packwood’s Razor Straps”—
BEEF. Pshaw!—what, ever blundering!—you drive me from my patience. See
here, at the head of the column.
PUDD. [_Reads._]
“A hireling print, devoted to the court,
Has dared to question our veracity
Respecting the events of yesterday;
But by to-day’s accounts, our information
Appears to have been perfectly correct.
The Charter of our Liberties received
The royal signature at five o’clock,
When messengers were instantly dispatched
To Cardinal Pandulfo; and their majesties,
After partaking of a cold collation,
Returned to Windsor.”—I am satisfied.
BEEF. Yet here again—there are some further particulars [_turns to
another part of the paper_]. “Extract of a letter from Egham—My dear
friend, we are all here in high spirits—the interesting event which
took place this morning at Runnymede, in the neighbourhood of this
town”—
PUDD. Ah, Runnymede! enough—no more—my doubts are vanished—then are we
free indeed!
BEEF. I have, besides, a letter in my pocket from our friend, the
immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. Our outlawry is
reversed!—What says my friend—shall we return by the next packet?
PUDD. Instantly, instantly!
BOTH. Liberty! Adelaide! revenge!
[_Exeunt—Young_ POTTINGEN _following and waving his hat, but
obviously without much consciousness of the meaning of what has
passed._
_Scene changes to the outside of the Abbey.—A Summer’s Evening;
Moonlight._
_Companies of Austrian and Prussian Grenadiers march across the
stage confusedly, as if returning from the Seven Years War.—Shouts
and martial music._
_The Abbey Gates are opened; the Monks are seen passing in
procession, with the_ PRIOR _at their head; the choir is heard
chanting vespers.—After which a pause; then a bell is heard, as if
ringing for supper; soon after, a noise of singing and jollity._
_Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the_ PORTER, _a_
TROUBADOUR, _with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his
arm_; TROUBADOUR _seems much in liquor, but caresses the_ FEMALE
MINSTREL.
FEM. MIN. Trust me, Gieronimo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou
got under thy cloak?
TROU. Pshaw! women will be inquiring. Melancholy! not I. I will sing
thee a song, and the subject of it shall be the question—“What have I
got under my cloak?” It is a riddle, Margaret—I learnt it of an
almanac-maker at Gotha—if thou guessest it after the first stanza, thou
shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me—and, d’ye mark! twirl thy
thingumbob while I sing.
FEM. MIN. ’Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully.
[_Plays on her balalaika._
TROU.
I bear a secret comfort _here_,[278]
[_Putting his hand on the bundle._
A joy I’ll ne’er impart;
It is not wine, it is not beer,
But it consoles my heart.
FEM. MIN. [_Interrupting him._] I’ll be hang’d if you don’t mean the
bottle of cherry-brandy that you stole out of the vaults in the abbey
cellar.
TROU. I mean!—Peace, wench; thou disturbest the current of my feelings—
[FEM. MIN. _attempts to lay hold on the bottle_; TROUBADOUR _pushes
her aside, and continues singing without interruption_.
This cherry-bounce, this loved noyau,
My drink for ever be;
But, sweet my love, thy wish forego;
I’ll give no drop to thee!
[_Both together._]
TROU. { This } cherry-bounce { this } loved noyau,
F. M. { That } „ { that } „
TROU. { My } drink for ever be;
F. M. { Thy } „
TROU. } But, sweet my love, { thy wish forgo!
F. M. } „ { one drop bestow,
TROU. { I } keep it all for { me!
F. M. { Nor } „ { thee!
[_Exeunt struggling for the bottle, but without anger or animosity,
the_ FEM. MIN. _appearing by degrees to obtain a superiority in the
contest._
END OF ACT II.
ACT THE THIRD—contains the éclaircissements and final arrangement
between CASIMERE, MATILDA, and CECILIA; which so nearly resemble the
concluding act of _Stella_, that we forbear to lay it before our
readers.