Chatterton. Should antedate the flood:
I'll read your partner's brother's silly book
On the Noachian Deluge, and report
What I can glean.
Burgum. [Aside.] Did I not need his help,
I'd cane the rogue. [To him.] I've brought my quarterings
And pedigree that you did kindly trace
To be examined and attested by
The Herald's College.
Chatterton. [Aside.] George!
He'll find 'tis all a hoax!
Burgum. They have them now.
I must solicit you to go with me,
And answer certain questions. I'll pay you well.
Chatterton. Not for the wealth of Soho Square, my lord.
I am the Duke de Garret: they must come
To interview me here.
Burgum. Impossible!
Chatterton. Then let them nose among their dusty tomes
To solve the riddles.
Burgum. [Indignantly.] 'Tis an outrage, sir!
I am a lineal descendant from--
Chatterton. [Laughing.] I copied that, and know it all by rote.
Your ancestor, in reign of Henry Sixth,
Obtained a royal patent to transmute
All the inferior metals into gold;
And now, while George the Fat squats on the throne,
You, by that charter, deal in pewter, sir.
From gold to pewter--'tis a fearful fall;
And yet you glory in it. O for shame!
Burgum. Remember that my daughter's here.
Chatterton. Forgive me.
If I could aid you, I do vow I would,
But 'tis beyond my power. [Aside.] I do regret,
For her sweet sake, I played the prank.
Burgum. Well, well;
I fear your going would not further me.
Chatterton. [Aside.] You'll learn that soon enough.
Burgum. [Taking coin from purse.] Here is a shilling;
Your landlady asserts you are in need.
Chatterton. [In anger.] 'Tis false!--a lie.
Burgum. Well, Bertha, was I right?
And, Chatterton, I'll give you this advice.
You eat too much or too irregular.
A much disordered stomach is a rot
From which young imps, bred like to maggots, rise,
And pester sore the brain. Could I destroy
The miseries by bad digestion blown,
I'd be the benefactor of the age--
Yea! of all time. The world is gone astray:
Your melancholy bard o'erloads his paunch,
And thinks it is poetic pregnancy.
Chatterton. Few poets have a chance to overfeed.
Enter Mrs. Angell.
Bertha. O father, you are cruel.
Mrs. Angell. [To Burgum.] Pardon, sir.
There is a gentleman below, who says
He must see you at once. Shall he come up?
Burgum. No, no: I'll go to him.
Mrs. Angell. I'll tell him so.
[Exit Mrs. Angell.]
Burgum. He may bring news about the Pedigree.
[To Bertha.] Wait here; I shall return. [Exit Burgum.]
Chatterton. [Going to table.] Fair advocate,
For your defence my thanks must be the fee.
You come from Bristol--is my mother well?
Bertha. I really do not know.
Chatterton. No, no, of course:
My head is heavy.
Bertha. O, you do need aid!
Chatterton. Perhaps; yet more I need another mind
That turns not giddy on this whirling sphere.
But that is naught to any one save me--
Who cares for Chatterton?
Bertha. There's one at least:
One who beheld him roam the Bristol streets
Beset by dangers of a forward youth--
Misunderstood, unhappy; one who knows
All that he must have suffered here from want,
From loneliness, and hopes unrealized;
One who for him will offer up her prayers.
Chatterton. Have mercy, lady, do not make me weep.
You do not know me: I am harsh indeed.
I have a most unlucky way of raillery,
And when the fit of satire is upon me,
I spare not friend nor foe. Your father's duped.
Bertha. Why then we shall be happier; so 'tis well.
Chatterton. Part of this wretchedness that seethes within
Is due to damned, unconquerable pride,
And part from hot imagination flows.--
My brain's afire.
Bertha. I pity you the more:
Imaginary woes are real to him
Whom they oppress, and hardest to dispel;
And if you truly do deserve your fate,
Then have you more to bear.
Chatterton. You came in time;
To-morrow--to-morrow might have been too late.