diff options
Diffstat (limited to '45057-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 45057-h/45057-h.htm | 2890 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 45057-h/images/p0b.jpg | bin | 0 -> 177191 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 45057-h/images/p0s.jpg | bin | 0 -> 35899 bytes |
3 files changed, 2890 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/45057-h/45057-h.htm b/45057-h/45057-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0debf0d --- /dev/null +++ b/45057-h/45057-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2890 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Ambrose Gwinett, by Douglas William Jerrold</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ambrose Gwinett, by Douglas William Jerrold, +Edited by George Daniel + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Ambrose Gwinett + or, a sea-side story : a melo-drama, in three acts + + +Author: Douglas William Jerrold + +Editor: George Daniel + +Release Date: March 4, 2014 [eBook #45057] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMBROSE GWINETT*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the [1828] John Cumberland edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org Many thanks to John Hentges +for finding this, providing a copy for the transcription, and +doing the background research.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Gwinett. Wretch! heartless ruffian!—Act II. Scene 3" +title= +"Gwinett. Wretch! heartless ruffian!—Act II. Scene 3" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h1>AMBROSE GWINETT;<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR, A SEA-SIDE STORY:</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center">A <b>MELO-DRAMA</b>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>In Three Acts,</b></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>BY D. W. JERROLD,</b></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Author of The Mutiny at the +Nore</i>, <i>John Overy</i>, <i>The Devil’s Ducat</i>, +<i>Golden Calf</i>,<br /> +<i>Bride of Ludgate</i>, <i>&c.</i></p> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">PRINTED FROM +THE ACTING COPY, WITH REMARKS,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, BY +D—G.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">To which are added,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A +DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUME,—CAST OF THE +CHARACTERS,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ENTRANCES AND EXITS,—RELATIVE +POSITIONS OF THE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE,—AND THE +WHOLE OF</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE STAGE BUSINESS,</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">As now performed at the</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>METROPOLITAN MINOR +THEATRES.</b></p> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall"><b>EMBELLISHED WITH A FINE +ENGRAVING.</b></span></p> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>LONDON:</b></p> +<p style="text-align: center">JOHN CUMBERLAND, 2, CUMBERLAND +TERRACE,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CAMDEN NEW TOWN.</span></p> +<h2><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>REMARKS.<br /> +Ambrose Gwinett.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Hypercriticism</span> has presumed to find +fault with this drama, which a better taste has denominated +“<i>the serious domestic historical</i>,” because, +forsooth, it smacks of the Old Bailey!—and, when +justification has been pleaded by citing <i>George Barnwell</i>, +we have received the retort courteous, in the story of the +witling who affected to wear glasses because Pope was +near-sighted. But a much better plea may be urged than the +example of a bard so moderately gifted as Lillo! “The +Ravens of Orleans,” “Dog of Montargis,” +“Family of Anglade,” and numerous other public +favourites, speak daggers to such hypercriticism.—Ambrose +Gwinett is a strange tale and a true one; and a tale both strange +and true what playwright can afford to let slip through his +fingers? A murder or so may be prudently relinquished, for +the season will come round again; but he cannot expect to see a +man hanged and resuscitated for his especial accommodation every +day in the week.</p> +<p>Ambrose Gwinett favoured the world with his autobiography at a +period when autobiography was a rarity. He is +unquestionably the only historian who has written his life after +being gibbetted—drawn and quartered we leave to the +autobiographers and dramatists of another generation! +Egotism under such extraordinary circumstances may surely be +pardoned; and if honest Ambrose dwell somewhat complacently on +certain events of deep interest and wonder, he may plead a much +better excuse than our modern autobiographers, who invent much +and reveal little but a tedious catalogue of fictions and +vanities; a charge that applies not to the startling narrative of +the poor sweeper of the once insignificant village of +Charing.</p> +<p>The story, which occurred in the reign of Queen Anne, is +simple and well told. Ambrose had a tale to +tell—(what autobiographer would not be half hanged to be +entitled to tell a similar one?)—passing strange and +pitiful; therefore, like a skilful dramatist, who depends solely +on his plot, he affected no pomp of speech: of tropes and figures +he knew nothing; but he knew full well that he had been hanged +without a trope, and his figure brought to life again!</p> +<p><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>“I +was born,” says he, “of respectable parents in the +city of Canterbury, where my father dealt in slops. He had +but two children, a daughter and myself; and, having given me a +school education, at the age of sixteen he bound me apprentice to +Mr. George Roberts, an attorney in the same town, with whom I +stayed four years and three quarters, to his great content and my +own satisfaction.</p> +<p>“My sister, having come to woman’s estate, had now +been married something more than a twelvemonth to one Sawyer, a +seafaring man, who, having got considerable prizes, my father +also giving him 200<i>l.</i> with my sister, quitted his +profession, and set up a public-house near the place of his +nativity, which was Deal, in the county of Kent. I had +frequent invitations to pass a short time with them; and, in the +autumn of 1709, having obtained my master’s consent for +that purpose, I left the city of Canterbury on foot, on Wednesday +morning, being the 17th day of September; but, through some +unavoidable delays on the road, the evening was considerably +advanced before I reached Deal; and so tired was I, being unused +to that way of travelling, that, had my life depended on it, I +could not have gone so far as my sister’s that night. +At this time there were many of her majesty, Queen Anne’s +ships lying in the harbour, the English being then at war with +the French and Spaniards; besides which, I found this was the day +for holding the yearly fair, so that the town was filled to that +degree, that not a bed was to be gotten for love nor money. +I went seeking a lodging from house to house to no purpose; till, +being quite spent, I returned to the public-house, where I had +first made inquiry, desiring leave to sit by their kitchen-fire +to rest myself till morning.</p> +<p>“The publican and his wife where I put up happened, +unfortunately for me, to be acquainted with my brother and +sister; and finding by the discourse that I was a relation of +theirs, and going to visit them, the landlady presently said she +would endeavour to get me a bed; and, going out of the kitchen, +she quickly called me into a parlour that led from it. Here +I saw, sitting by the fire, a middle-aged man, in a nightgown and +cap, who was reckoning money at a table. +‘Uncle,’ said the woman, as soon as I entered, +‘this is a brother of our friend, Mrs. Sawyer; he cannot +get a bed anywhere, and is tired after his journey. You are +the only one that lies in this house alone: will you give him a +part of your’s?’ To this the man answered, that +she knew he had been out of order,—that he was blooded that +day, <a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>and +consequently a bedfellow could not be very agreeable. +‘However,’ said he, ‘rather than the young man +shall sit up, he is welcome to sleep with me.’ After +this, we sat some time together; when, having put his money in a +canvas bag into the pocket of his nightgown, he took the candle, +and I followed him up to bed.”</p> +<p>Having occasion to visit the garden during the night, the +landlord lent him his pen-knife, that he might more easily open +the door, the latch being broken. From this knife a piece +of money falls, which Gwinett pockets. Returning to his +room, he finds, to his great surprize, that his companion is +absent. At six o’clock he rises, dresses himself +hastily, and, impatient to see his sister (the reckoning being +paid overnight), lets himself out at the street door.</p> +<p>He has not been above an hour or two with his relations, +before three horsemen arrive, arrest him for robbery and murder, +and he is carried back to Deal, to be dealt with accordingly.</p> +<p>He is taken with the knife in his possession, tried, +condemned, and executed: yet, strange to say, the man yet lived; +his groans were heard from the gibbet, and he was rescued from +his frightful situation by his master’s dairymaid. He +took ship, went abroad, and encountered Collins, the supposed +victim, who, it appeared, had been forced from his home by a +press-gang. After enduring many perils, he returned to his +native land, crippled and poor, and subsequently became sweeper +of the road at Charing Cross.</p> +<p>Mr. Jerrold has heightened the interest of his drama by +superadding the passions of love and jealousy. We have no +objection to fiction when it conduces to effect; and three rounds +of applause are sufficient to justify any interpolation. +This piece was well acted, and brought ample receipts to the +treasury of the Coburg.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">D—G.</p> +<h2><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>Costume.</h2> +<p>AMBROSE GWINETT.—<i>First dress</i>—Short brown +tunic and vest, with full trunks—hose and half +boots.—<i>Second dress</i>—Tunic and long +cloak—hat and feathers.</p> +<p>NED GRAYLING.—<i>First dress</i>—That of a +Blacksmith.—<i>Second dress</i>—A short plain +tunic—full trunks—hose, and a small round +hat.—<i>Third dress</i>—that of a mere mendicant.</p> +<p>GILBERT.—<i>First dress</i>—A short close +tunic—shoes and stockings.—<i>Second +dress</i>—Suitable to the advanced age of the wearer.</p> +<p>COLLINS.—<i>First dress</i>—Short +tunic.—<i>Second dress</i>—A morning gown.</p> +<p>LABEL.—Barber’s dress—three cornered hat and +cane.</p> +<p>WILL ASH and BLACKTHORN.—Short tunics, &c.</p> +<p>GEORGE.—Sailor’s dress.</p> +<p>BOLT.—Dark tunic, &c.</p> +<p>OFFICER.—The usual costume.</p> +<p>REEF.—Blue jacket—white trowsers—straw +hat.</p> +<p>LUCY FAIRLOVE.—<i>First dress</i>—Plain bodied +gown—straw hat.—<i>Second dress</i>—A black +open gown with train.</p> +<p>JENNY.—<i>First dress</i>—That of a peasant +girl.—<i>Second dress</i>—Gown—cap—and +apron.</p> +<p>MARY.—Peasant’s dress.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Villagers</i>, <i>Peasants</i>, +<i>&c. in the usual costume</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<h2>Cast of the Characters</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>As sustained at the Coburg +Theatre</i>.</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Ambrose Gwinett</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Cobham.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Ned Grayling (<i>The Prison Smith</i>.)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Davidge.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Gilbert (<i>Waiter at the Blake’s Head</i>.)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Sloman.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Collins (<i>Landlord of the Blake’s Head</i>.)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Mortimer.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Label (<i>an Itinerant Barber Surgeon</i>.)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. E. L. Lewis.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>George (<i>a Smuggler condemned to Die</i>.)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Gale.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Blackthorn</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. H. George.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Will Ash</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Gann.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Bolt (<i>a Gaoler</i>.)</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Porteus.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>1<i>st</i> Villager</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. J. George.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>2<i>nd</i> Ditto</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Waters.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Officer</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Worrell.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Reef</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Elsgood.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>1<i>st</i> Sailor</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mr. Saunders.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Lucy Fairlove</p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss Watson.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Jenny</p> +</td> +<td><p>Mrs. Congreve.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Mary</p> +</td> +<td><p>Miss Boden.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Child</p> +</td> +<td><p>Master Meyers.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>A Lapse of Eighteen Years is +supposed to have taken Place between</i><br /> +<i>the Second and Third Acts</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>ACT. I.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.—<i>View of the Country</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Collins</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Softly, master Collins, softly,—come, +there is life in you yet, man.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. To be thrown from a horse after my +experience—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Oh, the best man may be thrown, and the +best horse throw too; but come, you have no bones broken. +Had any man but myself, Ned Grayling, shoed your horse, I should +have said something had been amiss with his irons—but that +couldn’t be.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. No matter, I can now make my way homeward: +but, hark’ye, not a word about this accident, not a +syllable, or I shall never be able to sit in a saddle again, +without first hearing a lecture from my wife and Lucy.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Lucy—aye, master Collins, she has a +tender heart I warrant—I could work at my forge all day in +the hottest June, so that Lucy would but smile, when—</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. There must be no more of this. You +know I have told you more than a hundred times that Lucy cannot +love you.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. How do you know that?</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. She has said so, and do you suppose she +would speak any thing but truth?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Why, perhaps she would, and perhaps she +wouldn’t. I tell you, master Collins, my +heart’s set upon the girl—if she refuse me—why +I know the end on’t.—Ned Grayling, once the sober and +industrious smith, will become an outcast and a vagabond.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. This is all folly—a stout able fellow +turning whimperer.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Stout, able,—yes, I was, and might be +so again; but thoughts will sometimes come across me, and I +feel—I tell you once more, master Collins, my heart is set +upon the girl.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. You’ll get the better of this, think +no more of her: nothing so easy.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. There are some matters very, <i>very</i> +easy. It is easy for you, a man well in trade, with +children flourishing about you, and all the world looking with a +sunny face upon you—it is easy for you to say to a man like +me, <a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>“You are poor and friendless—you have placed +your affections on a being, to sweeten the bitterness of your +lot, to cheer and bless you on the road of life, yet she can +never be yours—think no more of her,” this is +easy—“nothing so easy.”</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Farewell, good fellow, I meant not to insult +or offend you. If you can obtain my niece’s consent, +why, to prove that I love honesty, for its own sake, I’ll +give you whatever help my means afford. If, however, the +girl refuses, strive to forget her. Believe me, there is +scarcely a more pitiable object than a man following with +spaniel-like humility, the woman who despises him.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Despises!—did she ever say,—no! +no! she couldn’t, yet when I met her last, though she +uttered not a sound, her eyes looked hate—as they flashed +upon me, I felt humbled—a wretch! a very worm.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span> <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span> (<i>singing</i>.) +“<i>A merry little plough Boy</i>.”</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Well, now master’s gone out, I think I +have a little time to see my Jenny—master and mistress have +no compassion for us lovers—always work, work; they think +once a week is quite enough for lovers to see one another, and +unfortunately my fellow servant is in love as well as I am; and +being obliged to keep house, I could only get out once a +fortnight, if it wasn’t for Lucy.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>starting</i>.) Lucy! who said any +thing about Lucy?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I did! It’s a good Christian +name, isn’t it? and no treason in it.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No, no, but you startled me.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I should like to know what right a man has +to be startled when I say Lucy—why one would think you were +married, and it was the name of your wife.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Lucy my wife, no, no.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. No, I should think not indeed.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And why should you think? but I’m +wrong to be so passionate—think no more of it, good +Gilbert.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. A cool way of settling matters: you first +fly at a man like a dragon—make his heart jump like a +tennis ball—and then say, think nothing of it, good +Gilbert.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I confess I am very foolish.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Oh, spare your confession: people will judge +for themselves.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>aside</i>.) I am almost ashamed +to do it, yet I will.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why, what’s the matter? you are +looking at <a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>me as if, like a highwayman, you were considering which +pocket I carried my money in.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Pray, good Gilbert, tell me, do you know +whether Miss Lucy has any admirers?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Admirers! to be sure she has.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. She has!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Hundreds—don’t the whole town +admire her? don’t all our customers say pretty things to +her? don’t I admire her? and hav’n’t I seen you +looking at her?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Looking at her!—how?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. How, why like a dog that had once been well +kicked, and was afraid of being known a second time.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Villain! do you make mirth of my +sufferings? am I sport for fools? answer my question, or +I’ll shake your soul out on the wind—tell +me—</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. If the fox had never ventured where he had +no business, he’d have kept his tail.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. What mean you?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. If you had minded your own affairs, +you’d not have lost your temper.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Answer—</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Not a word; if you are inclined to ask +questions, a little farther on there’s a finger +post—when you have read one side, you know you can walk +round to the other.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I shall but make my agitation the more +apparent. Never till this moment did I feel the fulness of +my passion. Come, rouse man, stand no longer like a coward, +eying the game, but take the dice, and at one bold throw, decide +your fate.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Aye, it’s all no use, master Grayling; +Lucy Fairlove is no match for you. No, no, if I mistake not +there’s another, smoother faced young man has been asking +if any body’s at home at the heart of Lucy—but +mum—I’m sworn to secrecy,—and now for Jenny! +dear me, I’ve been loitering so long, and have so much to +say to her—then I’ve so much to do—for the +Judges are coming down to-morrow to make a clear place of the +prison—and then there’s—but stop, whilst I am +running to Jenny, I can think of these matters by the way.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE II.—<i>Wood</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Ambrose Gwinett</span>. (<i>running</i>.) +<span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I’ve distanced them—but +i’faith I’ve had to run for it.—No, no, fair +gentlemen, I hope yet to have many a blithe day ashore—high +winds, roaring seas, and <a name="page18"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 18</span>the middle-watch have no relish for +Gwinett—make a sailor of me, what, and leave Lucy +Fairlove?—I’ve hurt my wrist in the struggle with one +of the gang—(<i>takes his handkerchief</i>, <i>which is +stained with blood</i>, <i>from around his arm</i>.) It is +but a scratch—if I bind it up again it may excite the alarm +of Lucy—no, Time is the best surgeon, and to him I trust +it. (<i>puts the handkerchief in his pocket</i>.) Eh! +who have we here? by all my hopes, Lucy herself.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Lucy Fairlove</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Ambrose.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Come, this is kind of you—nay, it is +more than I deserve.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. What is kind or more than you deserve?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Why coming to meet me through this lone +road!</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Meet you—what vanity—not I +indeed, I was merely taking my morning’s walk, thinking +of—of—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Come, come, confess it.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Well then I do confess, I wished to meet +you, to tell you that—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. You have spoken to your uncle?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. On the contrary—to desire you to +defer—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Why, do you fear a refusal? Why +should he refuse—have I not every prospect—will not +my character—</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Yes, more than satisfy him, but—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Or perhaps Lucy there is another whom you +would prefer to make this proposal.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. This is unkind—you do not believe +so.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Well, be it as you will: I believe nought +but truth, but innocence in Lucy Fairlove, and by this +kiss—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Grayling</span> +<i>looking from wing</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Hem! holloa! there.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. How now—what want you?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Want! (<i>aside</i>.) Oh! Lucy, +Lucy! nothing.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Then wherefore did you call?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Because it pleased me: a man may use his +own lungs I trow.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. (<i>aside</i>.) Alas! I fear +some violence.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Aye and his own legs, they cannot do him +better service than by removing him from where he is not +wanted.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>Coming between them</i>, <i>folding his +arms</i>, <i>and looking doggedly at Gwinett</i>.) Now I +sha’n’t go.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Would you quarrel, fellow?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Aye—yes—come will you fight +with me?</p> +<p><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span><i>Lucy</i>. (Interposing.) For heaven’s +sake! subdue this +rashness—Gwinett—Grayling—good kind Master +Grayling—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Good kind Master Grayling—you speak +falsely Lucy Fairlove—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Falsely?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Aye, Falsely! she thinks me neither good +nor kind—but I see how it is—I have thought so a long +time, (<i>after eying Gwinett and Lucy with extreme +malice</i>.) I see how it is—ha! ha! ha! +(<i>Laughing sarcastically</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Fellow, look not with such devilish malice +but give your venom utterance.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Venom—aye—the right word, +venom,—and yet who’d have thought we should have +found it where all looked so purely.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Wretch! would you say—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Nothing—nothing—where we have +facts what need of words? the artless timid Lucy, she who moves +about the town with closed lips and downcast eyes—who +flutters and blushes at a stranger’s look—can steal +into a wood—oh! shame—shame.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Shame! villain! but no, to infamy so black +as this, the best return is the silent loathing of contempt.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. What! would you go with him, Lucy?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Grayling, never again, in town or field, +under my uncle’s roof, or beneath the open sky, that you +have so lately made a witness to your infamy, dare to pronounce +my name; there is a poison festering in your lips, and all that +passes through is tainting—your words fall like a blight +upon the best and purest—to be named by you, is to be +scandalised—once whilst I turned from, I pitied +you—you are now become the lowest, the most abject of +created things—the libeller, the hateful heartless libeller +of an innocent woman. Farewell, if you can never more be +happy, at least strive to be good.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit with Gwinett</i>. +<span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Lucy, Lucy, upon my knees—I meant not +what I said—’twas passion—madness—eh, +what—now she takes him by the arm—they’re +gone—I feel as I had drank a draught of poison—never +sound her name again? yes, and I deserve it—I am a +wretch!—a ruffian,—to breathe a blight over so fair a +flower. I feel as if all the world,—the sky, the +fields, the bright sun were passing from me, and I stood fettered +in a dark and loathsome den—my heart is numbed, and my +brain palsied.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Reef</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Sailors</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. A plague take these woods, I see no good in +’em—there’s no looking out a head the length of +a bow sprit; I know he run down here.</p> +<p>1 <i>Sail</i>. That’s what I said at first, and if +you had taken my advice we should have come here without staying +beating about the bushes like a parcel of harriers.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. He was a smart clean fellow, and would have +done credit to the captain’s gig.—Eh! who have we +here?—come, one man is as good as another, and this fellow +seems a strong one.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. How now!—what would you?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. What would we?—why, what do you think +of topping your boom—pulling your halyards taut, and +turning sailor?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Sailor!</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Aye—why you look as surprised as if +we wanted to make you port admiral at once.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Turn sailor?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Sailor—what’s the use of +turning the word over so with your tongue—I said +sailor—it’s a useless gentility with us to ask +you—because if you don’t like us, I can tell you we +have taken a very great liking to you.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. With all my heart—Lucy is gone for +ever—this place is hateful to me—amid the perils of +the ocean, I may find my best relief—come.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. That’s right my hearty—come, +scud away—eh, what have you brought yourself up with a +round turn for?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Then I leave my rival to the undisturbed +possession of—oh, the thought is withering—no, no, I +cannot.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Cannot! we’re not to be put off, and +by a landsman—so come, there’s one fellow already has +outsailed us, piloting among these breakers,—one follow +this morning—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. This morning—what kind of man?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Why, to say the truth, messmate, he was a +trim taut-rigged craft, and a devilish deal better looking than +you are.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And he escaped from you?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Yes, but that’s more than we intend +to let you do, so come.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Oh it will be a sweet revenge—one +moment—how stands your pocket?</p> +<p><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span><i>Reef</i>. Why not a shot in the locker.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Here. (<i>takes out a purse</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Eh! how did you come by all that? you +hav’nt run a pistol against a traveller’s head, +eh?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. These are the savings of a life of +toil—I had hoarded them up for a far different +purpose—but so that they buy me revenge—</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Aye, that’s a bad commodity; for when +people are inclined to purchase, they’ll do it at any rate; +but I say, no foul tricks you know.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. You say one man escaped you this morning, +now I’ll lead you to him; moreover, if you secure him, this +purse shall be your reward.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Shall it! we are the boys; and what’s +more, we don’t mind giving you your discharge into the +bargain.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Come on then; follow me into the town, and +when the night comes on, I’ll find means to throw your +victim into your hands; bear him away with as little noise as +possible.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Oh, never fear—if he attempts to +hallo, we’ll put a stopper in his mouth to spoil his +music.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. ’Tis well—thus I shall be +revenged—Lucy, if you are resolved to hate, at least you +shall have ample reason for it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit with Sailors</i>. +<span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE III.—<i>A Room in the Blake’s +Head</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Label</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Well, now let me see, where’s my +next point of destination? ah, Dover. Thus I go through the +country, and by both my trades of barber and doctor, contrive to +look at the bright side of life, and lay by a little for the +snows of old age. Had bad business here at Deal: all the +people so plaguily healthy—not a tooth to be +drawn—not a vein to be opened; the landlord here, master +Collins, has been my only customer—the only man for whom I +have had occasion to draw lancet. Now it’s very odd +why he should be so secret about it—all to prevent alarming +his wife he says,—good tender man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. What, master Label, ah! bad work for +you—all hearty as oaks—not a pulse to be felt in all +Deal.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Ah, I can’t think how that is.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Can’t you? I’ll tell +you—we’ve no doctors with us; no body but you, and +you’ll never do any harm, because—</p> +<p><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span><i>Label</i>. Because—because what?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why we all know you, and there’s few +will give you the chance; who do you think would employ a doctor +who goes about calling at peoples’ houses to mend their +constitutions, as tinkers call for old kettles.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Ah, that’s it, humble merit may +trudge its shoes off, and never finger a fee, whilst swaggering +impudence bounces out of a carriage, and all he touches turns to +gold. Farewell, good Gilbert, farewell—I’m off +for Dover.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. What! to night?</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Yes, directly.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why you must pass through the +church-yard.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. What of that?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Nothing, only if ever you had any patients, +I thought you might have felt some qualms in taking that +road.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Ever had any patients, I’ll whisper +a secret in your ear; I’ve had one in this house! Now +what do you think of that? What follows now?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. What follows now? why the grave-digger, +I’m afraid; I say, I wonder you didn’t add the trade +of undertaker to that of doctor.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Why?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why! how nicely you could make one business +play into the other: when called in to a patient, as soon as you +had prescribed for him, you know, you might have begun to measure +him for his coffin.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Ah, you’re a droll fellow, but we +won’t quarrel; I dare say you think me very dull now, but +bless you I’m not, when I’m roused I can be devilish +droll—very witty indeed.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Aye, your wit is, I suppose, like your +medicine—it must be well shaken before it’s fit to be +administered; now how many of your jokes generally go to a +dose?</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. No, no, it won’t do, I’m not +to be drawn out now—I’ve no time to be comical, I +must away for Dover this instant.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. A word with you, the sharks are out +to-night.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. The sharks?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Aye, the blue-jackets, the +press-gang—now you’d be invaluable to them; take my +word, if they see you, you are a lost man.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Never fear me, the blue-jackets, bless +you, if they were to catch hold of me, I should run off and leave +<a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>a can of +flip in their hands; now what do you think of that?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why I think of the two, the flip would be +far the most desirable; but if you will go, why, a good night to +you, and a happy escape.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. All the same thanks to you for your +intelligence; press me, bless you they’d sooner take my +physic than me; no, no, I’m a privileged +man—good-night, good-night.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. That fellow has killed more people than ever +I saw; how he looks his trade, whenever I behold him, he appears +to me like a long-necked pint bottle of rheubarb, to be taken at +three draughts; but I must put all thing, to +rights—here’s my master and Miss Lucy will be here in +a minute; the house is full of customers, and it threatens to be +a boisterous night.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Reef</span>, <i>disguised in a large great +coat</i>. <span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. I say young man, (<i>Gilbert starts</i>.) +why what are you starting at?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Nothing—only at first I didn’t +know whether it was a man or a bear.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Indeed—and which do you think it is +now?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why, upon my word, it’s a very nice +distinction: I can’t judge very well, so I’ll take +you at your own word.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. I’ve a little business here with a +gentleman: do you know one Mr. Gwinett?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Gwinett! what, Ambrose Gwinett?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. The same.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Know him!—I believe I do—a very +fine, noble spirited,—</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Aye, that’s enough; I want to see +him—he’s in he house.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. No, indeed.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Would you tell me a lie now?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Yes I would, if I thought it would answer +any right purpose; I tell you he’s not in the +house—and pray who are you?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Who am I? +why—I’m—I’m—an honest man.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Aye, that’s so general a character; +couldn’t you descend a little to particulars?</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. I’ve a letter to Mr. +Gwinett—it’s of great consequence.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Who does it come from?</p> +<p><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span><i>Reef</i>. The writer!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Now it strikes me that this letter contains +some mischief.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Why?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Because it’s brought by so +black-looking a postman.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Will you deliver it? if as you say +he’s not here when he comes?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Deliver it? why I don’t mind, but if +you’ve any tricks you know.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Tricks, you lubber, give him the letter, +and no more palaver. (<i>going</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Here—(<i>Reef returns</i>.) +No—no matter—I thought you had left your civility +behind you.</p> +<p><i>Reef</i>. Umph!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I warrant me, that’s a fellow that +never passes a rope maker’s shop without feeling a crick in +the neck.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh, Gilbert!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. How now, Miss Lucy, you seem a little +frightened or so?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh, no—not frightened, only hurried a +little—is my uncle in the house?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Oh, yes—and has been asking for you +these dozen times,—here by-the-by is a letter for—but +mum—here comes master.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Mr. Collins</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Well, Lucy child, where hast been all day, I +havn’t caught a glance of you since last night—what +have you got there, Gilbert?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Where, sir?</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Why, there in your hand—that +letter.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Oh—aye—it is a letter.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. For me?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. No, sir—it’s for master Ambrose +Gwinett.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Give it to me—I expect him here +to-night.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Expect master Ambrose here to-night, +uncle?</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Aye, standing at the door just now, his +uncle told me that he expected him at Deal to-day, but being +compelled to be from home until to-morrow, he had left word that +master Ambrose should put up here, and asked me to make room for +him.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. What here, master? why there’s not a +corner—not a single corner to receive the visit of a +cat—the house is full to the very chimney pots.</p> +<p><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span><i>Col</i>. Aye, as it is but for once, we must +contrive—let me see—as we have no other room, master +Ambrose can take part of mine—so bustle Gilbert, bustle, +and see to it.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Yes, sir, yes.—(<i>Aside</i>.) +I’m sorry master’s got that letter though; it was an +ugly postman that brought it, and it can’t be good.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Now, Lucy, that we are together, I would +wish to have some talk with you. You know, girl, I love +you, as though you were my own, and were sorrow or mischance to +light upon you, I think ’twould go nigh to break my +heart. Now answer me with candour—you know +Grayling—honest Ned Grayling? why, what do you turn so pale +at?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! uncle, I beseech you, name him not.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Tut—tut—this is all idle and +girlish—the man loves you, Lucy.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Loves me!</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Aye; Ned is not so sprightly and trim a lad +as many, but he hath that which makes all in a husband, +girl—he has a sound heart and a noble spirit.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Possibly—I do not know.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. But you do know, and so does all the town +know; come, be just to him if you cannot love him; but for my +part, I see not what should prevent you becoming his wife.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. His wife? oh, uncle, if you have the least +love—the least regard for me, speak no more upon this +theme—at least for the present. I will explain all +to-morrow, will prove to you that my aversion is not the result +of idle caprice, but of feelings which you yourself must +sanction. In the mean while be assured I would rather go +down into my grave, than wed with such a man as Grayling.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Eh! why—what’s all +this?—Grayling has not—if he has—</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. No, no, it is I who am to blame, for +speaking thus strongly—wait, dearest uncle—wait till +to-morrow.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Well, as it is not long, and the time will +be slept out, I will,—but take heed, Lucy, and let not a +foolish distaste prejudice you against a worthy and honourable +man.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Ambrose Gwinett</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Your servant, master Collins—I must I +find be your tenant for the night.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. And shall be welcome, sir; come, Lucy, +Gilbert, <a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>stir, and prepare supper; there’s a rough night +coming on I fear, and you might fare worse, master Ambrose, than +as guest at the Blake’s Head—here, by the way, is a +letter for you.</p> +<p>[<i>Whilst Gwinett is reading the letter</i>, <i>the +supper-table is arranged</i>, <i>and Collins sits down and begins +counting some money</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. This is a most mysterious +assignation. (<i>Reads</i>.) “If you are a man, +you will not fail to give me a meeting at twelve outside the +house, I have to unfold a plot to you which concerns not you +alone.—Your’s, a Friend.” (<i>Whilst +Gilbert and Lucy are off for provisions</i>.) Master +Collins, I may rise to-morrow morning ’ere any of your good +people are stirring, you will therefore not be surprised to find +me gone.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. But why so early?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. A little appointment—I shall return +to breakfast.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Then go out by the back gate; but stop, as +the latch is broken in the inside, you had better take this knife +(<i>giving Gwinett a clasp-knife</i>.) to lift it; we shall wait +breakfast until your return.</p> +<p>[<i>Collins</i>, <i>Gwinett</i>, <i>and Lucy</i>, <i>seat +themselves at table</i>.—<i>Grayling enters</i>, <i>takes a +chair</i>, <i>and placing it between Lucy and Gwinett</i>, +<i>sits down</i>.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. How now, master Grayling, you have mistaken +the room.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Mistaken—how so? isn’t this the +Blake’s Head?</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. That may be; but this is my private +apartment.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Private! than what does he +here—Gilbert, some ale.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (<i>aside</i>.) The very ruffian I +encountered in the wood.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>to Gwinett</i>.) What are you +looking at man? I shall pay my score—aye, every +farthing o’t, though I may not dress so trimly as some +folks.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Grayling, will you quit the room?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No!</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Then expect to lose—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Lose! and what can I lose? hasn’t he +all that I could lose?</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. What do you mean?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ask Lucy—the wood, Lucy, the +wood.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Wretch! dare you beneath her uncle’s +roof—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Dare I? you have among you awakened the +wolf within my heart, and beware how it snaps.</p> +<p><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span><i>Col</i>. This is needless; good Grayling leave +us.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Good, and you think I am to be hushed with +fair words like a child, whilst he, that thief, for he has stolen +from me all that made life happy, whilst he bears away Lucy and +leaves and broken hearted.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. He bear away Lucy—you are +deceived.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No, you are deceived, old man—you are +deceived; but let to-morrow shew, I’ll not ’cumber +your room, master Collins; I leave it to more gay visitors than +Ned Grayling; I leave it till +to-morrow—good-night—good-night, gay master +Gwinett,—a pleasant night’s rest—ha! ha! +ha!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Dear uncle, is not this sufficient excuse +for my aversion.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. No matter, we’ll talk more of this +to-morrow. Go to your chamber, girl. +(<i>Music</i>.—<i>Lucy goes off</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span>) and now, sir, we will to ours.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Music</i>.—<i>Exeunt</i> +<span class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE IV.—<i>Another Room in the Blake’s +Head</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span>, <i>with lamp</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Well, I’ve looked all through the +house, fastened the doors, hung up the keys, and now have nothing +to do but to go and sleep until called up by the cock. Well +I never saw love make so much alteration in any poor mortal as in +master Grayling—he used to be a quiet, plain spoken civil +fellow—but now he comes into a house like a +hurricane. I wonder what that letter was about, it bothers +me strangely—well, no matter—I’ll now go to +bed—I’ll go across the stable yard to my loft, and +sleep so fast that I’ll get ten hours into six.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Collins</span> <i>from</i> <span +class="GutSmall">C.D.</span> <i>in flat</i>.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. A plague take that doctor, he has bound my +arm up rarely—scarcely had I got into bed, than the bandage +falling off, the blood gushed freshly from the wound; if I can +reach Gilbert, he will assist me to stop it—or stay, had I +not better return to master Gwinett, who as yet knows nothing of +the matter? no, I’ll even make my way to Gilbert, and then +to bed again.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gwinett</span>, <i>from door in flat</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I have armed myself—and am determined +to meet the appointment; if there be any foul play intended, they +will find me prepared, if not, the precaution is still a +reasonable one—the latch is broken, said the landlord, the +knife however will stead me.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>[<i>Collins cries without</i>, “<i>Murder</i>! +<i>murder</i>! <i>within</i>—<i>Lucy</i>! <i>Gilbert</i>! +<i>murder</i>! <i>murder</i>!”—<i>Lucy screams +without</i>, <i>and rushes through door in flat</i>, <i>then runs +on exclaiming</i></p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh, heaven! my uncle’s murdered!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Servants and others run +on</i>. <span class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Omnes</i>. What say you, murdered! +where?—how?—</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. I know not—hearing his cries, I +rushed into his room—he was not there, but his bed was +steeped in blood.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. What cries are these? master Collins +murdered! where is Gwinett?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Alas! oh, heaven—he is—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ah! let search be made.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gwinett</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. He is the assassin.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Villain! (<i>rushes at +Grayling</i>—<i>they struggle</i>; <i>Grayling wrenches a +knife from Gwinett’s grasp</i>; <i>his coat files open</i>, +<i>and the handkerchief stained with blood</i>, <i>falls +out</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ah! this knife—</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. It is my uncle’s—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Your uncle’s—behold the +murderer!</p> +<p>[<i>Gwinett stands petrified with horror</i>, <i>Lucy shrieks +and turns away from him</i>; <i>Gilbert picks up the handkerchief +stained with blood</i>, <i>and holds it at one side of +Gwinett</i>, <i>whilst Grayling on the other</i>, <i>points to +the knife with looks of mingled detestation and +revenge</i>.—<i>Characters form themselves at back</i>, +<i>&c.</i>—<i>End of Act I</i>.</p> +<h2>ACT II.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.—<i>Outside view of the Sessions’ +House</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Jenny</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Come along, Jenny, come along; it will be +all over in a few minutes.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Oh what a shocking thing! Master +Gwinett tried for murder—I’d lay my life he’s +innocent.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why I don’t know what to think: +matters stand very strong against him—but then he looks as +freshly, and speaks as calmly—no he can’t be +guilty—and yet the knife—and my master’s bed +filled with blood—<a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>and then where is my poor +master—every search has been made for the body, and all in +vain—if Gwinett be guilty—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span> <i>from Sessions’ +House</i>. <span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. If he be guilty—who can doubt his +guilt?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Those, master Grayling, who do not let their +hate stand in the light of their clear judgment. This is, I +warrant me, a rare day of triumph for you.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Aye, and ought to be to every honest man! +’tis for rogues to be sad, when rogues are caught.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I dare say now you think this will serve +your turn with Miss Lucy.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Perhaps I do, and what then?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. What then! why then you overcount your +profits: take my simple word for it, she hates you! hates you as +much as she loves—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Her uncle’s murderer, eh? are not +those the words? with all my heart, I would rather have the +deadly hate of Lucy Fairlove, than the softest pity of Lucy +Gwinett. Oh! I thought there was a world of mischief under +the smooth face of the assassin—had he struck for a deep +revenge I could have pardoned him, for it might have been my own +fate—but to murder a man for gold! for a few pieces of +shining dross—’tis a crime to feel one touch of pity +for so base a miscreant.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Bless me—’tis all like a +dream—’twas but yesterday, and we were all as happy +as the best.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Aye, it was but yesterday when the gay trim +master Ambrose scorned and contemned me! but yesterday, and Lucy +hung upon his arm! and to-day—ha! ha! ha!—I stood +against him at the fatal bar; as I passed, his brow blackened, +and his lips worked—his eyes shot the lightnings of hate +upon me—at that moment my heart beat with a wild delight, +and I smiled to see how the criminal shrunk as I told the tale +that damn’d him—to see him recoil as though every +word I uttered fell like a withering fire upon his guilty +heart. (<i>A scream is heard from the Sessions’ +House</i>.) Ah! the trial is ended. (<i>A neighbour +comes from Sessions’ House</i>, <i>Grayling runs to +him</i>.) say—the prisoner—</p> +<p><i>Neigh</i>. Guilty.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And no hopes of mercy?</p> +<p><i>Neigh</i>. None.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ha! ha! ha!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page30"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 30</span><i>Music</i>.—<i>Enter +Neighbours from the Court with Officers guarding</i> <span +class="smcap">Gwinett</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Good people, there are I see many among you +whose tears bespeak that you think me guiltless—may my soul +never reach yon happy sphere, if by the remotest thought it ever +yearned for blood:—circumstances—damning +circumstances have betrayed me:—I condemn not my +judges—farewell, for the few hours I dwell among men, let +me have your prayers; and when no more, let me, I pray, live in +your charitable thoughts. When time (for I feel it one day +will) shall reveal my innocence—should ought remain of this +poor frame, let it I beseech you, lie next my mother’s +grave, and in my epitaph cleanse my memory from the festering +stain of blood-farewell,—Lucy!</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. (<i>rushing on & falling into his +arms</i>.) Ambrose—</p> +<p><i>Offi</i>. (<i>aside to Grayling</i>.) Grayling, +you, as smith for the prison, must measure the culprit for his +fetters.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Measure?</p> +<p><i>Offi</i>. Aye! it is the sentence of the court that +the prisoner be hung in chains.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Indeed!</p> +<p><i>Offi</i>. The office is doubtless an ungrateful one; +being a fellow townsman you needs must feel for him.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No—no—yes—yes—but +duty you know, Sir, (<i>seeing Lucy still in Gwinett’s +arms</i>.) but if they stand leave-taking all day, I shall have +no time to finish the work. (<i>Officer motions +Gwinett</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I attend you, Sir, farewell +Lucy—heaven bless and protect you. (<i>Rushes off +followed by officers</i>, <i>&c.</i> <span +class="GutSmall">P. S.</span>)</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Gone, to prison—death—no they +cannot, dare not fulfil the dreadful sentence—he is +innocent! innocent as the speechless babe—the whole town +believes him guiltless—they will petition for him, and if +there be mercy upon earth he must yet be saved—(<i>seeing +Grayling</i>.)—Grayling! oh Grayling—your evidence +has betrayed him—but for you he had escaped—whilst +you spoke—whilst at every word you uttered my blood ran +cold as ice, I prayed (heaven pardon me) prayed that you might be +stricken dumb; but he, even he who stood pale and withered at the +bar must have felt far above you as man above a worm.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I spoke the truth, the truth of facts.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Yes, but urged with malice, wholly +devilish—but oh Grayling—all shall be +forgiven—all forgotten—<a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>strive but with me to awaken mercy in +the hearts of his judges—strive but—ah no—I see +in that stone-like eye and sullen lip, that the corse of Ambrose +(his corse! my heart will burst) that to you his death knell +would be music, for then you would no longer fear his marriage +chimes.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I meddle not with the course of law, Lucy +Fairlove.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Hard-hearted man—but you carry with +you your own torment, a blighted conscience—alas, why do I +stand raving to this heartless being—the time wears +on—to-morrow—oh! what a world of agony is in that +word, let me still pronounce it, that I may ceaselessly labour in +the cause of misery—but if relentless law demands its +victim, the grave! the grave! be then my place of rest.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Oh Lucy!—what a wretch am I, to stand +like a heartless monster unmoved by every touch of pity—it +was not once so—once—but my nature’s changed, +all feelings, save one, are withered; love has turned to hate, a +deep and settled hate, I feel it craving for its prey! now to let +it feed and triumph on my rival’s pains!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE II.—<i>A view of the country</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Label</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Label</i>. So far safe; egad Gilbert’s advice +was not altogether unnecessary, for I’ve had to keep up a +running account for these five miles—eh—what a crowd +of people are coming here.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> 1<i>st.</i> <span +class="smcap">Villager</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p>why my friend, you seem in haste.</p> +<p>1<i>st.</i> <i>Vil</i>. Haste! yes, I +would’n’t lose the sight for the world.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Sight! what sight?</p> +<p>1<i>st.</i> <i>Vil</i>. What, don’t you know? +(<i>looks at him contemptuously</i>,) then my service to you.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Label</i>. This is highway politeness, and to a man +of my profession—eh!—thank heaven, here comes one of +the other sex—it’s hard if I don’t get an +answer now.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Mary Rosely</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p>Well my pretty maid, are you going to see the sight?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. The sight! oh bless you, Sir,—no, not +for the world.</p> +<p><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span><i>Label</i>. What then you have no curiosity?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Curiosity, Sir,—do you know what +sight it is?</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. No, will you tell me?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Why, Sir; +it’s—it’s—it’s (<i>sobbing</i>.) oh +such a good young man.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. A good young man, is that such a sight +among you?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Oh no Sir—not that—and yet +there was nobody but loved him.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Nobody but loved him—i’faith +if they’ve all such pretty faces as you, he must have had a +fine time of it—but what’s the matter with +him—is he going to be married—is he dying—or +dead?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. No, Sir, not yet.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Well, then, never take on +so—he’ll get over it.</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Oh no, Sir, he’s sure to +die—the judges have said so.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. The judges—what the doctors! ah my +dear, I know, by myself, that the doctors are frequently no great +judges—what’s his complaint?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Complaint, Sir, why they say he’s +murdered a man.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Murdered a man! that’s a fatal +disease with a vengeance.</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. But it’s false, Sir, a wicked +falsehood—he murder—why, Sir, he was the best, the +kindest young man in all these parts—there was nobody but +loved poor Ambrose—</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Ambrose! why you don’t mean Ambrose +Gwinett?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Oh yes, Sir, that’s his name.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. And who do they say he’s +murdered?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Master Collins.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Collins! (<i>aside</i>.) the devil; there +may be some of my marks found upon him—and—and what +have they done with the body?</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. That can’t be found any where: +it’s supposed that Ambrose—no, no, not Ambrose, but +the villains that did the horrid act, threw the body into the +sea.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Ah! very likely—I begin to feel very +uncomfortable—well go home, my good girl, go home.</p> +<p><i>Mary</i>. Home! no that I won’t; I’ll go +and see if I can’t comfort poor Miss Lucy.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Label</i>. I’m puzzled, the body not to be +found; if I go and tell all that I know—inform the judges +that I bled <a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>master Collins, perhaps they may secure me, and by some +little trick of the law, make me accompany master +Gwinett—again, allowing I should get clear off, the tale +might occasion some doubt of my skill, and so my trade would be +cut up that way—no no, better as it is, let the guilty +suffer, and no more said about it—it will all blow over in +a week or two. That same Gwinett, for all he used to laugh +and joke so gaily, had I now begin to remember a kind of hanging +look—he had a strange, suspicious—but bless me when a +man falls into trouble, how soon we begin to recollect all his +bad qualities. I declare the whole country seems in a +bustle—in the confusion I may get off without +notice—’tis the wisest course, and when wisdom comes +hand-in-hand with profit, he’s a fool indeed that turns his +back upon her.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Blackthorn</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Will Ash</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Tut tut—all trifling I tell +you—all the fears of a foolish girl—come, come, Will +Ash, be a man.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. That’s what I would be, master +Blackthorn, but you will not let me—I would be a man, and +return this same bag of money.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. And get a prison for your pains.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. But the truth—</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. The truth! it is too dangerous a commodity +for us to deal in at present—we know we picked it up a few +paces from the Blake’s Head, doubtless dropped from Collins +in his struggle with the murderers—but how are we to make +that appear—our characters, Will Ash, are not altogether as +clear as yonder white cloud, they are blackened a little ever +since that affair with the Revenue Officers—you know we are +marked men.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Yes, but unjustly so; I am conscious of my +innocence.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Yes, and a man may be hanged in that +consciousness—be hanged as I say, and leave the +consciousness of his innocence, as food and raiment for his +helpless family.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Oh!—</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. You are in no situation, Will Ash, to +study niceties—when your children shriek +“Bread” within your ears, is it a time for a man to +be splitting hairs, and weighing grains of sand?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Do not, Blackthorn, do not speak thus; for +in such a case it is not reason, but madness that decides.</p> +<p><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span><i>Black</i>. Even as you will, I speak for your +own good.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. I am assured of it, and could I satisfy +myself—</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Satisfy! why you may be +satisfied—the men who killed Collins, doubtless did it for +his gold—they were disappointed, and instead of the money +going to villains and blood-shedders, it has fallen into the +hands of honest men.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Honest—aye if we return it.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. No, then it would be fools, upon whom +fortune had thrown away her favours—Collins is dead! +mountains of gold could not put life—no, not even into his +little finger—what good then can come of returning the bag, +and what harm to the dead or to the world, by our keeping it?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. You speak rightly, a little +reasoning—</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Aye, a little reasoning as you say, does +much in such matters.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. And yet the greatest rogues may commit +crimes with as fair a shew of necessity—’tis not +Blackthorn—’tis not in the nature of guilt to want an +excuse.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Away with all this—will you be a +man?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. (<i>after a moment’s +struggle</i>.) I will—come what will, I’ll +return the gold—farewell—(<i>Is going off</i>, +<i>when child runs in</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span>)</p> +<p><i>Child</i>. Oh father! father, all is lost</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Lost?</p> +<p><i>Child</i>. Yes, our cruel landlord has seized on +every thing, mother and my little sisters, Jane and Ann, all +driven out, must have slept in the fields, if farmer—</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Oh, heavens! my wife and children homeless, +starving outcasts—and I no help—</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. No help! yes the bag—the gold!</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Ah!—yes!—it must, it shall be +done! the husband and the parent’s tugging at my +heart—oh! be witness heaven! and pardon, pardon the +frailties of the man in the agony of the father—come, +child, your mother and your sisters, though the trial be a hard +one, yet shall smile upon the oppressor.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE III.—<i>Inside of Prison</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span>: <i>he has with him an iron +rod</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. So now for my task; this is a day of +triumph for me; I could have dressed myself as for a holyday; +this Gwinett once dead who knows how time may work upon Lucy; +perhaps I had rather the gang had seized and <a +name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>torn the lad +away—but they deceived me—they took my money for the +service, and have never since shewn themselves; after all it may +be better as it is—Gwinett might have regained his +liberty—have returned—there’s no marrying with +the dead—no, ’tis best—much the +best.—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Bolt</span>, <i>the Gaoler</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p>A good-day to you, master Bolt.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. A good-day—you are late, master +Grayling—you will have scarcely sufficient time to perform +your task.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Oh, plenty—I have an old set of +chains in hand; an hour’s work will make them fit for any +body—so let me at once measure the prisoner.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. The prisoner! do you not know that there +are two to suffer?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Two!</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Aye; we have to day received an order that +“mad George,” as he is called, who was last Sessions +convicted for shooting an Exciseman, is to suffer with poor +Ambrose Gwinett.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Poor Ambrose Gwinett—you are mightily +compassionate, master Bolt.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Why, for the matter of that, if a +man’s a gaoler, I see no reason why his heart should be of +a piece with the prison wall.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. But is he not an assassin?—a midnight +murderer?</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. True; and yet I cannot but doubt—I do +not think a man with blood upon his head, could sleep so soundly +and smile so in his slumbers, as does master Gwinett; the whole +country feels for him.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Aye, it is the fashion now-a-days—let +a knave only rob an orchard, and he’s whipped and cried at +for a villain—let him spill blood, and it’s +marvellous the compassion that awaits him.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Why, how now, master Grayling? once you +would not have talked in this manner—you had one time a +heart as tender as a girl’s—I have seen you drop a +tear upon the hand of a prisoner, as you have fitted the iron +upon it. Methinks you are strangely changed of late.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I am—no matter for that—let me +to my work, for time speeds on.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Well, you can first begin with mad +George.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And why not with Gwinett?—with +Gwinett, I say, the murderer?</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. He’s engaged, at present, taking +leave of poor <a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>Lucy Fairlove; eh! why what’s the matter with you? +why you start and shake as though it was you that was going to +suffer.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Well, well, delay no longer.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. (<i>calls without</i>.) Holloa! Tom, +bring poor George hither. Poor fellow, he had begun to hope +for pardon just as the warrant came down.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">George</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Turnkey</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. Now, what further, good master Bolt?</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Why, there is another little +ceremony—you know the sentence is—</p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. Aye, I remember, to be placed as a scarecrow +to my brother smugglers,—well, no matter, they’ll let +me, I hope, hang over the beach with the salt spray sometimes +dashing upon me, and the sea-gull screaming around.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Give me your hand, friend; so, (<i>shakes +hands</i>.) this is an ugly task of mine, but you bear no +malice?</p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. I never knew it when I was a free and happy +man, and should never feel it in my dying hour—and to prove +to you that the fear of death has not wasted my +powers,—there, bend that arm before you measure +it—stronger men than you, I take it, have tried in +vain.—(<i>Grayling takes hold of George’s arm</i>, +<i>and with a slight effort</i>, <i>bends it</i>.) Ah! +there was but one man who could do this—he who did it when +a boy—surely you are not—yes, it +is—Grayling!</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Eh! George—George Wildrove—my +earliest, my best of friends, (<i>they embrace</i>.) Oh! +and to meet you now, and in such a place—and I—the +wretch employed to—</p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. Nay, Grayling, this is weak—your task +is not a free one, ’tis, I know, imposed upon you—to +the work, and whilst you measure the limbs of mad George, the +felon, think not, for I would not think of him—think not of +George Wildrove, the school-boy.</p> +<p>[<i>Music</i>.—<i>Grayling</i>, <i>after a struggle</i>, +<i>advances to George</i>—<i>he turns up one of his +sleeves</i>, <i>and is about to measure the arm</i>, <i>when his +eye falls upon George’s wrist</i>. <i>Grayling</i>, +<i>starting back with horror</i>.]</p> +<p>No, no, not if these prison walls were turned to gold, and I +by fulfilling this hateful task, might become the whole +possessor, I would not do it—as I have a soul, I would +not.</p> +<p><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span><i>Geo</i>. What new alarm? What holds you +now?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Your wrist, George.</p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. Well—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Do you not see?</p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. What?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. That scar—in that scar I read the +preservation of my life—alas! now worthless—can I +forget that the knife aimed at my heart, struck +there—there—</p> +<p><i>Geo</i>. Oh, a schoolboy frolic, go on, good Ned.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Never! Oh, George, I am a wretch, a +poor forlorn discarded wretch—the earth has lost its +sweetness to me—I am hopeless, aimless—I had thought +my heart was wholly changed to stone—I find there is +one—one pulse left, that beats with gratitude, with more +than early friendship.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Come, master Grayling, you know there is +another prisoner.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ah! I had forgotten—gaoler, chains +for this man, to be made an Emperor, I could not forge—if +you will, say so to the governor: for the other prisoner, +I’ll work—oh, how I’ll toil—but come a +moment, George—let my heart give a short time to +friendship, ’ere again ’tis yielded up to hate.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt Grayling and +George</i>. <span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Ambrose Gwinett</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I feel as if within these two days, infirm +old age had crept upon me—my blood is chilled, and courses +through my veins with lazy coldness—my brain is +stunned—my eyes discern not clearly—my very hair +feels grey and blasted; alas! ’tis no wonder, I have within +these few hours been hurled from a throne of earthly +happiness—snatched from the regions of ideal +bliss—and cast, bound, and fettered within a prison’s +walls—and my name—my innocent name, stamped in the +book of infamy—oh! was man to contemplate at one view the +evil he’s to suffer, madness would seize on half his +kind—but misery, day by day works on, laying at intervals +such weights upon us, which, if placed at once would crush us out +of life.—Ah! the gaoler!</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. A good-day to you, master Ambrose.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. “Good-day” friend! let good +days pass between those happy men, who freely may exchange them +beneath the eye of heaven.—“Good-day” to a +wretch like me! it has a sound of mockery.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. And yet believe me, Sir, I meant not +so.</p> +<p><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span><i>Gwin</i>. I am sure you did not. It was +my own waywardness that misconstrued you—I am +sorry—pardon me, good man—and if you would yield a +favour to a hapless creature, now standing on the brink of the +grave, leave me—I fain would strive to look with calmness +into that wormy bed wherein I soon must lie.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Poor fellow, he forgets—but good +master Gwinett—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Well—be quick—for my minutes +are counted—I must play the miser with them.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Do you not remember the sentence?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Remember?</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. But the whole of it?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. The—oh, heavens, the thoughts like +fire flash into my brain.—I had forgotten—there is +no—no grave for me.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Poor fellow, I could almost cry to look at +him.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Well, what does it matter; it is but in +imagination—nothing more.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. That’s right—come, look boldly +on it.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Where is the place, that—my heart +swells as it would burst its prison—the—you +understand.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Why, at the corner of the meadow, just by +One-Tree Farm.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (<i>with great passion</i>.) +What!—at—oh!—if there be one touch of mercy in +my judges’ hearts, I beseech (<i>throws himself at +Bolt’s feet</i>.) I implore you—any other +spot—but there—there—</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. And why not there, master Ambrose?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Why not!—the cottage wherein I was +born looks out on the place—many a summer’s day, when +a child, a little happy child, close by my mother’s side, +my hand in her’s, I have wandered there picking the wild +flowers springing up around us—oh! what a multitude of +recollections crowd upon me—that meadow!—many a +summer’s night have I with my little sisters, sat waiting +my father’s coming—and when he turned that hedge, to +see his eyes, how they kindled up, when the happy shout burst +from his children’s lips—ah! his eyes are now fixed +closely on me—and that shout is ringing in my ears!</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. Come, come, be more composed.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. There I cannot die in peace: in one brief +minute I should see all the actions of my infant life, as in a +glass—there, there, I cannot die—is there no +help?</p> +<p><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span><i>Bolt</i>. I’m afraid, Sir, none: the +judges have quitted the town—but banish these thoughts from +your mind—here comes one that needs support even whilst she +strives to comfort others.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! dearest Ambrose—is there no +hope?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Hope, Lucy, none—my hour is at hand, +and the once happy and respected Gwinett, will ’ere sunset +die the death of a felon! a murderer! a murderer!—Oh, +heavens! to be pointed, gazed at, executed as the inhuman, +heartless assassin—the midnight bloodshedder!</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Bloodshedder! oh, Gwinett.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. But tell me, dearest Lucy, what say my +fellow townsmen of the hapless Ambrose; do they all, all believe +me guilty?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Ob, no—some there are who, when your +name is mentioned, sigh and breathe a prayer for your +deliverance,—and some—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Aye, there it is, they class me with those +desperate wretches, who—oh, would the hour were +come—I shall go mad—become a raving maniac: what a +life had my imagination pictured: blessed with thee Lucy, I had +hoped to travel onward, halting at the grave, an old grey headed +happy man, and now, the scaffold—the executioner—can +I think upon them, and not feel my heart grow palsied, my sinews +fall away, and my life’s breath ebb—but no, I think, +and still I live to suffer.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. There yet remains a hope—your judges +are petitioned, they may relent—then years of happiness may +yet be ours.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Happiness—alas, no; my very dreams +are but a counterpart of my waking horrors.—Last night, +harassed, I threw me down to rest—a leaden slumber fell +upon me, and then I dreamt, Lucy, that thou and I had at the +altar sworn a lasting faith.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Did you so? Ambrose, did you +so?—Oh! ’tis a happy presage: the dream was sent from +heaven to bid you not despair.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. It was, indeed, a warning dream: hear the +end. We were at the altar’s foot, girt round by happy +friends, and thou smilest—oh, my heart beat quickly with +transporting joy, as with one hand clasping thine, I strove to +place the ring upon thy finger—it fell—and ringing on +the holy floor, shivered like glass into a thousand +atoms—astonished, I gazed a moment on the glittering <a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>fragments,—but when I raised my head, thou wert +not to be found—the place had changed—the bridal +train had vanished, and in its stead, I saw surrounding +thousands, who, with upturned eyes, gazed like spectres on +me—I looked for the priest, and in his place stood glaring +at me with a savage joy, the executioner—I strove to burst +away—my arms were bound—I cast my eyes imploringly to +heaven—and there above me was the beam—the fatal +beam—I felt my spirit strangling in my throat, ’twas +but a moment—all was dark.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! heavens.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Such was the forerunner of the coming +horror—so will ten thousand glut their eyes upon my +misery—and then the hangman—</p> +<p>[<i>Lucy</i>, <i>who during the former and present speech of +Gwinett</i>, <i>has been growing gradually insensible</i>; +<i>here shrieks out</i>, <i>and rushes to him</i>.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! speak it not—think it +not—my heart is broken. (<i>falls into his +arms</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Wretch! fool that I am, thus forgetful in +my miseries to torture this sweet sufferer.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. (<i>recovering</i>.) There is then no +hope—no, think not to deceive me, the terrible certainty +frowns upon me, and every earthly joy fades beneath the +gloom! I shall not long survive you—a short time to +waste myself in tears upon your grave.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (<i>aside</i>.) My grave!—oh +madness! even this last solace is deprived me—she’ll +never weep o’er me—never pluck the weeds from off my +tomb—but if she’d seek the corse of +Gwinett—there! hung round with rattling chains, and shaking +in the wind, a loathsome spectacle to all men—there she +must, shuddering, say her fitful prayer.—Oh! I’m +phrenzied, mad,—Lucy thus distracted, locked in each others +arms, we’ll seek for death. (<i>they +embrace</i>.)</p> +<p>[<i>Music</i>.—<i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Bolt</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span>; <i>Grayling on seeing Gwinett and +Lucy</i>, <i>is about to rush down upon them</i>, <i>when he is +held back by Bolt</i>: <i>he at length approaches Gwinett</i>, +<i>who</i>, <i>on beholding him</i>, <i>staggers back with +horror</i>—<i>Grayling folds his arms and looks at Gwinett +with an eye of malice</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Wretch! monster! what do you here? come you +to glut your vengeance on my dying pangs?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Were there no wretches—no +monsters—no <a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>bloodsuckers, look you, there need no prison smiths: +chains and fetters are not made for honest men.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Grayling, if e’er you felt one touch +of pity, in mercy leave us, cheat me not of one moment, +with—(<i>Lucy lifts her hands imploringly to +Grayling</i>—<i>his eye rests upon the ring on her +finger</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>passionately</i>.) Thy +husband?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Aye, my husband, I swore to be his and none +but his—my oath was taken when the world looked brightly on +us both—the world changed, but my oath remained; and here, +but an hour since, within a prison’s walls, with none but +hard-faced pitiless gaolers to behold our wretched nuptials; here +I kept my vow—here I gave my hand to the chained, the +despised, the dying Gwinett; and whilst I gave it, whilst I swore +to love and honour the outcast wretched felon, I felt a stronger +pride than if I’d wedded with an ermined king. +(<i>embracing Gwinett</i>; <i>Grayling</i>, <i>who</i>, <i>during +this speech</i>, <i>is become quite overpowered</i>—<i>by +an effort rouses himself</i>, <i>exclaiming wildly</i>—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Tear them apart, gaoler, tear them apart, I +say.</p> +<p><i>Bolt</i>. For shame! for shame, master Grayling, have +you no pity?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>incoherently</i>.) +Pity—havn’t I to do my work—havn’t I to +measure the culprit—havn’t I to—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Hold! hold! she knows not—spare +her.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Spare! and why should I spare? +Hasn’t she wirled, despised me? isn’t she Mrs. Lucy +Gwinett, the wife of the murderer, Gwinett? hasn’t she +spoken words that pierced me through and through? and why should +I spare?—Felon, you know your sentence; come, let me +measure you for the irons, that—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Wretch! heartless ruffian!</p> +<p>[<i>As Grayling approaches Gwinett</i>, <i>he seizes the rod +of iron held by Grayling</i>, <i>and they +struggle</i>—<i>Gwinett throws Grayling down</i>, <i>and is +about to strike him with the iron</i>, <i>when the prison bell +tolls</i>, <i>Gwinett’s arm falls paralyzed</i>; +<i>Grayling looks at him with malicious joy</i>; <i>Lucy sinks on +her knees</i>, <i>raising her hands to heaven</i>. <i>At +this moment</i>, <i>a cry is set up without</i>, “<i>a +reprieve</i>! <i>a reprieve</i>!”—<i>Officer</i>, +<i>and neighbours enter</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span> <i>Grayling springing on his +feet</i>, <i>tears the paper from the Officer’s hand</i>, +<i>Lucy at the same time exclaims</i>, “<i>A reprieve</i>! +<i>say</i>—<i>for Ambrose</i>!”</p> +<p><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span><i>Offi</i>. No; for mad George!</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>eagerly</i>.) The +murderer’s fate is—</p> +<p><i>Offi</i>. Death!</p> +<p>[<i>The prison bell again tolls</i>, <i>Lucy falls to the +earth</i>, <i>Gwinett sinks into a state of stupifaction</i>, +<i>Grayling looks at him with an air of triumph</i>; +<i>characters at the back lift their hands imploringly to +heaven</i>, <i>and the Scene closes</i>.—<i>End of Act +II</i>.</p> +<h2>ACT III.</h2> +<h3>SCENE I.—<i>The Blake’s Head</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Jenny</span>, <i>as landlord and +landlady</i>. <span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I tell thee, Jenny, I can’t help it; +ever as this day comes round, I’m melancholy, spite of +reasoning.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Well, well; but it’s so long +ago.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. But not the less to be remembered—it +is now eighteen years this very day, since poor Ambrose Gwinett +died the death of a murderer!—I’m sure he was +innocent—I’d lay my life on it.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. But there’s no occasion to be so +violent.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I tell you I can’t think with calmness +and speak on it. A fine open hearted youth, and see the end +of it. Not one of his accusers but is come to shame. +Look at Grayling—Ned Grayling the smith—don’t +good folks shake the head, and the little children point at him +as he goes by—and then those two churls who scoffed at him, +as he was on the road to death—has either of them had a +good crop since?—havn’t their cattle +died?—their haystacks took fire—with all kinds of +mischief falling on them?</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Yes, and poor Lucy.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. And there again; Lucy, Gwinett’s +widow, though almost broken hearted—doesn’t she keep +a cheerful face, and look smilingly—whilst her +husband’s accusers are ashamed to shew their heads—I +say again, I know he was innocent. I know the true +murderers will some day be brought to light.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. I’m sure I hope they will; but in +the mean time, we musn’t stand talking about it, or no one +will come to the Blake’s Head.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Well, well; I leave it all to you to day, +Jenny: I’m not fit to attend to the customers. Ah! +good fortune <a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>has been showered upon us—little did we think of +seeing ourselves owners of this house; but I’m sure +I’d walk out of it with a light heart, if it’s old +owner, poor Robert Collins, could but come back to take +possession of it—but that’s impossible, so +we’ll talk no more of it.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Well I declare this is all waste of +time—we’ve the house full of customers, and here +we’re standing talking as—</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. You know we used to do Jenny, some eighteen +years ago; then I was waiter and ostler here, and you were dairy +maid at squire—</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Well that’s all past, where is the +use of looking back.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. A great deal: when a man gets to the top of +the hill by honest industry, I say he deserves to be taken by the +neck and hurled down again, if he’s ashamed to turn about +and look at the lowly road along which he once travelled.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Well, I didn’t mean that.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. No no, I know you meant no harm, +Jenny—but you will talk—well I shall go and take a +round.</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. You’re going to the meadow, at +One-Tree-Farm to mope yourself to death.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why perhaps I may take a turn that +way—but I shall be back soon—eh! who’s +this?</p> +<p><i>Jenny</i>. Why it’s the servant of the rich old +gentleman, from the Indies.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Oh!—what he in the Dolphin?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Label</span>, <i>dressed as servant</i>. +<span class="GutSmall">L.</span> <i>Jenny curtseys and +Exit</i>. <span class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Servant, Sir,—you are the +landlord.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Yes—hope your master slept +well—I wasn’t at home last night when you put up, or +I should have paid my respects:—he’s from India I +hear.</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. From India!—and as rich, and as +liberal as an emperor.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. You’ve been some time in his service, +I suppose?</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Some twelve years.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Has he any friends in these parts?</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. He had when he left, or rather when he was +dragged from this country, some eighteen years ago.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Dragged from the country!</p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Yes pressed—he was taken on board +ship at dead of night; the vessel weighed anchor at +daybreak—<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>started for India—and there my master, what with +one and another piece of luck, got his discharge: but I believe +he wishes to see you.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I’ll attend him directly—and +then I’ll go and take my melancholy round.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Label</i>. Nobody knows me—no one sees the +valet in the steward, the late Label, barber and doctor—and +only think that I should meet with Master Collins—a man who +was thought murdered—alive and flourishing in +India—poor Gwinett—poor Ambrose—I have never +had the courage to tell my master that sad story—he little +thinks that an innocent man has been hanged on his +account—somehow I wish I had told him—and yet what +would have been the use; he couldn’t have brought the dead +man alive again, and it would only have made him miserable. +But now he can’t long escape hearing the whole tale, and +then what will become of me—no matter; I must put a bright +face upon the business, and trust to chances.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE II.—<i>View of Deal—the Sea</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Gwinett</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span>—<span +class="smcap">Grayling</span> <i>following</i>, <i>carrying +portmanteau</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Unless my memory deceives me, yonder must +be our path.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. That would have been the road +once—but ’tis many years since that was blocked +up.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I thought I could not be deceived.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. You are no stranger then to the town?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. No; it is my native place—that is, I +lived in it some years ago.—Have you been long here?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ever since I was born.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. And are doubtless well acquainted with the +history of most of its inhabitants.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Aye, history, yes, I have seen proud knaves +grovelling in the dust, and poor industry raised to wealth.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. You, my friend, do not seem to have +belonged to the fortunate class.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No matter for that; but, Sir, take my word, +you had better not put up at the Blake’s Head.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. And why not?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. ’Tis full of company. The +judges are now in the town to try the prisoners.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Prisoners! you have, I trust, but few +convictions—<a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>at least, for very great offences—for murder now, +or—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Murder!—no—’tis now +eighteen years—eighteen years this very day +since—</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (abstractedly.) Eighteen +years—it is—it is the day.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Oh you remember it then.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. No, no; to your story.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I was about to say it was eighteen years +since the last execution for murder happened in these parts.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. And the culprit’s name was—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>fiercely</i>.) +Gwinett—Ambrose Gwinett—ha! ha!</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Were there not, if I remember rightly, some +doubts of Gwinett’s guilt?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Doubts!—There might have been among +those who are touched with a demure look; but no, he was +guilty—guilty of the murder—and I saw him die the +death of an assassin.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Pray was not part of his sentence by some +means evaded?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. It was.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I have heard but a confused account of the +transaction.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>eagerly</i>.) I can tell you the +whole—every word of it. He was sentenced to be hung +in chains—another that was to suffer with him, was +pardoned; so the murderer died alone. Never shall I forget +the morning.—Though eighteen years ago, it is now as fresh +in my memory as though it was the work of yesterday: I saw the +last convulsive struggle of the murderer—nay, I assisted in +rivetting the irons on the corse—’twas hung at the +destined spot; but, when the morning came, the body was not +there.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Was no enquiry instituted?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Yes; it was supposed the relations of the +murderer had stolen the body to give it burial: the +murderer’s uncle, and wife were examined—but after a +time, no further stir was made.—Curse upon the trick, it +cost me my bread.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. How so?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Why I was the prison-smith—had the +irons fitted the corse, it must have been cut to pieces, +’ere it could have been removed.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Gracious heavens! your name is—</p> +<p><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span><i>Gray</i>. Grayling—Ned +Grayling—once a sound hearted happy man, but +now—come, Sir, all the inns will be full.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (<i>snatching the portmanteau from +him</i>.) Wretch! begone—you serve me not.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Wretch! well, granted—it is true: I +am a houseless, pennyless, broken-hearted wretch! I have +seen every earthly happiness snatched from me—I have sunk +little by little, from an honest industrious man, to the poor +crawling, famishing, drunkard—I am become hateful to the +world—loathsome even to myself. You will not then +suffer me to be your porter?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. No! begone.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Well, ’tis all one; yet you might, I +think, let a starving fellow creature earn a trifle.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Starving!</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. I have scarcely broken bread these two +days.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Unhappy creature—here—(<i>gives +money</i>—<i>Grayling offers to take portmanteau</i>.) no, +I will not trouble you. Go, get food, and reform your way +of life.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Reform! too late—too late. Had +I the will time would not let me; a few months—nay, weeks, +days—and the passenger may pause at the lifeless corse of +Grayling stretched in the highway. Every eye looks scorn +upon me—every hand shrinks at my touch—every +head’s averted from me, as though a pestilence were in my +glance.—Intemperance and fierce passion have brought upon +me premature old age—my limbs are palsied, and my eyesight +fails.—What’s this, alms—alms—won by +wretched supplication? well, ’twill buy me a short +forgetfulness—oblivion is now my only happiness.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Blackthorn</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Will Ash</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Black</i>. You were wrong to let him pass you: had +you but watched my motions, he could not have escaped.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. But in the day time?</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Day time! day is night if no one +sees. He’s gone to the Blake’s Head.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Aye, I never pass the door, but my heart +beats and my knees tremble.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. What! hav’n’t eighteen years +cured you of that trick?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Cured me—that bag of money—that +bag—’twas <a name="page47"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 47</span>the first thing that turned me from +the paths of honesty and grievously have I wandered since.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Still whining, still complaining, what +good could the money do to the dead?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. And what good has it done us? but +let’s not talk about it.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. That’s right, and now listen to +me. We must have a peep into that portmanteau.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Impossible!</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Not so, we’ll to the Inn: where can +Grayling be?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Not far off I warrant.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Well, no matter, we can even do this job +without him; but one lucky hit and we are made men.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Aye, this has been your cry year after +year—luck! I think I see our luck in every tree, and +in every rope.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Well, farewell, for the present, but meet +me round the lane, leading to the back part of the house.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. Round by the lane—no, that I +can’t do: I must pass my wife and children’s +graves—I have not dared to look upon them this many a +day.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. You refuse then?</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. No; I’ll meet you, but for the path, +that I’ll chuse myself.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt</i> <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<h3>SCENE III.—<i>Interior of the Blake’s +Head</i>.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Lucy</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Gilbert</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Nay, but you must see him; I promised you +should.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. You were wrong, good Gilbert, I cannot see +him.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. No, ’tis you are wrong, Mrs. Lucy +Gwinett, how do you know but he may bring you good news?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Can he make the dead live again? Good +news!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Well, now for my sake, see the +gentleman.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. I cannot refuse you. Heaven knows +what would have been my fate, had I not found a friend—a +protector in you.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. You’ll see him then? Ah I knew +you’d think better of it. He’s a very pleasant +kind of gentleman; and asked after you so earnestly, that +I’m sure he cannot mean but kind.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span>, (<i>abruptly</i>.) <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +<p>Well, and what do you want?</p> +<p><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span><i>Gray</i>. Aye, it’s ever thus.—Do +you think I bring the plague into your house, that you look so +fiercely at me?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. I don’t know, but you do!—Is +there nobody here that you are ashamed to gaze upon?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No; I see nobody but you and Mrs. +Lucy—I beg her pardon, Mrs. Lucy Gwinett.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Villain!</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Thou liest—stop—there was a +time, when at such a word, I’d seen thee sprawling at my +feet; but now, I can’t tell how it is—I cannot strike +thee.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. But I’ll tell you how it is—the +title’s a just one—you feel it sink into your +heart—and your arm is palsied; once more, leave my +house.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And why is my money not as good as a finer +customer’s? why can’t you take my money?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>During this scene</i>, +<i>Blackthorn and Ash enter behind</i> <span class="GutSmall">P. +S.</span> <i>and exeunt through door in flat</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Why, in truth, Grayling, I’m afraid +’tis gained by too foul a business.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Ha! ha! the conscience of an innkeeper.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Grayling, leave the house; at any time +I’d sooner look upon a field of blighted corn, than see you +cross my threshold; but on this day, beyond all—</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. This day,—and why +(<i>sarcastically</i>, <i>and looking at Lucy</i>.) oh, I had +forgotten; yes, it is the very day—</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! good Gilbert.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Stay but one moment longer, and as I am a +man, I’ll send thee headforemost into the street.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Fine words!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. We’ll try then.</p> +<p>(<i>Gilbert is rushing at Grayling</i>, <i>when Lucy comes +between them</i>, <i>Gwinett enters hastily at this moment</i>, +<i>and starts on beholding Lucy</i>; <i>Grayling sees +Gwinett</i>, <i>exchanges a look of defiance with Gilbert and +Lucy</i>, <i>and goes sullenly off</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">P. S.</span>)</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (<i>aside</i>.) ’Tis she! oh, +heavens! all my dangers are repaid.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. An unruly customer, Sir, that’s +all—I’ll take care he does not disturb you. +(<i>To Lucy</i>.) This is the gentleman who would speak to +you.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Do not leave me.</p> +<p><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span><i>Gil</i>. Nay, he has something he says to tell +thee privately—I’ll be within call.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. (<i>aside</i>.) Let me be calm, lest +too suddenly the secret burst upon her—she knows me +not—time and peril have wrought this change.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. You would speak to me, Sir?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I would, Madam; is there no one within +hearing?</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. No one—but why such caution?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. ’Tis necessary for the memory of one +you once loved.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Whom mean you?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Ambrose!</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! in mercy speak not that name—I +dare not breathe it to myself; once loved—oh! this +agony—you probe into a breaking heart.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. But not recklessly believe me.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Alas, what avails this now—let the +dead rest unspoken of—break not the silence of my +Gwinett’s grave.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. His grave!</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh! you wake a thousand horrors in my soul; +he has no grave; they stole him from me—they robbed the +widow of her last bitter consolation.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Perhaps it was the deed of friends.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Friends!—But to your errand, Sir, +what would you say? speak it quickly, lest my reason desert me, +and you talk to madness:—I was told you brought me comfort, +I smiled at the word; it seems my unbelief was right.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I do bring you comfort—News of your +husband.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Ah! perhaps, yes, I see it—you can +tell me where they laid his cold remains—can lead me to his +grave, where I may find a refuge too.—You weep, nay then I +know your mission is one of kindness—of charily to the +widow of that unhappy guiltless soul, who died a felon’s +death on yonder hill.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. I would speak of Ambrose—but, start +not—he died not at the hour men think.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Died not?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. As you loved your husband living, and weep +him dead, I charge you conjure up all the firmness springing from +woman’s love, nor let one sound or breath escape you to +publish the sad history I’m about to tell.</p> +<p><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span><i>Lucy</i>. I’m fixed as stone—should +my husband rise before me, my heart might burst, but not a cry +should escape me.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Many years after, the whole world believed +him dead—your husband lived. (<i>Lucy by a violent +effort maintains her silence</i>.) You know ’twas +thought the body had been stolen for interment.—Listen, I +knew your husband—met him abroad: to me, he confided the +secret of his escape; to me, he described the frightful +scene—the thronging multitude—the agonies of +death! The dreadful ordeal past, the ministers of justice +executed the remaining part of the sentence—the body was +suspended in chains. Whether it was from the inexperience +of the executioner, or the hurried manner in which the sad +tragedy was performed, I know not,—but your husband still +lived—the fresh airs of night blew upon him, and he +revived—revived and found himself hanging.—Oh! my +blood thickens as I think upon the torture that was +his—fortunately, the irons that supported him, hung loosely +about him; by a slight effort he freed his limbs, and dropping to +the earth, hastened with all speed, to another part of the coast, +took ship and quitted England.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. (<i>incoherently</i>.) And I!—I +not to know of this—unkind.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Often he strove to inform you—often +wrote, but ne’er received an answer,—twelve years ago +he set out, resolved to dare all hazards and seek you, when he +was taken by the Moors and sold for a slave—I knew him +whilst a captive.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. And did he die in slavery—oh, your +looks declare it—unhappy wretched Gwinett,—but no, +happy, thrice happy, he died not on a scaffold. Did he hope +you would ever see his miserable widow?</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. He did, and gave me this locket—it +contains your hair.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Oh, give it me—oh, well do I remember +when I saw it last, Gwinett was gazing at it with tearful eyes, +when the prison bell—oh, that sound! ’tis here +still—I’m sick at heart. (<i>Falls on +Gwinett’s shoulder</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Still she knows me not—how to +discover myself!—oh Lucy, what a ruin has sorrow made of +thee.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. (<i>reviving</i>.) Ah!—what was +that?—no no, I wander—yes, it +is—(<i>recognizing him</i>.) oh heavens it is my husband! +(<i>falls into his arms</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. Within there—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page51"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 51</span><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Jenny</span>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p>assist me to remove her—she will recover +shortly—come, madam.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Grayling</span> <i>cautiously</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">R.</span></p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. So! no one here—I can see nothing of +Blackthorn or Will Ash—well, all the better, I may be +spared some mischief—and then how to live?—live, can +I call this life—a dreadful respite from day to +day—hunger and disgrace dogging my steps—what do I +here?—there is a charm that holds me to this spot, and +spite of the taunts, the rebukes that’s showered upon me, I +cannot quit it, nor ever whilst Lucy is—eh! who have we +here?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Enter</i> <span +class="smcap">Blackthorn</span> <i>and</i> <span +class="smcap">Will Ash</span> <i>cautiously from door in flat +with Gwinett’s portmanteau</i>.</p> +<p>Blackthorn!—Ash!</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. (<i>whispering</i>.) Hush—not +a word.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. What have you there?</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Plunder, and good booty too I take it.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And what would you do with it?</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. What!—that question from +Grayling?—come let’s away.</p> +<p><i>Ash</i>. We cannot—the portmanteau will be +missed, and we instantly pursued.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Stay—is there no surer way—I +have it—we’ll even shake its contents a bit, and +leave the trunk here—what say you, Grayling?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. As you will—I’m fit for any +work.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Come then and assist—(<i>puts +portmanteau on table and opens it</i>.) eh—he’s well +provided—(<i>takes out a pair of pistols and puts them on +table</i>.) ah!—here’s gold—(<i>takes out +purse</i>.) Dos’t hear it chink?—Grayling, come +and assist, man.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>approaching the table</i>, <i>and +recognising portmanteau</i>.) Hold for your lives—you +must not, shall not, touch this.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Eh!—how does the wind blow +now?—and why not I pray?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Anything but this—the owner this +morning relieved my necessities—hundreds passed and heeded +not the outcast, famishing, Grayling—he who claims this +gave me alms, and bade me repent—I am a wretch, a poor +houseless, despised wretch—yet villain as I am, <a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>there is some +touch of feeling left—my hand would fall withered did I +attempt to touch it.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Ah, this may be all very well.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Blackthorn—Ash—dare but to lay +a robber’s hand on a single doit, and I’ll alarm the +house.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Tush.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. To the trial then.</p> +<p>(<i>Grayling advances to table and seizes hold of part of the +contents of the portmanteau from the hand of +Blackthorn</i>—<i>they struggle</i>—<i>Blackthorn +regains the purse and Grayling is about to pursue him</i>, +<i>when his eye falls upon a packet of letters that still remains +in his hand</i>—<i>he stands +petrified</i>—<i>Blackthorn and Ash are about to go of at +the opposite wings</i>, <i>when Label and Gilbert come in from +behind</i>, <i>and each taking a pistol from table</i>, <i>come +down and prevent the escape of the robbers</i>—<i>Grayling +in a state of agitation unmindful of every thing but the +papers</i>, <i>which he hastily looks over</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. So my brave fellows, here you +are—three knaves between a parenthesis of bullets.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Why what’s the matter? it’s +all a mistake.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. A mistake—yes, I suppose you intended +to be a very honest fellow, but by accident are become a +convicted scoundrel.</p> +<p><i>Black</i>. Well,—there’s the +money—now we’re clear.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Clear!—and you, Grayling, are you not +ashamed?—do you not fear the gallows?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>madly</i>.) Gallows!—no, +all was lost—good +name—hopes—happiness—but yet I had +revenge—I hugged it to my heart—’tis gone, and +Grayling has nought to live for.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Give me those papers.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Did I say revenge was gone?—no, it +rages again with redoubled fury—he shall not foil +me—this time his death is sure.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Unhappy wretch—give me those +papers.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Millions should not buy them, till they had +served my purpose—oh, it all bursts on my maddened +brain—relieved—pitied by him!—</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Grayling—yield ere your fate is +certain.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Never!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Call in assistance. (<i>Label goes up +stage and beckons on neighbours</i>, <i>&c.</i> +<i>Gwinett and Lucy come on</i>. <span +class="GutSmall">L.</span>)</p> +<p>There, secure the prisoner.</p> +<p><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span><i>Gray</i>. Aye—secure the prisoner.</p> +<p><i>Offi</i>. Which is he?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. There—Grayling the robber.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. No—not Grayling the robber—but, +there, Gwinett the convicted murderer.</p> +<p><i>Omnes</i>. Gwinett?</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Gwinett!—Ambrose Gwinett!—it +can’t be.</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. It is even so, good Gilbert—though +wonderful ’tis true.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. He’s innocent—I knew he was +innocent—good friends—kind neighbours—let not +this be spoken of—heaven has by a miracle preserved a +guiltless man—you will all be secret—no one here will +tell the tale.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Yes—here is one.</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. You will not be that wretch.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. (<i>falling at Grayling’s +feet</i>.) Mercy! mercy!</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Are you there, Lucy Gwinett—think of +my agonies—my hopes all blighted—my affections +spurned—think of my sufferings for eighteen +years—look at me—can you kneel before the ruin which +your scorn has made—but now, new I triumph—seize upon +the murderer. (<i>all indicate unwillingness</i>.) +Nay then, I will proclaim the tale throughout the town. +(<i>Is rushing up stage</i>, <i>when Gilbert seizes him by the +throat</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. You stir not a foot—if a murderer must +be hanged, it shall be for strangling such a serpent.</p> +<p><i>Grayling and Gilbert struggle</i>, <i>Grayling throws +Gilbert from him</i>, <i>and with the rest of the characters +following</i>, <i>rushes up the stage</i>. <i>As he is +about to exit at back</i>, <i>the folding doors fly open</i>, +<i>and Collins</i>, <i>an old grey-headed man</i>, <i>presents +himself at the entrance</i>; <i>a general exclamation of</i> +“<i>Collins</i>” <i>from all the characters who +recoil in amazement</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. See—his ghost, the ghost of the +victim rises from the grave to claim the murderer—I am +revenged—I triumph—ha! ha! ha!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">(<i>falls exhausted</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. My friends. Lucy.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. My uncle!</p> +<p><i>Gwin</i>. He lives! he lives! the world beholds me +innocent! beholds me free from the stain of blood!</p> +<p><i>Gil</i>. Master—oh! day of wonders!—the +dead come back.</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Wonders, indeed! Gwinett, ’tis but +within this past half hour, I have heard the story of your +sufferings.</p> +<p><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span><i>Gil</i>. But tell me, master, how is this? +dead! and not dead, and—</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. Another time; it is a tedious story, the +night you thought me killed, I had left my chamber to procure +assistance to staunch a wound—scarcely had I crossed the +threshold, than I was seized by a press-gang, and +hurried—but see to yon unhappy man.</p> +<p>(<i>They raise Grayling</i>, <i>who is dying</i>; <i>his face +is pale</i>, <i>his eyes set</i>, <i>and his lips and hands +stained as though he had burst a blood-vessel</i>.)</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. (<i>seeing Collins</i>.) There +still—not gone yet?</p> +<p><i>Col</i>. How fares it now, Grayling?</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. And speaks—lives—then Gwinett, +Gwinett the husband of Lucy—my Lucy, for I loved her +first—is no murderer.</p> +<p><i>Lucy</i>. Grayling.</p> +<p><i>Gray</i>. Oh! Lucy, that voice, my heart leaps +to it—leaps to it as it did—but all’s past; +Lucy, you will not curse me when I’m dead—there are +those who will—but let them—you will not: the earth +is sliding from beneath my feet—my eyes are dark—what +are these?—tears—Lucy’s tears!—I am +happy.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Sinks backward</i>.</p> +<h2>DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF THE +CURTAIN.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">Neighbours.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">Collins.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Label.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Blackthorn.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lucy.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Grayling.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Gilbert.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Gwinett.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Ash.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="GutSmall">R.</span>]</p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: right">[<span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMBROSE GWINETT***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 45057-h.htm or 45057-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/5/0/5/45057 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/45057-h/images/p0b.jpg b/45057-h/images/p0b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..946609c --- /dev/null +++ b/45057-h/images/p0b.jpg diff --git a/45057-h/images/p0s.jpg b/45057-h/images/p0s.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1556650 --- /dev/null +++ b/45057-h/images/p0s.jpg |
