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The Dynasts: An Epic Drama Of The War With Napoleon, a play by Thomas Hardy |
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Part 1 - Act 5 - Scene 7. King George's Watering-Place, South Wessex |
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_ PART FIRST. ACT FIFTH. SCENE VII. [The interior of the "Old Rooms" Inn. Boatmen and burghers are sitting on settles round the fire, smoking and drinking.
So they've brought him home at last, hey? And he's to be solemnized with a roaring funeral?
Yes, thank God. . . . 'Tis better to lie dry than wet, if canst do it without stinking on the road gravewards. And they took care that he shouldn't.
'Tis to be at Paul's; so they say that know. And the crew of the "Victory" have to walk in front, and Captain Hardy is to carry his stars and garters on a great velvet pincushion.
Where's the Captain now?
Down at home here biding with his own folk a bit. I zid en walking with them on the Esplanade yesterday. He looks ten years older than he did when he went. Ay--he brought the galliant hero home!
Now how did they bring him home so that he could lie in state afterwards to the naked eye!
Well, as they always do,--in a cask of sperrits.
Really, now!
But what happened was this. They were a long time coming, owing to contrary winds, and the "Victory" being little more than a wreck. And grog ran short, because they'd used near all they had to peckle his body in. So--they broached the Adm'l!
How?
Well; the plain calendar of it is, that when he came to be unhooped, it was found that the crew had drunk him dry. What was the men to do? Broke down by the battle, and hardly able to keep afloat, 'twas a most defendable thing, and it fairly saved their lives. So he was their salvation after death as he had been in the fight. If he could have knowed it, 'twould have pleased him down to the ground! How 'a would have laughed through the spigot-hole: "Draw on, my hearties! Better I shrivel that you famish." Ha-ha!
It may be defendable afloat; but it seems queer ashore.
Well, that's as I had it from one that knows--Bob Loveday of Overcombe--one of the "Victory" men that's going to walk in the funeral. However, let's touch a livelier string. Peter Green, strike up that new ballet that they've lately had prented here, and were hawking about town last market-day.
SONG THE NIGHT OF TRAFALGAR
In the wild October night-time, when the wind raved round the land,
"Pull hard, and make the Nothe, or down we go!" one says, says he.
The victors and the vanquished then the storm it tossed and tore, [The Cloud-curtain draws.]
Meanwhile the month moves on to counter-deeds
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