________________________________________________
_ ACT V SCENE I
A Hall in the Manor-house.
Voices wrangling without.
JOB.
I will see Sir Simon.
SIMON.
You can't see Sir Simon, &c. &c. &c.
[Enter JOB THORNBERRY, MARY, and SIMON.]
JOB.
Don't tell me;--I come upon justice business.
SIMON.
Sir Simon be a gentleman justice.
JOB.
If the justice allows all his servants to be as saucy as you,
I can't say much for the gentleman.
SIMON.
But these ben't his hours.
JOB.
Hours for justice!
I thought one of the blessings of an Englishman,
was to find justice at any time.
MARY.
Pray don't be so----
JOB.
Hold your tongue, child. What are his hours?
SIMON.
Why, from twelve to two.
JOB.
Two hours out of four and twenty! I hope all that belong to law,
are a little quicker than his worship; if not, when a case wants
immediate remedy, it's just eleven to one against us. Don't you know me?
SIMON.
Na.
JOB.
I'm sure I have seen you in Penzance.
SIMON.
My wife has got a chandler's shop there.
JOB.
Haven't you heard we've a fire engine in the church?
SIMON.
What o' that?
JOB.
Suppose your wife's shop was in flames,
and all her bacon and farthing candles frying?
SIMON.
And what then?
JOB.
Why then, while the house was burning, you'd run to the church
for the engine. Shou'dn't you think it plaguy hard if the
sexton said, "Call for it to-morrow, between twelve and two?"
SIMON.
That be neither here nor there.
JOB.
Isn't it! Then, do you see this stick?
[Menacing.]
SIMON.
Pshaw! you be a foolish old fellow.
JOB.
Why, that's true. Every now and then a jack-in-office, like you,
provokes a man to forget his years. The cudgel is a stout one,
and som'at like your master's justice;--'tis a good weapon in
weak hands; and that's the way many a rogue escapes a dressing.
--What! you are laughing at it?
SIMON.
Ees.
JOB.
Ees! you Cornish baboon, in a laced livery!
--Here's something to make you grin more--here's half a crown.
[Holding it up between his Finger and Thumb.]
SIMON.
Hee! hee!
JOB.
Hee, hee!--Damn your Land'send chops! 'tis to get me to your master:--but, before you have it, though he keeps a gentleman-justice-shop, I shall make free to ring it on his counter. [Throws it on the Floor.] There! pick it up. [SIMON picks up the money.] I am afraid you are not the first underling that has stoop'd to pocket a bribe, before he'd do his duty.--Now, tell the gentleman-justice, I want to see him.
SIMON.
I'll try what I can do for you.
[Exit.]
JOB.
What makes you tremble so, Mary?
MARY.
I can't help it:
--I wish I could persuade you to go back again.
JOB.
I'll stay till the roof falls, but I'll see some of 'em.
MARY.
Indeed, you don't know how you terrify me. But, if you go to
Sir Simon, you'll leave me here in the hall;
--you won't make me go with you, father?
JOB.
Not take you with me.
--I'll go with my wrongs in my hand, and make him blush for his son.
MARY.
I hope you'll think better of it.
JOB.
Why?
MARY.
Because, when you came to talk, I should sink with shame,
if he said any thing to you that might----that----
JOB.
Might what?
MARY.
[Sighing, and hanging down her Head.]
Make you blush for your daughter.
JOB.
I won't have you waiting, like a petitioner,
in this hall, when you come to be righted. No, no!
MARY.
You wouldn't have refused me any thing once;
--but I know I have lost your esteem, now.
JOB.
Lost!--forgive is forgive, all the world over. You know, Mary,
I have forgiven you: and, making it up by halves, is making
myself a brass teakettle--warm one minute, cold the next;
smooth without, and hollow within.
MARY.
Then, pray, don't deny me!--I'm sure you wouldn't,
if you knew half I am suffering.
JOB.
Do as you like, Mary; only never tell me again you have lost
my esteem. It looks like suspicion o' both sides.
--Never say that, and I can deny you nothing in reason,
--or, perhaps, a little beyond it.--
[Enter SIMON.]
Well, will the justice do a man the favour to do his duty? Will he see me?
SIMON.
Come into the room next his libery. A stranger, who's with
young master, ha' been waiting for un, longer nor you;
but I'll get you in first.
JOB.
I don't know, that that's quite fair to the other.
SIMON.
Ees, it be; for t'other didn't give I half a crown.
JOB.
Then, stay till I come back, Mary.--I see, my man, when you take a bribe, you are scrupulous enough to do your work for it; for which, I hope, somebody may duck you with one hand, and rub you dry with the other. Kindness and honesty, for kindness and honesty's sake, is the true coin; but many a one, like you, is content to be a passable Birmingham halfpenny.
[Exeunt JOB THORNBERRY and SIMON.]
MARY.
I wished to come to this house in the morning, and now I would give
the world to be out of it. Hark! here's somebody! Oh, mercy on me,
'tis he himself! What will become of me!
[Retires towards the Back of the Scene.]
[Enter FRANK ROCHDALE.]
FRANK.
My father, then, shall see this visitor, whatever be the event.
I will prepare him for the interview, and----
[Sees MARY.]
Good Heaven! why--why are you here?
MARY.
[Advancing to him eagerly.]
I don't come willingly to trouble you; I don't, indeed!
FRANK.
What motive, Mary, has brought you to this house? and who is
the stranger under whose protection you have placed yourself,
at the house on the heath? Surely you cannot love him!
MARY.
I hope I do.
FRANK.
You hope you do!
MARY.
Yes; for I think he saved my life this morning, when
I was struggling with the robber, who threatened to kill me.
FRANK.
And had you taken no guide with you, Mary?--no protector?
MARY.
I was thinking too much of one,
who promised to be my protector always, to think of any other.
FRANK.
Mary----I----I----'twas I, then, it seems who brought
your life into such hazard.
MARY.
I hope I haven't said any thing to make you unhappy.
FRANK.
Nothing, my dearest Mary, nothing. I know it is not in your
nature even to whisper a reproof. Yet, I sent a friend,
with full power from me, to give you the amplest protection.
MARY.
I know you did:--and he gave me a letter,
that I might be protected, when I got to London.
FRANK.
Why, then, commit yourself to the care of a stranger?
MARY.
Because the stranger read the direction of the letter--here it is,
[Taking it from her Pocket.]
and said your friend was treacherous.
FRANK.
[Looking at the Letter.]
Villain!
MARY.
Did he intend to lead me into a snare then?
FRANK.
Let me keep this letter.--I may have been deceived in the person I sent to you, but--damn his rascality! [Aside.] But, could you think me base enough to leave you, unsheltered? I had torn you from your home,--with anguish I confess it--but I would have provided you another home, which want should not have assailed. Would this stranger bring you better comfort?
MARY.
Oh, yes; he has; he has brought me my father.
FRANK.
Your father!--from whom I made you fly!
MARY.
Yes; he has brought a father to his child,--that she might
kiss off the tears her disobedience had forced down his
aged cheeks, and restored me to the only home, which could
give me any comfort, now.--And my father is here.
FRANK.
Here!
MARY.
Indeed, I cou'dn't help his coming; and he made me come with him.
FRANK.
I--I am almost glad, Mary, that it has happened.
MARY.
Are you?
FRANK.
Yes--when a weight of concealment is on the mind, remorse
is relieved by the very discovery which it has dreaded.
But you must not be waiting here, Mary. There is one in
the house, to whose care I will entrust you.
MARY.
I hope it isn't the person you sent to me to-day.
FRANK.
He! I would sooner cradle infancy with serpents.
--Yet this is my friend! I will, now, confide in a
stranger:--the stranger, Mary, who saved your life.
MARY.
Is he here!
FRANK.
He is:--Oh, Mary, how painful, if, performing the duty of a son, I must abandon, at last, the expiation of a penitent! but so dependent on each other are the delicate combinations of probity, that one broken link perplexes the whole chain, and an abstracted virtue becomes a relative iniquity.
[Exeunt.] _
Read next: Act 5: Scene 2
Read previous: Act 4: Scene 3
Table of content of Englishman's Fireside: A Comedy, in Five Acts
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
