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_ ACT I
SCENE I. A little dark Parlour in Boston:
GUARDS standing at the door.
HAZLEROD, CRUSTY CROWBAR, SIMPLE SAPLING, HATEALL, and HECTOR MUSHROOM.
SIMPLE.
I know not what to think of these sad times,
The people arm'd,--and all resolv'd to die
Ere they'll submit.----
CRUSTY CROWBAR.
I too am almost sick of the parade
Of honours purchas'd at the price of peace.
SIMPLE.
Fond as I am of greatness and her charms,
Elate with prospects of my rising name,
Push'd into place,--a place I ne'er expected,
My bounding heart leapt in my feeble breast.
And ecstasies entranc'd my slender brain.--
But yet, ere this I hop'd more solid gains,
As my low purse demands a quick supply.--
Poor Sylvia weeps,--and urges my return
To rural peace and humble happiness,
As my ambition beggars all her babes.
CRUSTY.
When first I listed in the desp'rate cause,
And blindly swore obedience to his will,
So wise, so just, so good I thought Rapatio,
That if salvation rested on his word
I'd pin my faith, and risk my hopes thereon.
HAZLEROD.
Any why not now?--What staggers thy belief?
CRUSTY.
Himself--his perfidy appears--
It is too plain he has betray'd his country;
And we're the wretched tools by him mark'd out
To seal its ruins--tear up the ancient forms,
And every vestige treacherously destroy,
Nor leave a trait of freedom in the land.
Nor did I think hard fate wou'd call me up
From drudging o'er my acres,
Treading the glade, and sweating at the plough,
To dangle at the tables of the great;
At bowls and cards to spend my frozen years;
To sell my friends, my country, and my conscience;
Profane the sacred sabbaths of my God;
Scorn'd by the very men who want my aid
To spread distress o'er this devoted people.
HAZLEROD.
Pho--what misgivings--why these idle qualms,
This shrinking backwards at the bugbear conscience;
In early life I heard the phantom nam'd,
And the grave sages prate of moral sense
Presiding in the bosom of the just;
Or planting thongs about the guilty heart.
Bound by these shackles, long my lab'ring mind,
Obscurely trod the lower walks of life,
In hopes by honesty my bread to gain;
But neither commerce, or my conjuring rods,
Nor yet mechanics, or new fangled drills,
Or all the iron-monger's curious arts,
Gave me a competence of shining ore,
Or gratify'd my itching palm for more;
Till I dismiss'd the bold intruding guest,
And banish'd conscience from my wounded breast.
CRUSTY.
Happy expedient!--Could I gain the art,
Then balmy sleep might sooth my waking lids,
And rest once more refresh my weary soul.
HAZLEROD.
Resolv'd more rapidly to gain my point,
I mounted high in justice's sacred seat,
With flowing robes, and head equip'd without,
A heart unfeeling and a stubborn soul,
As qualify'd as e'er a Jefferies was;
Save in the knotty rudiments of law,
The smallest requisite for modern times,
When wisdom, law, and justice are supply'd
By swords, dragoons, and ministerial nods,
Sanctions most sacred in the Pander's creed,
I sold my country for a splendid bribe.
Now let her sink--and all the dire alarms
Of war, confusion, pestilence, and blood,
And tenfold mis'ry be her future doom--
Let civil discord lift her sword on high,
Nay, sheath its hilt e'en in my brother's blood;
It ne'er shall move the purpose of my soul;
Tho' once I trembled at a thought so bold;
By Philalethes's arguments, convinc'd,
We may live Demons, as we die like brutes,
I give my tears, and conscience to the winds.
HATEALL.
Curse on their coward fears, and dastard souls,
Their soft compunctions and relented qualms,
Compassion ne'er shall seize my steadfast breast
Though blood and carnage spread thro' all the land;
Till streaming purple tinge the verdant turf,
Till ev'ry street shall float with human gore,
I Nero-like, the capital in flames,
could laugh to see her glotted sons expire,
Tho' much too rough my soul to touch the lyre.
SIMPLE.
I fear the brave, the injur'd multitude,
Repeated wrongs, arouse them to resent,
And every patriot like old Brutus stands,
The shining steel half drawn--its glitt'ring point
Scarce hid beneath the scabbard's friendly cell,
Resolv'd to die, or see their country free.
HATEALL.
Then let them die--The dogs we will keep down--
While N----'s my friend, and G---- approves the deed,
Tho' hell and all its hell-hounds should unite,
I'll not recede to save from swift perdition
My wife, my country, family, or friends.
G----'s mandamus I more highly prize
Than all the mandates of th' etherial king.
HECTOR MUSHROOM.
Will our abettors in the distant towns
Support us long against the common cause,
When they shall see from Hampshire's northern bounds
Thro' the wide western plains to southern shores
The whole united continent in arms?----
HATEALL.
They shall--as sure as oaths or bond can bind;
I've boldly sent my new-born brat abroad,
Th' association of my morbid brain,
To which each minion must affix his name,
As all our hope depends on brutal force,
On quick destruction, misery, and death;
Soon may we see dark ruin stalk around,
With murder, rapine, and inflicted pains;
Estates confiscate, slav'ry, and despair,
Wrecks, halters, axes, gibbeting and chains,
All the dread ills that wait on civil war;----
How I could glut my vengeful eyes to see
The weeping maid thrown helpless on the world,
Her sire cut off.--Her orphan brothers stand,
While the big tear rolls down the manly cheek.
Robb'd of maternal care by grief's keen shaft,
The sorrowing mother mourns her starving babes,
Her murder'd lord torn guiltless from her side,
And flees for shelter to the pitying grave
To screen at once from slavery and pain.
HAZLEROD.
But more complete I view this scene of woe,
By the incursions of a savage foe,
Of which I warn'd them, if they dare refuse
The badge of slaves, and bold resistance use.
Now let them suffer--I'll no pity feel.
HATEALL.
Nor I!----But had I power, as I have the will,
I'd send them murm'ring to the shades of hell.
End of the First Act. _
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