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_ ACT II - SCENE V
Kitchen of the Widow LAKKEN'S Cottage.
A Door is seen open, into an inner Room.
MABEL, alone, (Sitting near the door of the inner room, spinning and singing[1].)
[Footnote 1: This song is set to music by Mr. Webbe.]
Sleep, mother, sleep! in slumber blest,
It joys my heart to see thee rest.
Unfelt in sleep thy load of sorrow;
Breathe free and thoughtless of to-morrow;
And long, and light, thy slumbers last,
In happy dreams forget the past.
Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest;
It joys my heart to see thee rest.
Many's the night she wak'd for me,
To nurse my helpless infancy:
While cradled on her patient arm,
She hush'd me with a mother's charm.
Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest;
It joys my heart to see thee rest.
And be it mine to soothe thy age,
With tender care thy grief assuage,
This hope is left to poorest poor,
And richest child can do no more.
Sleep, mother, sleep! thy slumber's blest;
It joys my heart to see thee rest.
While MABEL is singing the second stanza, OWEN and ANDREW HOPE enter. Mr. HOPE stops short, and listens: he makes a sign to OWEN to stand still, and not to interrupt MABEL--while OWEN approaches her on tiptoe.
Mr. H.
(aside)
She taks my fancy back to dear Scotland,
to my ain hame, and my ain mither, and my ain Kate.
Owen.
So Mabel! I thought you never sung for strangers?
[MABEL turns and sees Mr. HOPE--She rises and curtsies.]
Mr. H.
(advancing softly)
I fear to disturb the mother, whose slumbers are so blest,
and I'd fain hear that lullaby again. If the voice stop,
the mother may miss it, and wake.
Mabel.
(looking into the room in which her mother sleeps,
then closing the door gently)
No, sir,--she'll not miss my voice now,
I thank you--she is quite sound asleep.
Owen.
This is Mr. Andrew Hope, Mabel
--you might remember one of his name, a Serjeant Hope.
Mabel.
Ah! I mind--he that was sick with us, some time back.
Mr. H.
Ay, my brother that's dead,
and that your gude mither was so tender of,
when sick, charged me to thank you all, and so from my soul I do.
Mabel.
'Twas little my poor mother could do, nor any of us for him,
even then, though we could do more then than we could now,
and I'm glad he chanced to be with us in our better days.
Mr. H.
And I'm sorry you ever fell upon worse days, for you deserve the best; and will have such again, I trust. All I can say is this--that gif your brother here gangs with me, he shall find a brother's care through life fra' me.
Owen.
I wouldn't doubt you; and that you know, Mabel,
would be a great point, to have a friend secure in the regiment,
if I thought of going.
Mabel.
If!--Oh! what are you thinking of, Owen?
What is it you're talking of going?
(Turning towards the door of her mother's room suddenly.)
Take care, but she'd wake and hear you, and she'd never sleep easy again.
Owen.
And do you think so?
Mabel.
Do I think so? Am not I sure of it?
and you too, Owen, if you'd take time to think and feel.
Owen.
Why there's no doubt but it's hard, when the mother has reared the son, for him to quit her as soon as he can go alone; but it is what I was thinking: it is only the militia, you know, and I'd not be going out of the three kingdoms ever at all; and I could be sending money home to my mother, like Johnny Reel did to his.
Mabel.
Money is it? Then there's no money you could send her
--not the full of Lough Erne itself, in golden guineas,
could make her amends for the loss of yourself, Owen, and you know that.
Mr. H.
And I am not the man that would entice you to list, or gang with me, in contradiction to your duty at home, or your interest abroad: so (turning to MABEL) do not look on me as the tempter to evil, nor with distrust, as you do, kind sister as you are, and like my own Kate; but hear me coolly, and without prejudice, for it is his gude I wish.
Mabel.
I am listening then, and I ask your pardon if I looked a doubt.
Mr. H.
The gude mother must wish, above all things here below, the weal and advancement and the honour of her bairns; and she would not let the son be tied to her apron-strings, for any use or profit to herself, but ever wish him to do the best in life for his sel'. Is not this truth, gude friends--plain truth?
Mabel.
It is then--I own that: truth and sense too.
Owen.
Now see there, Mabel.
Mr. H.
And better for him to do something abroad than digging at home;
and in the army he might get on,--and here's the bugle-boy's pay.
Mabel.
Is it a bugle-boy you are thinking of making him?
Mr. H.
That's the only thing I could make him. I wish I could offer better.
Mabel.
Then, I thank you, sir, and I wouldn't doubt ye
--and it would be very well for a common boy that could only dig;
but my brother's no common boy, sir.
Owen.
Oh, Mabel!
Mabel.
Hush, Owen! for it's the truth I'm telling,
and if to your face I can't help it.
You may hide the face, but I won't hide the truth.
Mr. H.
Then speak on, my warm-hearted lassy, speak on.
Mabel.
Then, sir, he got an edication while ever my poor father lived, and no better scholar, they said, for the teaching he got:--but all was given over when the father died, and the troubles came, and Owen, as he ought, give himself up intirely for my mother, to help her, a widow. But it's not digging and slaving he is to be always:--it's with the head, as my father used to say, he'll make more than the hands; and we hope to get a clerk's place for him sometime, or there will be a schoolmaster wanting in this town, and that will be what he would be fit for; and not--but it's not civil, before you, a soldier, sir, to say the rest.
Mr. H.
Fear not, you will not give offence.
Mabel.
And not to be spending his breath blowing through a horn all his days,
for the sake of wearing a fine red coat. I beg your pardon again, sir,
if I say too much--but it's to save my brother and my mother.
Mr. H.
I like you the better for all you've said for both.
Owen.
And I'm off entirely:--I'll not list, I thank you, sir.
[MABEL clasps her hands joyfully, then embraces her brother.]
Mr. H.
And I'll not ask you to list--and I would not have asked it at all,
but that a friend of yours told me it would be the greatest service
I could do you, and that it was the thing of all others you wished.
Owen.
That friend was Christy Gallagher: but he was mistaken--that's all.
Mabel.
I hope that's all. But I've no dependance on him for a friend, nor has my mother.
Owen.
Why, he was saying to me, and I could not say against it,
that he had a right to propose for the inn if he could,
though Gilbert and we wanted to get it.
Mabel.
Then I wonder why Christy should be preferred rather than my mother.
Owen.
Then that's a wonder--and I can't understand how that was.
Mr. H.
I have one more thing to say, or to do, which I should like better, if you'll give me leave. If there's a difficulty aboot the rent of this new inn that you are talking of, I have a little spare money, and you're welcome to it:--I consider it as a debt of my brother's, which I am bound to pay; so no obligation in life--tell me how much will do.
[Takes out his purse.]
Owen and Mabel.
You are very kind--you are very good.
Mr. H.
No, I am not--I am only just. Say only how much will do.
Owen.
Alas! money won't do now, sir. It's all settled,
and Christy says he has a promise of it in writing from the lady.
Mr. H.
May be this Christy might sell his interest, and we will see--I will not say till I find I can do. Fare ye weel till we meet, as I hope we shall, at the dance that's to be at the castle. The band is to be there, and I with them, and I shall hope for this lassy's hand in the dance.
Mabel.
(aside)
And Gilbert that never asked me!
(Aloud)
I thank you kindly, sir, I sha'n't go to the dance at-all-at-all,
I believe--my mother had better take her rest,
and I must stay with her--a good night to you kindly.
[Exit MABEL into her mother's room.]
Mr. H.
This sister of yours would leave me no heart to carry back to Scotland, I fear, but that I'm a married man already, and have my own luve--a Kate of my own, that's as fair as she, and as gude, and that's saying much.
Owen.
(aside)
Much more than Florinda Gallagher will like to hear.
Mr. H.
I shall thank you if you will teach me, for my Kate,
the words of that song your sister was singing when we came in.
Owen.
I believe it's to flatter me you say this, for that song is my writing.
Mr. H.
Yours?
Owen.
Mine, such as it is.
Mr. H.
Sic a ane as you are then,
I'm glad you are not to be a bugle-boy: your sister is right.
Owen.
I'll teach you the words as we go along.
Mr. H.
Do so;--but mind now this song-writing do not lead you to idleness.
We must see to turn your edication to good account.
(Aside)
Oh, I will never rest till I pay my brother's debt,
some way or other, to this gude family.
[Exeunt.] _
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