Edited by Tracy C. Davis
From a Microsoft Word file produced by Tracy C. Davis
The action takes place in the county of Kent, in October, 1740
In the hop-gardens, which surround the inn belonging to old John
Tuppitt, the countryfolk of the neighbourhood of Chanticleer Hall,
in the county of Kent, the property of Squire Bantam, are enjoying
themselves on the morning of an autumn day, in the middle of the
last century. The picking is nearly over, and the pickers are
looking forward to the feasting and jollity with which, thanks to
their goodhearted old landlord, their labour is to end. Dorothy
Bantam, the Squire's daughter, and Lydia Hawthorne, his niece, are
not sorry for an opportunity to put off their hoops and furbelows
and join in the festivities. They arrive on the scene just in time
to find that Phyllis, old Tuppitt's daughter, has rashly promised
to marry Tom Strutt, a yokel of the village, and that no warning
of theirs will induce her to alter her mind. This is not at all
what they like; for Dorothy and Lydia not only preach that woman
should remain free from the fetters of matrimony, but they
practise what they preach, and have sworn to remain single. It is
possible that Dorothy's determination may arise from the fact that
her father has already settled her wedded lot. If she marries
anyone she must marry Geoffrey Wilder, Squire Bantam's nephew and
heir, for the old man has set his heart on the match. But she has
never seen her cousin, who has been living a pretty wild life in
London. As luck will have it, however, on this very day Wilder,
with the bailiffs at his heels, on his way to his uncle's house,
compelled by the pressure of debt to cry "peccavi,”
Trans. I have sinned.
A dance is being given by Squire Bantam to his neighbours. The festivities are going on merrily, when a servant announces the arrival of a stranger. This is no other than Lurcher, who, disguised as the Secretary of the Duke of Berkshire, has come to announce the breakdown of his Grace's carriage in the neighbourhood of Chanticleer Hall, and to beg the Squire's hospitality. The Squire wishes for nothing better than to receive a member of the aristocracy into his house, and Wilder is ushered in, accompanied by Sherwood. The two gentlemen do not recognize the ladies in their powder, and Wilder makes an express stipulation with his friend that he is not to be bothered with his cousin Dorothy. As the evening goes on the charms of Lydia have a very serious effect on Wilder, while Sherwood is at Dorothy's feet. And an opportunity soon occurs for Dorothy to show Lydia what “a base and faithless thing is a man, by inducing Sherwood to give her up the ring which Lydia had given him in the morning; while Lydia, with Wilder at her feet, has no difficulty in gaining possession of Dorothy's ring. Meantime the night has come, lights are put out, the guests retire to rest, and in the dark, Wilder, Sherwood, and Lurcher proceed to carry out Wilder's scheme. Cloaked and masked, they rouse the Squire's attention and pinion him. At the same time Sherwood binds Wilder. The house is soon roused by the Squire's cries; but, when the guests reappear, everyone is astonished to find that the robbers, whoever they are, have taken none of their host's money. The “Duke,” however, has not been so fortunate. His money-box is empty. To allow a guest to be plundered in his house, without making good the loss, is what the old Squire cannot permit, and, after some little hesitation, His Grace accepts as a loan the amount which is stated by Lovelier to be missing, and which happens to correspond exactly with the amount claimed of Mr. Geoffrey Wilder by the Sheriff. The early dawn sets the men afoot with the hounds —for the Squire starts his late autumn day, now and then, with a gallop after a cub—and while the ladies retire to their broken slumber, the gentlemen get ready for a morning's exercise.
The Act opens with the wedding of Phyllis to Tom Strutt. The bridesmaids and groomsmen come to fetch her. And now Dorothy and Lydia are going to see what is the real value of the protestations of their unfaithful swains. Wisdom has come with the morning. Wilder and Sherwood have returned to Dorcas and Abigail, and have written to withdraw their pledges of the night before to Dorothy and Lydia. In reply to their letters, they have received a challenge from two young gentlemen, who are prepared to call them to account fur their conduct to Miss Dorothy Bantam and Miss Lydia Hawthorne; and the two ladies are waiting in Round Coppice to find out whether the men they have chosen will prefer a duel to giving them up. Lydia is nervous about the pistols, but Dorothy reassures her. They have brought their own pistols, which will only be loaded with powder. When, however, their adversaries arrive, it seems that they will have to use the pistols which those gentlemen have brought, and which will probably contain bullets. It is with a not entirely unmixed feeling of satisfaction that they hear that the gentlemen decline to marry Dorothy and Lydia, and are prepared to risk their lives for the sake of Dorcas and Abigail, so eventually flight seems to be the only way out of the difficulty. The Squire is on his way to the old oak in Round Coppice, where Tom and Phyllis, who have been married, come for 'his blessing. Lurcher has betrayed the plot. But the Squire is ready to forgive everything if his nephew is ready to marry Dorothy, and eventually the old gentleman has his way. Dorothy marries her cousin; Lydia marries Sherwood; and the awkward circumstances under which Dorothy's ring found its way on to Lydia's finger, and Lydia's ring on to Dorothy's, are overlooked, for each lady knows that her lover was ready to die rather than marry her friend.
Climbing stem of the hop.
Now my lad, I can’t have any loitering about here. My lass has got her work to do. You will have more than enough of her by and by, if she takes after her poor mother.
All right Muster Tuppitt – I’ll be off to parson to get him to name the day.
Day! What day?
The wedding day, to be sure! I was thinking that to-morrow would be a likely kind of day.
Oh! To-morrow would be much too soon!
Nay lass, what has to be done should be done quickly.
Then to-morrow it shall be.
Settle it as you please. I shall have no peace till you have your
own way. Now Phyllis bustle about and get the tables ready. Dorcas
has got her pots on, and there will be a mighty lot of hungry
mouths to fill. I’ll just go and taste that last cask of ours.
Come along, Tom.
Father is very fond of that ale, and can’t keep his lips off it.
It ain’t easy for a man to keep his lips off anything that he is
very fond of.
Lor Tom, how could you!
Oh, Phyllis!
Oh, Phyllis!
Miss Dorothy! How you did frighten me!
Serve you right –
Why did you let him do it?
Why didn’t you slap his face?
Why didn’t you scream?
If it were only for the sake of appearances –
Really, I am ashamed of you!
But I am going to be married, Miss –
To be married?
To whom?
To Tom Strutt.
Dear me! I am sorry for you.
What a pity to spoil such a nice girl!
Lor, Miss! How you frighten me. Why, Tom is as handsome as paint, and as good as gold!
Paint, my dear, is often used to cover a hole in the plank.
And as for virtue in man, it is here to-day and gone to-morrow.
You take my advice and draw back, or you will repent when it is too late.
Don’t you have anything to do with marriage.
But what am I to do?
Do without it.
As we do. Listen to us.
Well there, Phyllis, you have my opinion, and if you don’t follow it, you will get no pity from me.
Nor from me. What do you think of our dresses?
They are beautiful!
Do you think anyone will notice us?
Oh, dear me, Miss! Nobody would possibly guess that you were ladies.
Oh!
But, Lydia, you don’t want anyone to guess who you are.
I am not so sure of that.
Did we not agree that we would throw off our hoops and our furbelows for one day, and join in the village feast as if we had done nothing all our lives but milk cows and clean our cottage floors?
But they will know us for all our disguise.
Without our powder? Don’t flatter yourself, my dear. Who will ever guess that I, Dorothy Bantam, the Squire’s daughter, and Lydia Hawthorne, his niece, are masquerading amongst the yokels of the village? Come, Lydia, pocket your pride, put on your best smile, and I promise you, before the day is an hour older, that some rustic swain shall be at your feet.
A ploughman, perhaps.
What of that? A ploughman is better than no man.
And what am I to say, miss, if any questions are asked?
Say what you please – stay! We must agree in our story. Say that we are your sisters.
But what will father say to that?
Let him be in the secret. He will find some tale to justify the sudden increase to his family.
I will make him understand, and now I must run away and help
Dorcas with her pots.
Poor girl! She will know more about it someday.
When it is too late. I pity her!
This is the fifth marriage that has taken place during the month.
If we don’t take care we shall be the only spinsters left in the village.
But we shall never swerve from our determination to remain single.
Never!
Let us once more swear to –
Yes, let us swear.
Why, who are these?
Men, my dear, human creatures. They are coming this way.
Gentlemen – and good looking too!
They will take us for serving maids. We had best be going.
What! Would you fly at the first sign of the enemy? Oh, lud! Here
they come!
Pretty maidens – Stay one moment. Turn and give your assistance to two honest fellows in distress. Our horses are lame. We have lost our way.
And we would know –
Where we can stay to-night?
Really Gentlemen – if you will inquire in the house they will help you –
Nay – why such haste?
What! Do you run away from your customers?
We must act up to our parts, cousin. Put your manners in your pocket.
Don’t go yet.
You must not stir.
But if you do not let us go, how shall you quench your thirst?
I had forgotten that I had a thirst.
And I that I had anything but a heart.
They have the perfect mien of fine ladies at St. James’s.
I am surprised – such dialect too! Don’t let her go, Geoffrey!
Not I.
Pray, Sir! As you are a gentleman.
You would not leave us all alone in a strange place?
Give me my hand, and let me go.
Not till you have told me who and what you are.
Nay, Sir, I beg of you!
It is impossible to see you and not to talk in raptures.
And yet you have only just set eyes on me.
A good reason for never having loved you before, and a better one for loving you now.
Your speech is involved, Sir.
Shall I make my meaning plainer to your lips?
Oh, Dorothy! What shall I do?
What is the matter, cousin?
He offered to kiss me!
Did he? How nice of him!
Answer our question, and you shall be free to go where you will, provided you promise to return immediately.
You will forget all about us, even if I tell you who we are.
Never!
Well then, I am Dorcas, and this is my cousin Abigail –
Now we know –
Come along, or you will mix up the relationship so that there will be no disentangling the confusion. And now, gentlemen, having satisfied your curiosity we will bring you that which shall appease your thirst. Come, cousin!
Stay!
What is it?
The relationships in this fair hamlet seem somewhat mixed.
Simple enough it seems to me.
What! When your charmer declared herself to be her own cousin?
Do you doubt her word, Sir?
Nay; heaven forbid!
I never beheld anything so charming.
What a shape!
What a neck!
What an instep!
What a foot!
You don’t mean my girl, I hope, Sir, –
Nor you mine, I trust, Sir!
Mine is the most beautiful piece of flesh and blood –
Mine the sweetest – most angelic little rogue –
Hang your St. James’s manners and brocades, say I!
I am stark mad for dairymaids and dimity. Ten thousand – thousand –
Pray give me leave, Sir –
What say you, Sir, do you accept my toast?
With all my heart – for my girl.
Of course!
And to think that we should have been wasting our time among the rouged and painted sirens of the ring, while such a pair of beauties were waiting for us.
Harry! I renounce the town and all its ways. From henceforth behold me the slave of my country goddess!
Until your rural peace be disturbed by our friend Lurcher.
Our worthy friend, the sheriff’s office! I had forgotten all about him.
He will not have forgotten all about you after the fall you gave him as we came out of the Wells.
Ha! Ha! And we took the last of the nags and left him to pursue us on foot.
He is sure to track you here.
And, if he does, I shall throw myself on my uncle’s mercy, as was my purpose when first I started. Cry “peccavi,” promise to be a good boy, and try my best to swallow my cousin Dorothy, though the pill will be a bitter one!
I wish you well out of your scrapes with all my heart. What is the account of the debt?
Nay, Harry, why worry our heads about the figures on a writ when we have other figures to think of – and such figures!
There is a touch of gentility beneath those rustic ways.
There is some mystery about them.
We shall soon know, for here comes the father.
Gentlemen, your humble servant!
The landlord!
At your service, Sir. Your horses have been attended to. Have you far to ride?
As far as Squire Bantam’s.
Then you are close to the end of your journey, for he lives but two miles from here.
I would it had been further by some miles –
I will see that your nags are fed, and ready for you to proceed at once.
Nay – there is no great hurry so that we find shelter at the Squire’s to-night.
You will find a goodly company there, and a hospitable welcome. Do you know his worship?
I should know him, but it is some years since we met. I am his nephew.
I am pleased to see you, Sir.
Egad! It is more than my uncle will be.
Will you dine, Sir? We have a bean-feast preparing.
The bean-feast by all means. What say you, Wilder?
It depends on the company – you are bidden?
All the village.
Men – ?
And women.
Then the bean-feast by all means!
And in the meantime we would ask for a taste of your ale.
You shall have it, Sir. My daughters have just gone to draw it.
Your daughters – !
Yes Sir.
Come, come, lasses – Bustle about! The tables have to be laid.
One word –
Nay, Sir, not one.
Then let it be two or more.
I must not listen to you.
If your duty forbids let your inclination yield.
And what if my inclination lies in the same direction as my duty?
Then you should have said, I will not listen to you.
It is easy to say that now.
Yes; if you have the will. But you have not; I can read it in your face.
And who are you, Sir, that read so readily in the pages which you first studied half an hour ago?
I should have presented myself before. I am Geoffrey Wilder.
Geoffrey Wilder!
Your most obedient servant and slave, nephew to Squire Bantam of Chanticleer Hall, in this very neighbourhood, who lays himself, which is all he has, at your feet, and implores –
Stay, Sir, has not the Squire a daughter called Dorothy?
I understand that there is something of that kind about his premises.
And you are the Mr. Wilder who is destined for the Squire’s daughter. At least, so my father tells me.
What! I marry Dorothy Bantam? A stuck-up, pert, conceited little minx!
Oh!
Who gives herself the airs of a beauty because, forsooth, she once managed to get up to town and squeeze herself into decent company.
He shall suffer for this.
(Aloud)
But you have never seen the lady, Sir – at least, so my father
says.
No, thank Heaven! I was absent from town when she arrived. But I have heard of her –
Heard what of her?
Nay, child, do not let us discuss her further. It is you and you
alone I love!
But you are bound to the Squire’s house, and to-night you will see
your cousin Dorothy, and you will swear that you love
her
, and you will kiss
her
hand.
Never! I swear it! Not if she begs for it on her knees.
She is not likely to do that.
One never knows what these little country girls are likely to do.
Oh! Wait till we meet this evening!
And so, my darling – you –
Hulloa! How did you get there?
Tell me, is there a very red mark on my cheek?
Yes, rather. Where did you get it?
She is as powerful as she is beautiful.
Oh fie! Well, Harry, I have made up my mind to marry Dorcas.
To marry her? But how about your cousin Dorothy, and your plan to propitiate your uncle by accepting her hand, and having your debts paid?
I will have none of my cousin Dorothy and her fine airs! – Give me dimity and sweet simplicity –
And the money –
Money! What is money, compared to true love?
Have you ever tried that sentiment on your creditors?
Not yet.
Then now’s your chance – for, if I mistake not, here is our friend Lurcher close on your heels.
What! The Bailiff? I thought we have given him the slip!
He must have followed us –
What is to be done?
Costs – fifty pounds. Fifty and twenty make eighty-four!
Preposterous!
And since the costs in the writ have been incurred, there is a matter of personal damage to settle. Look at my hat, gentlemen! Then there is a charge for delay, discomforture, loss of temper, loss of time –
How loss of time?
Not a nag to be had at the last stage – my own worn down to knacker’s meat, – I have had to tramp through the mire six weary miles in discharge of my duty to the Court.
I have no doubt the Court will requite thee.
Will the Court give me a new hat?
Let me but give thee the slip once more, and my eternal gratitude –
Will eternal gratitude mend my breeches? And now, Sir, are you going to pay?
It is a most preposterous thing to ask a man to pay when he has not got the money.
You will have to give in to your uncle’s wishes and marry your cousin after all.
What! Give up Dorcas and dimity? Never! Stay – I have an idea. What if I can get the money?
How?
From my uncle.
Your uncle? There isn’t one in the neighbourhood!
I mean Squire Bantam, who inhabits the great house in the neighbourhood. He shall lend me the money, and not know that he lends it to me – I’ll extort it from him by stratagem.
But how?
You know the Squire. He is excessively fond of quality, and
piquets
Spelled “piques” in original. Two speeches later,
Wilder refers to “piquet.” Probably both should be “piquet,”
(or piquette) a two-handed card game.
What then, Sir?
Why then, I will be a man of quality – I’ll clap a blue ribbon across my shoulder, and a patch upon my face – and, if you will both assist me, we will wait upon the Squire to-night, and be received with as much joy and ceremony as if we were really what we appeared.
And his Grace will play the Squire at piquet after supper and bite him –
No, no – the Squire never plays – I have a more honourable design than that, I assure you.
What is it? Out with it, Geoffrey.
Why, when the family are fast asleep, we will clap on our masks –
And rob the house!
Rob the house! What? Do you think I will be hanged for your projects?
There shall be no robbery. We will bind him first, and ourselves afterwards, and yet not rob the house of a shilling.
Nay, Sir – I will not be fooled like this. I have business in
the neighbourhood which will take me some five minutes and when
I return to town it must be with your money or yourself.
But my good friend –
My worthy Lurcher!
It is impossible, Gentlemen –
What is to be done now?
I must carry out my design without him.
And what is it, Dick?
Don’t enquire further. Trust me with the conduct of this affair, and if I can but convince that surly bailiff, I’ll venture my life I shall succeed –
I’ll ask no more questions. I am ready to follow where you lead. Here come our charmers once more.
Now, cousin, if you will follow my lead, I will show you what a base and faithless thing is a man.
But how?
Have you the ring I gave you?
What with the green stone? I never part with it.
Nor I with that you gave me with the red stone, but we shall have to part with them to-day.
What! Give them away?
Nay! Only loan them for a time. We shall recover them to-night.
What do you mean?
Follow my lead, I say. Do as I do, and you shall see.
Will you not let me help you?
Let me show you the way.
Nay, no more love I entreat you.
I know by your looks what you mean.
Have you no pity?
Nay, child, it is you and you alone that I love. In you I see the most perfect charm!
But can you love me for your life? A poor country girl without a position –
I would marry thee though I worked with my own hands.
I will not – cannot live without you!
Oh, man! – for flattery and deceit renowned.
Let me speak to your father.
Not to-day. But meet me here to-morrow at the same hour. Take
this ring
Meet me here to-morrow at the same hour, and when you shew me this ring you shall have my answer.
I swear that it shall never leave my fingers.
I will never part with it.
Save me, Sir, for mercy’s sake!
One good turn deserves another. If I do will you follow me to-night?
Indeed I will, Sir – anything you please!
My lads – this gentleman is a particular friend of mine, and anyone who touches him will have to deal with me.
This is no time for quarrelling.
Who can refuse?
Madam – I am your most obedient – will you take any refreshment
after your exertions?
My name, Sir, is Blazes – Secretary to His Grace the Duke of Berkshire.
Sir, I am prouder to know you –
His Grace is on his way to the South Coast for the benefit of his health, but on the road his carriage has broken down.
In this neighbourhood?
At your very gates –
Lord – Lord! That any ruts of mine should so behave to his Grace!
And now he craves for us your hospitality for a night, until his carriage be repaired.
Craves it! Why he should command it – And where is he?
He is without –
Without! And here am I standing in my own hall, with a Duke
knocking at my front door. Nobody of any degree or quality passes
by my house. Nobody entertains like me – there is a kind of grace,
an art, a manner in these things which naturally slips from me.
But I forget myself, and must hasten to greet my noble guest –
Mr. Bantam – I am your most faithful and obedient servant, I am
glad of the accident which makes me your guest. I could by no
means have excused myself if I had passed by and not paid my
respects.
Gentlemen! I am proud to welcome you to my house, though ‘tis but a doghole, may it please your Grace, a mere doghole. I have a clean bed or so – a bottle or two of good wine
But your Grace’s goodness –
His Grace’s goodness Ha! ha! ha!
What!
Silence, fool!
My Secretary is of a somewhat hilarious turn of mind. I love to be
surrounded by mirth
Do you spy your cousin, Geoffrey?
Not I! But patience, she will be here in good time. Remember, I am not to be plagued with her. She is yours.
I accept the gift.
Nay, Sir, it is the raw material.
So much the better. It warms the inside.
No, Mr. Lurcher!
Sir – I mean your Grace –
Put it down!
That is what I was about to do.
Put the bottle down, I say.
A good soul, but rough in his ways.
But serves you well, I doubt not, your Grace.
Serves me excellently well
Your Grace is pleased to admire my humble abode.
And a cozy little strong box for the guineas. Eh! Squire?
A paltry few, but, such as they are, entirely at your Grace’s commands.
Egad! My dear uncle I have a good mind to take you at your word.
Your Grace’s condescension in observing these trifles quite overwhelms me.
Though –
I am positively overpowered –
My good Sir, you do not observe that I am about to make a remark.
I humbly crave your Grace’s pardon.
If I may be permitted to say so – the grace, the ease, the facility, the excellence, the
Good Lud!
I humbly crave your Grace’s pardon!
‘Tis granted.
I budget not without your worship.
Look to him, Harry, or his follies will mar our plot.
Will your Grace be pleased to sup –
We have already supped on the road.
A glass of old hock, with a little dash of palm [sic].
By no means.
Or a Seville orange squeezed into a glass of old Canary?
Not one drop.
Well, well, what news? What news in London? I have a nephew there – I have not seen the profligate there these ten years.
Your Grace must taste one glass of our own especial brew – come, come –
This nephew of mine has been a very wild lad.
I am sorry for this.
He disobeys me, and yet he is my kin.
And spends your money: eh! Mr. Bantam?
Nay, none of that, your Grace – He shall not have a groat of mine while I live, but when I die he must.
I must have a small matter while you live, dear uncle.
What’s your Grace’s pleasure? My ears did not rightly lay hold of your last words.
I say you should allow him a small matter while you live.
No, no – not while he squanders it as he does, and refuses to settle down and marry his cousin Dorothy.
Ah! he has a cousin?
My daughter – your Grace!
Like her father no doubt, and surpassingly beautiful.
Your Grace is pleased to flatter.
Now Harry, I will have none of my cousin Dorothy – I resign her to you.
Egad! I am content.
Here comes my daughter and her cousin.
Ye powers! What beauty! What enchanting grace.
In such a spot as this quite out of place:
Your Grace is welcome –
Ma’am I kiss your hand.
I am your most obedient to command.
That hand, that figure, I have seen before.
It cannot be!
I have, and I am sure I recognize the ways.
It must be so.
They were our faithful swains not long ago,
How could they think so shallow a disguise,
Could serve to hide them from a woman’s eyes.
My dear Sir John, I trust my presence here,
Will never be allowed to interfere
With any entertainment.
Please your Grace –
What teeth!
What lips!
What eyes!
A perfect face!
Your pardon. What were you about to say?
That if your Grace would join us in the dance,
My limbs have long since lost their power to prance But I could hobble through some stately measure
If this fair lady lends her hand.
With pleasure!
No more dimity for me, say I –
Hang your beauty unadorned –
Now like you my cousin Dorothy?
Exquisite! Enchanting!
I am glad of it. I give her up to you, Harry – Be happy. As for me I am all for Lydia –
Your Grace must try the parson’s brew – Nay, I will not be denied.
Well then, just a sip.
Do you leave the toast to your guests, Sir John?
Nay, Sir, by your leave I will give you one.
Yes, yes – The Squire’s toast.
Most polite
There go the rings.
How shall we answer to dimity to-morrow, for the loss of their love-tokens?
To-morrow, Harry, is to-morrow, and will have to answer for itself. But now to business. You understand my plan?
Perfectly!
Has Lurcher the cloaks and vizards?
He brought them with him.
Where is the lazy scoundrel. Asleep, I’ll wager!
I bid him wait in the hall until we called. (Looks out of door at back.) Ah; there he is! Wake up man!
Very sorry Sir. Dooty is sooty, and I must –
He has not quite recovered from the parson’s brew. Where are our disguises?
Oh, Sir! For Heaven’s sake – think better of it! We might be all hung for this job!
But, I tell you man, there is to be no robbery.
But assault and battery – and misdemeanour and forgery by strangulation – I know the law, Sir.
Come, come, a little courage and you shall have your share, robbery or no robbery. Hand over the cloaks and masks.
Here they are
A pistol! Is it loaded?
Heaven forbid, Sir! It hasn’t been loaded these ten years.
So much the better! It will be the very thing for our affair. Now let me see whether I can drum your instructions into your muddled pate. First, we shall attract the notice of my worthy uncle.
His worthy uncle! Do you understand?
Worthy uncle.
He is sure to think that his house is being robbed, and will be in terror for the safety of his guineas in yonder strong-box.
Strong-box! Do you understand?
Strong-box.
Then you shall come in terror from my room, and declare that I have been robbed and bound.
And then? What then?
Then we shall see what we shall see. Go into my room, and be ready to obey my further instructions to the letter, or to perish in the attempt.
Oh, Lud! To think that a respectable sheriff’s officer should
have to submit to commit a breach of the peace!
Now, Harry – are you ready?
Ready to do or die!
Obsolete slang, a copper half-penny.
Will your Grace resume your broken rest? Or will you be pleased to start the early morning with a fresh brew?
No more of the brew, Squire. The day is breaking.
And as I live, your men are on foot with the hounds!
‘Tis but to blood our cups with an early cub. But if your Grace will join us.
The very thing.
I have a nag or two very much at your disposal.
And a gallop across the fields shall serve to wipe out the memories of the night, eh, Squire?
There goes Phyllis to be married. Heigh ho! I wonder when our turn will come. Now Lydia – a little more confidence, a dash of bravado.
I feel so strange in this dress. I fear that someone will see us.
What if they do, cousin? They will but take us for two gallants from town. Have you the pistols?
Here they are!
Set them down.
Do you think that they will come?
I haven’t a doubt of it. I know they received our letter this morning –
And what shall we do then?
Why then, my dear, we shall give them the choice of a duel or a marriage with the ladies whom they met last night.
And if they consent to marry?
If they consent to marry, we will never speak to them again.
But, Dorothy, what if they prefer to fight?
Then we shall know that they love us, for ourselves, and then, Lydia, then –
But the pistols?
We shall take good care to load them ourselves only with powder. They will go off with a little puff. You will scream. I shall not. All will end happily, and who knows Mr. Wilder may have to marry his cousin Dorothy after all.
Why, Dorothy?
Why Lydia! And I’ll be bound to say that you will be content to pair off with his friend – Here is his letter – I must read it once more.
“Madam” – so his note begins.
And mine begins the same
The letters are as like as twins.
Except the writer’s name –
Oh, lord, here they come! Let us watch them from behind this tree and see what effect our letters have had on them.
This must be the spot, Harry.
And here is the tree, under which these bloodthirsty provincials
would call us to account.
One might almost treat the affair as a joke if it were not for our
honour which must needs stand up to be shot at for an opinion in
favour of one woman against another. Let me see.
“Your letter has been handed to me.”
“By Miss Lydia Hawthorne.”
“By Miss Dorothy Bantam, and as that young lady’s best friend, I insist upon an explanation or immediate satisfaction.”
“You will find me ready for either at the Hermits’ Oak in Mile Coppice at eleven of the clock this morning – your obedient humble servant to command Percy Dasher.”
“Tilbury Slocomb” – The letters are identical in all respects except the name.
There’s no doubt about it. They are in earnest.
Here they are
Good gracious! There’ll be bullets in there.
And now, Harry, if anything should happen to me.
Pshaw! Man, what are you thinking of?
These rustic blades are dangerous fellows.
Do you hear that, Dorothy?
They shoot straight. You will not fail to tell my dear Abigail that I remained faithful to her to the last – that I preferred death to giving her up.
What do you say to that?
And how about the ring which she gave you, and which you so rashly handed over to Miss Lydia, last night.
Say that you buried it with me.
Oh! Why I have it on my finger now.
You can depend upon me. And you will do the same by me with my sweet Dorcas.
I will, Harry –
You will say that never for a moment was her sweet image absent from my heart.
And the ring you gave to my little cousin, Dorothy?
Say, that it was so tightly and lovingly clasped in my death grasp that no effort could tear it away from the finger which it had never left.
Why I have the ring on my finger now!
You can depend upon me. If you lie in your grave I will lie for you, Harry. If I lie in my grave you will lie for me.
Why surely these cannot be our opponents!
Straight from the nursery!
Mr. Wilder, I believe.
At your service, young gentleman.
I am Mr. Percy Dasher.
Dasher! Dash me: a fine dasher!
Sir!
Captain Sherwood, I presume.
You presume rightly, my young friend.
Gentlemen, we are here to resent an insult put upon Miss Dorothy Bantam.
And Miss Lydia Hawthorne.
We have come to ask whether you are prepared to atone for your conduct by offering the only reparation possible, or whether you are ready to meet the consequences.
By reparation, I presume you mean marriage.
I do.
And the consequences imply a duel.
They do.
In point of fact you mean matrimony or murder.
Precisely.
They we prefer murder.
Our words are pledged to two other ladies.
And we mean to keep them.
Do you hear that cousin? But we must keep it up until we are able
to change our clothes.
Weapons! Young gentlemen, I should say that a birch rod, or a good bundle of nettles would best befit your age and dignity.
I would have you to know, Sir, that this is a serious matter and that your jokes are as misplaced as they are usually ill-chosen.
Well, gentlemen, since you will have it the consequences on your own foolish little hates [sic].
I am ready to take the consequences.
Pardon me. We are the challenged. We have brought our own pistols.
And must we use them?
Certainly.
Good heaven!
What’s to be done?
In order that things should be perfectly fair, you will load one.
Have you the bullets, Harry?
Here they are.
Bullets!
But how are we to know which of the pistols has no bullet?
They will both have bullets inside them, and so may one of us presently.
Ah! Don’t you point it at me!
I did but anticipate a pleasure by a few moments.
Allow me, Sir. You seem unaccustomed in the ways of these little barkers.
Ah! Don’t!
It’s not loaded.
But it might go off.
What are we to do?
Now, gentlemen, as this is to be a duel to the death –
To the death!
I said to the death. It will be necessary for us to carry out the latest fashion of the duello. We can’t all shoot at once. We must begin two and two –
Then perhaps if you two gentlemen would begin first.
We have no cause of quarrel.
Of course, I forgot.
One of these pistols is sure to go off in a minute.
You and I, Sir, had best lead off.
Lead off: where?
One of us – possibly both of us to the grave.
The grave! Don’t point it at me –
Each will have his second. Your friend will serve you. We will place ourselves back to back – each will walk five paces –
Only five paces!
Well six, if you like it better. We shall then both turn on our
heels
Ah!
And fire. One of us will fall – possibly both, and then the others will have a turn –
A turn!
Now sir – to place yourself!
Here is your pistol.
Oh! If I only knew how to escape form this!
Now, gentlemen, are you ready?
Yes.
Then – go!
Ah!
Stop! Murder! Thieves!
Why, what’s this?
Our adversaries have fled –
A pretty couple of cowards.
Pretty couple of murderers, Sir!
My dear uncle, I can congratulate you on a very narrow escape.
What! My rascal of a nephew – So, sir! It is you who assume the clothes and manners of your betters and impose upon your too confiding relatives!
Necessity, my dear uncle –
Necessity, sir, is the mother of thieves.
That rascal Lurcher has peached –
The promptings of my conscience, gentlemen –
And your pocket, I’ll be bound.
“Tho’ born a man of high degree” Eh! You villain –
My dear uncle, I did but assume the part for a while.
“And greatly my superior” – is that it?
But Squire –
“I trust I know that courtesy is due to” “an inferior”. Who’s an inferior? Your uncle, you dog? – Give me my money back –
I must refer you to this gentleman –
Nay, sir, I must refer you to the Court –
Who may possibly restore the money to my grandchildren after I have spent twice the amount in asking for it.
I humbly crave pardon –
What is it now?
The young couple are coming to meet your worship at the old oak!
What young couple?
Tom and my daughter Phyllis, who have just been married.
What do they want with me?
Your worship’s blessing –
Blessing! Do I look like blessing?
I’ faith, Harry, he does not –
I must be calm –
I’ll deal with you, sir anon.
Your worship, the old custom bids us ask your blessing –
There – children – if the blessing of an old man who feels more like swearing be any good to you, you have it.
Now sir, you may thank your stars that the sight of these young folks’ happiness has put me in a better temper.
I am delighted to think that I have obtained, even if I have not merited, your forgiveness.
None of your London manners with me, Sir. I am ready to forgive you, and even to take you back to my heart, where there has long been an empty corner waiting for you, if you will marry your cousin Dorothy!
That is impossible.
How, impossible? Are you married already?
Nay, Sir, but I hope soon to be –
To whom?
To this Lady, if she will so far honour me –
To her? Why that is your cousin Dorothy.
My cousin Dorothy!
The same.
Then you –
I am Lydia Hawthorne, her cousin –
Then last night we –
oh! Harry, here’s a pretty kettle of fish –
Yes, father – I was anxious to find out whether a man could love
a woman for herself and not for her money. The ring, which I
gave him, and which he now wears on his finger is a proof of his
constancy.
I –
And I too entrusted this gentleman with the ring which he now wears on his finger.
Where is it?
What shall I say –
Ahem! I confess that recognizing my cousin Dorothy last night I
returned to her, as a keepsake, and, and
That is exactly what I wished to say myself –
Did the stone change its colour in your pocket, cousin?
Had my ring a green or a red stone?
I have nothing to say –
Well then if that is all the explanation you have to make –
And you?
I suppose I must follow Dorothy’s example.
That’s right, children –
After all you were ready to die rather than marry Lydia –
I cannot forget that you preferred death to Dorothy.