Blanch. What, has my lady hired thee? Sam. She has taken me like a pad nag, upon trial.

Blanch. I suspect you will play her a jade's trick, and stumble in your probation. You have been caught tripping ere now.

Sam. An' I do not give content, 'tis none of my fault. A man's qualities cannot come out all at once. I wish you would teach me a little how to lay a cloth.

Blanch. You are well qualified for your office, truly, not to know that.

Sam. To say truth, we had little practice that way at home. We stood not upon forms; we had sometimes no cloth for a dinner

Blanch. And sometimes no dinner for a cloth. Sam. Just so. We had little order in our family. Blanch. Well, I will instruct you. Sam. That's kind. I will be grateful. They tell me I have learned nothing but wickedness yet, but I will instruct you in anything I know in return.

Blanch. There, I have no mind to become your scholar. But be steady in your service, and you may outlive your beggary and grow into respect. [Exit R. Sam. Nay, an' riches rain upon me, respect will grow of course. I never knew a rich man yet who wanted followers to pull off their caps to him.

SONG.
SAMSON.

A traveler stopped at a widow's gate;
She kept an inn, and he wanted to bait,

But the landlady slighted her guest.

For when Nature was making an ugly race,
She certainly moulded the traveler's face

As a sample for all the rest.

The chambermaid's sides they were ready to crack

When she saw his queer nose and the hump at his back

(A hu np isn't hand-ome, no doubt.)

And though 'tis confessed that the prejudice goes
Very strongly in favor of wearing a nose,

Yet a nose shouldn't look like a snout.

A bag full of gold on the table he laid;

'T had a wondrous effect on the widow and maid,

And they quickly grew marvelous civil.

The money immediately altered the case;

They were charmed with his hump, and his snont. and his face,
Though he still might have frightened the devil.

He paid like a prince, gave the widow a smack.
Then flopped on his horse at the door like a sack,
While the landlady, touching the chink,

Cried, Sir, should you travel this country again,
I heartily hope that the sweetest of men
Will stop at the widow's to drink."

[Exit L.

SCENE IV. The library as before.

WILFORD discovered.

Wil. I would Sir Edward were come. The dread of a fearful encounter is often as terrible as the encounter itself. Eh! he's coming! No!, The old wainscot cracks and frightens me out of my wits; and I verily believe the great folio dropped on my head just now from the shelf on purpose to increase my terrors.

None within hearing if I were to bawl
Ever so loud.

Sir E. [pointing to L.] Lock yonder door.
Wil. The door, sir?

Sir E. [sitting R. C.] Do as I bid you.
Wil. What, sir, lock-

[MORTIMER waves his hand.

I shall, sir. [Goes to the door L., and locks it.
His face has little anger in it, neither;
'Tis rather marked with sorrow and distress. ·
Sir E. Wilford, approach me. What am I to

For I am singled from the herd of men,
A vile, heart-broken wretch!
Wil. Indeed, indeed, sir,

You deeply wrong yourself. Your equals' love,
The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of grati-
tude,

All follow you; and I-I owe you all—
I am most bound to bless you!
Sir E. Mark me, Wilford.

I know the value of the orphan's tear,
The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected;
I feel to merit these, and to obtain them
Is to taste here below that thrilling cordial
Which the remunerating angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,
To pour on blessed souls that enter heaven.
I feel this, I! How must my nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand
In human blood? And yet it seems this day

I sought your life. Oh, I have suffered madness!
None know my tortures-pangs, but I can end

them,

End them as far as appertains to thee.

I have resolv'd it, hell-born struggles tear me;
But I have pondered on 't, and I must trust thee.
Wil. Your confidence shall not be-

Sir E. You must swear.

Wil. Swear, sir! Will nothing but an oath,
then-

Sir E. [rising and seizing WILFORD'S arm.]
Listen:

May all the ills that wait on frail humanity
Be doubled on your head if you disclose
My fatal secret. May your body turn
Most lazar-like and loathsome, and your mind
More loathsome than your body! May those
fiends

Who strangle babes for very wantonness,
Shrink back and shudder at your monstrous
crimes,

And shrinking curse you! Palsies strike your
youth,

And the sharp terrors of a guilty mind Poison your aged days; while all your nights, As on the earth you lay your houseless head, Out-horror horror! May you quit the world Enter SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, R. door, which he Your life a burthen and your death a fear! Abhorred, self-hated, hopeless for the next, locks after him. hearing him shut it. [Aside, L. C.] What's that? 'Tis he himself! Mercy on me! he has locked the door. What is going to become of me?

WILFORD turns round on

Sir E. Wilford, is no one in the picture gallery?
Wil. No-not a soul, sir-not a human soul;

Wil. For mercy's sake, forbear! you terrify me.
Sir E. Hope this may fall upon thee; swear

thou hopest it,

By every attribute which heaven, earth, hell,
Can lend to bind and strengthen conjuration,
If thou betray'st me!

Wil. [hesitating.] Well-I

Sir E. Him. She knows it not-none know it; Dead in the church-yard! Boy, I would not kill You are the first ordained to hear me say,

From this time forth are fettered to my will.
You have said, truly, you are hateful to me;
Yet you shall feel my bounty; that shall flow,
And swell your fortunes; but my inmost soul'
Will yearn with loathing when- [A knock,
R. D. F.] Hark! some one knocks.
Open the door. [WILFORD opens the door, R. F.
Enter ADAM WINTERTON.

How now, Winterton ?
[Crosses to him.
Did you knock more than once? Speak-did you
listen?

I mean, good Adam, did you wait-aye, wait,
Long at the door here?

Win. Bless your honor, no;

You are too good to let the old man wait.

Sir R. What, then, our talk here-Wilford's,
here, and mine,

Did not detain you at the door? Ha! did it?
Win. Not half a second.

Sir E. Oh! Well, what's the matter?
Win. Captain Fitzharding, sir, entreats your

company.

I've placed another flagon on the table;
Your worship knows it-number thirty-five;
The supernaculum.

Sir E. Well, well, I come.

What, has he been alone?

Win. No; I've been with him.

Od! he's a merry man, and does so jest!
He calls me first of men, 'cause my name's Adam.
Well, 'tis exceeding pleasant, by St. Thomas!

Sir E. Come, Adam, I'll attend the Captain.
Wilford,

What I have just now given you in charge

the broken porch of the abbey, and watch; 'tis all you are good for.

Boy. You know I am but young yet, but, with good instructions, I may be a robber in time.

Jud. Away, you imp! you will never reach such preferment. [A whistle without, R.] So, I hear some of our party. [The whistle again-the BOY puts his fingers in his mouth, and whistles in answer.] Why must you keep your noise, sirrah?

Boy. Nay, Judith, 'tis one of the first steps we boys learn in the profession. I shall never come to good if you check me so. [Looking off, R. U. E.] Huzza! here come three!

Enter THREE ROBBERS through the broken arches, R. U. E.

Jud. So you have found your road at last. ! A murrain light upon you! Is it thus you keep your hours?

1st Rob. What, hag! ever at this trade-ever grumbling?

Jud. I have reason; I toil to no credit; I watch with no thanks. I trim up the table for your return, and no one returns in due time to notice my industry. Your meat is scorched to cinders. Rogues! would it were poison for you!

1st Rob. [aside.] What a devil in petticoats is this! I never knew a woman turn to mischief that she did not undo a man clean.

Jud [c.] Did any of you meet Orson on your way?

1st Rob. [L. C.] Aye, there the hand points. When that fellow is abroad, you are more savage than customary; and that is needless.

2d Rob. [L.] None of our comrades come yet?

Be sure to keep fast locked. I shall be angry-They will be finely soaked.
Be very angry, if I find you careless.
Come, Adam.

[Exit R. D. F., followed by WINTERTON.
Wil. This house is no house for me; fly I will, I
am resolved; but whither? His threats strike
terror into me; and were I to reach the pole, I
doubt whether I should elude his grasp. But to
live here a slave-slave to his fears, his jealousies!
Night is coming on; darkness be my friend! for I
will forth instantly. The thought of my innocence
will cheer me, as I wander through the gloom.
Oh! when guilty Ambition writhes upon his
couch, why should barefoot Integrity repine,
though its sweet sleep be canopied with a ragged
hovel?
[Exit L.
SCENE V.-The Inside of an Abbey in ruins—
part of it converted into a habitation for ROB-
BERS; various entrances to their apartment,
through the broken arches of the building, etc.
Nearly dark.

1st Rob. Aye, the rain pours like a spout upon the ruins of the old abbey wall here.

Jud. I'm glad on't; may it drench them, and breed agues! "Twill teach them to keep time.

1st Rob. Peace, thou abominable railer! A man had better dwell in purgatory than have thee in his habitation. Peace, devil! or I'll make thee repent!

Jud. You! "Tis as much as thy life is worth to move my spleen.

1st Rob. What! you will set Orson, your champion, upon me?

Jud. Coward! he should not disgrace himself by chastising thee.

1st Rob. [drawing his sword.] Death and thunder!

Jud. Aye, attack a woman-do! it suits your hen-hearted valor. Assault a woman!

1st Rob. Well, passion hurried me; but I have a respect for the soft sex, and am cool again. [Returns his sword to the scabbard.] Come, Judith, be friends; nay come, do, and I will give thee a Jud. Well, sirrah, have you been upon the farthingale I took from a lawyer's widow. scout? Are any of our gang returning?

Enter JUDITH and a BOY, L

Boy. No, Judith, not a soul.

Jud. The rogues tarry thus to fret me.

Boy. Why, indeed, Judith, the credit of your cookery is lost among thieves; they never come punctual to their meals.

Jud. No tidings of Orson yet from the markettown?

Boy. I have seen nothing of him.

Jud. Brat! thou dost never bring me good news. Boy. Judith, you are ever so cross with me! Jud. That wretch, Orson, slights my love of late! Hence, you hemp-seed, hence! Get to

Jud. Where is it?

1st Rob. You shall have it.
Jud. Well, I

[Music without, R.] Hark!
2d Rob. Soft! I think I hear the foot of a com-

rade.

MUSICAL DIALOGUE AND CHORUS.
JUDITH and ROBBERS.

At different periods of the music the ROBBERS en-
ter through various parts of the ruins in groups.
Listen!-No; it is the owl,

That hoots upon the mould'ring tower.
Hark! the rain beats-the Light is foul;
Our comrades stay beyond their hour.
Listen

Now they all come pouring in,

Our jollity will soon begin.

Sturdy partners, all appear.

We're here!-And here!-And here!-And here!
Thus we stout freebooters prowl,

Then meet to drain the flowing bowl.

Enter ORSON, L. U. E., with baggage at his back, as returned from market.

this! Well, time must discover him; for he who had brutality enough to commit the action, can scarcely have courage enough to confess it.

Ors. [L. Courage, captain, is a quality, I take it, little wanted by any here. What signify words? I did it.

Arm. I suspected thee, Orson. "Tis scarce an hour since he whom thou has wounded quitted the service of Sir Edward Mortimer, in the forest here, and inquiry will doubtless be made. 2d Rob. Nay, then, we are all discovered. Arm. Now mark what thou hast done. Thou hast endangered the safety of our party; thou 1st Rob. See, hither comes Orson at last. He hast broken my order ('tis not the first time by walks in, like Plenty, with provision on his shoul-many), in attacking a passenger; and what pasder. senger? One whose unhappy case should have Jud. [R. C.] Oh, Orson! why didst tarry, claimed thy pity. He told you he had displeasOrson? I began to fear. Thou art cold and damp. Let me wring the wet from thy clothes. Oh! my heart leaps to see thee.

Ors. [c.] Stand off! This hamper has been wearisome enough; I want not thee on my neck. Jud. Villain! 'tis thus you ever use me! I can revenge! I can-do not, dear Orson-do not treat me thus !

Ors. Let a man be ever so sweet-tempered, he will meet somewhat to sour him. I have been vexed to madness.

2d Rob. [L.] How now, Orson? What has vexed thee now?

Ors. A prize has slipt through my fingers. 3d Rob. [R.] Ha! Marry, how?

Ors. I met a straggling knave on foot, and the rogue resisted. He had the face to tell me that he was thrust on the world to seek his fortune, and that the little he had about him was his all. Plague on the provision at my back! I had no time to rifle him; but I have spoiled him for fortune-seeking, I warrant him.

ed his master, left the house of comfort, and, with his scanty pittance, was wandering around the world to mend his fortune. Like a butcher, you struck the forlorn boy to the earth, and left him to languish in the forest. Would any of our brave comrades have done this?

Robbers. None! none!

Arm. Comrades, in this case my voice is single; but if it have any weight, this brute, this Orson, shall be thrust from our community, which he has disgraced. Let it not be said, brothers, while want drives us to plunder, that wantonness prompts us to butchery.

Robbers. Oh! brave captain! Away with him! Ors. You had better ponder on 't, ere you provoke me.

Arm. Rascal! do you mutter threats? Begone! Ors. Well, if I must, I must. I was ever a friend to you all; but if you are bent on turning me out, why, fare you well.

Robbers. Aye, aye! Away, away! Ors. Farewell, then. [Exit L. U. E. 3d Rob. Orson, you are ever disobeying our Arm. Come, comrades, think no more of this captain's order; you are too remorseless and let us drown the choler we have felt in wine and

bloody.

Ors. Take heed, then, how you move my anger by telling me on't. The affair is mine; I will answer to the consequence.

[A whistle heard without, R. U. E. 4th Rob. I hear our captain's signal. Here he comes. Ha! he is leading one who seems wounded.

Enter ARMSTRONG, R. U. E., supporting WILFORD.

Arm. Gently, good fellow! Come, keep a good heart.

Wil. You are very kind; I had breathed my last but for your care. Whither have you led me? 4th Rob. Where you will be well treated, youngster. You are now among as honorable a knot of men as ever cried "Stand" to a traveler.

Wil. How! among robbers?

4th Rob. Why, so the law's cant calls us gentlemen who live at large.

Wil. So! For what am I reserved? Arm. Fear nothing; you are safe in this asylum. Judith, lead him in.

Jud. I do not like the office. You are ever at these tricks; 'twill ruin us in the end. What have we to do with charity? But come, fellow, since it must be so. The rogues here call me savage; but I have a kindly heart, for all that. [Exit, c. F., leading WILFORD. Arm. I would I knew which of you had done

SCENE I.-A Room in SIR EDWARD MORTIMER'S
Lodge.

SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, L., and HELEN, R.,
discovered on a sofa, c.

Hel. Sooth, you look better now, indeed you do,
Much better, since, upon your sudden sickness,
I came to visit you.

Sir E. Thou'rt a sweet flatterer!
Hel. Ne'er trust me, then,
If I do flatter. This is wilfulness:
Thou wilt be sick, because thou wilt be sick.
I'll cure you of this fancy, Mortimer.

Sir E. And what wouldst thou prescribe?

Hel. I would distill

Each flower that lavish happiness produced
Through the world's paradise, ere disobedience
Scattered the seeds of care; then mingle each
In one huge cup of comfort for thee, love,

To chase away thy dullness. Thou shouldst wanton
Upon the wings of time, and mock his flight,
As he sail'd with thee tow'rd eternity.
I'd have each hour, each minute of thy life,
A golden holiday; and should a cloud
O'ercast thee, be it light as gossamer,
That Helen might disperse it with her breath,
And talk thee into sunshine.

Sir E. Sweet, sweet Helen!

[They rise.

Death, softened with thy voice, might dull his
sting,

And steep his darts in balsam. Oh, my Helen!
These warnings which that grisly monarch sends,
Forerunners of his certain visitation,

Of late are frequent with me. It should seem
I was not meant to live long.

Hel. Oh, yes;

There is no little movement of your face

But I can mark on the instant-'tis my study;
I have so gazed upon it, that I think

I can interpret every turn it has,

And read your inmost soul.

Sir E. What?

Hel. Mercy on me!

You change again.

Sir E. "Twas nothing; do not fear;

These little shocks are usual-'twill not last.
Hel. Would you could shake them off!
Sir E. I would I could!

Hel. I prithee, now, endeavor. This young

man

This boy this Wilford, he has been ungrateful;
But do not let his baseness wear you thus;
E'en let him go.

Sir E. I'll hunt him through the world!

Hel. Why, look you there, now! Pray be calm.
Sir E. Well, well;

I am too boisterous. "Tis my unhappiness

To seem most harsh where I would show most kind

Hel. His own ingratitude.
Sir E. Oh! very true.

Hel. Then leave him to his conscience.
Believe me, love,

There is no earthly punishment so great,

To scourge an evil act, as man's own conscience,
To tell him he is guilty.

Sir E. 'Tis a hell!

I pray you talk no more on 't. I am weak;
I did not sleep last night.

Hel. Would you sleep now?

Sir E. No, Helen, no. I tire thy patient sweet

ness.

Hel. I fear this business may distract you, Mor-
timer;

The world has made me peevish; this same boy I would you would defer it till to-morrow.
Has somewhat moved me.

Hel. He's beneath your care.

Sir E. Not so, sweet. Do not fear. I prithee, now,

Seek him not now, to punish him. Poor wretch! Let me have way in this.

He carries that away within his breast
Which will embitter all his life to come,
And make him curse the knowledge on 't.
Sir E. The knowledge!

Has he then breathed? Carries within his breast!
What does he know?

Anon I'll come to thee.

Retire awhile—

Hel. Pray, now be careful;

I dread these agitations. Pray, keep calm;
Now do not tarry long. Adieu, my Mortimer!
Sir E. Farewell awhile, sweet!

Hel. Since it must be so, farewell! [Exit L.