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A MUSICAL

GIPSY'S PROPHECY.

PLAY, IN THREE ACTS.-BY DANIEL TERRY.

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When the hoar frost was chill,

Upon moorland and hill,

And was fringing the forest-bough,

Our fathers would trow!
The bonny brown bowl,

And so will we do now,
Jolly hearts!
And so will we do now!
Gaffer Winter may seize
Upon milk in the pail;
'Twill be long ere he freeze
The bold brandy and ale!
For our fathers so bold,
They laugh'd at the cold,

When Boreas was bending his brow

For they quaff'd mighty ale,

And they told a blythe tale,

And so will we do now, &c.

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Second F. You'll see him, never fear; there'd be no cattle worth the handling, and no cudgelling worth a broken head, without Dandie Dinmont at the fair. But come along, neighbours; the evening wears, and we must be jogging. Good night t'ye, mistress. [Exeunt Farmers. Mrs. M'C. He's as kind a heart, and as strong an arm, that Dinmont, as any for forty miles round the country.

Bai. And of good worldly substance, they say, Mrs. M Candlish, considering the instability of human affairs.

Mrs. M'C. He's e'en as good as yourself, Baillie, -and would I were no worse; but I need not complain, for who would have thought, when I was housekeeper at Ellangowan Castle, and Sir Godfrey Bertram member for the county, that I should sit here this night, landlady of the Gordon Arms in Kippletringan, expecting his only child to come to this poor house of mine, to pay off all his servants, without knowing, poor girl, where she's to go next. Bai. Aye, aye, the instability of human concerns. -And who would have thought that Gibbie Glossin, the attorney, (whom I, Robin Mucklethrift, the hardware-man, remember to have refused credit for a sixpenny penknife,) should have been giving a grand dinner, and claret, in your house this very day, on purchasing the estate of his aforesaid benefactor, and turning that only child out of doors; and he'll pay the bill, ready money, doubtless, Mrs. M'Candlish?

Mrs. M'C. That he does, or the devil a drop of wine shall go down his throat in this house. I wish I had the tying a halt-[A bell rings violently without.] But, there, I must be waiting on them; they'll be wanting another magnum of claret. [Takes up a large bottle, and is going, but stops.] No, take it you, Grizzy, and say I'm gone to bed [Grizzy comes from the bar, takes the bottle from her, crosses, and exits.] I have not the heart to look at them, making merry on the orphan's substance! the property that should, by right, belong to poor Miss Bertram! If it were not that we victuallers must keep open doors to all cattle, I'd soon clear the house of them. I trust, Miss Bertram will not come up till to-morrow; I would not for a silver pound she found them ranting and rioting here. [Knocking heard without.] And there she is, I doubt.

Enter JOCK JABOS (the Ostler.) Well, Jock, is it miss Bertram ? Jock. No, it's only a single rider, mistress. Mrs. M'C. A single rider! some Manchester lad in the cotton line. Well, he must just come in here. [Exit Jock. Enter COLONEL MANNERING, wrapped up in a great coat, as from horseback, ushered in by JOCK.

Mrs. M'C. (Looking at him.) Not much of the rider, either.

Jock. I'll tell you what, mistress; he's got as pretty a piece of horseflesh as ever stood in your stable. I'm a judge, I reckon, by this time, and one may always know a gentleman by his horse.

Col. Let me disturb nobody, landlady: your house is full, I understand; I can sit very well here.

(Crosses to the fire place.)

[Exit

Col. (Seating himself near the fire.) It's lucky the old inn was at hand to shelter me in this sudden storm; but great changes, I percieve, have taken place since I saw it. I wish I may find my kind friend at the castle well; but he'll scarcely recollect me, I dare say. Sixteen years' hard military service in India is apt to rub a young man's features a little out of memory. [Pulls off his great coat. Mrs. M'C. (Approaching and receiving it.) I beg your honour's pardon; would your honour choose any refreshment after your ride?

Col. (Seating himself.) If you please, my good lady.

Bai. (Aside.) Your honour to a Manchester rider! Psha! (Apart to Mrs. M.Candlish, after eyeing the Colonel.) I'll soon find out what he is. (Crosses to the Colonel, draws a chair, and sits facing him.) Any news of trade, friend? How's cotton in the market now?

Col. (Drily.) Cotton! really, sir, I do not know. Bai. Aye, you don't know-humph! (Apart to Mrs. M'Candlish.) He's in the hard-ware line. (To the Colonel. You'll be dealing in the steel article, I fancy.

Col. (Smiling.) Steel! why, sir, you are a little nearer the mark.

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Col. Thought to be an only child! When I was in India, I heard he had a son.

Mrs. M'C. Ah! well-a-day! you heard right, sir, he had a son indeed,-but, oh me!

Bai. Now, don't begin whimpering. (To the Colonel.) She lost her husband, sir, on the very day that son disappeared.

Mrs. MC. Aye, I did indeed! sixteen yea rs ago. Bai. Well, don't cry so far back. He was a revenue officer, sir, and was found murdered in the wood, hard by-by smugglers it was supposed, headed by a desperate fellow-one Dirk Hatteraick --half devil-half Dutchman.

Mrs. M'C. The villain! that there should be such lawless, contraband ruffians, suffered in a Christian land.

Col. I beg your pardon, madam; but may I ask what connection the misfortune of your first husband had with the young heir of Ellangowan?

Mrs. M'C. Yes, surely, your honour:-Little Harry Bertram, then a beautiful boy, five years old, and his tutor, one Dominie Sampson, as they call him, --you'll maybe remember him, sir, if you remember Ellangowan long ago.

Col. A tall, stiff, silent man, is he not? Bai. The same, sir, half crazed with his learning, poor silly man, and knows nothing of business.

Mrs. M'C. He's a little absent indeed, poor man; but very affectionate, and as simple as any child. Well, sir, this Dominie Sampson, and little Henry Bertram, were walking in the wood, and by came my husband from looking down the coast, and offered to give the boy a ride on his horse, and bring him back to dinner to the castle in an hour; but, lack-a-day! lack-a-day! that hour never came, for poor Duncan was found weltering in his blood! Col. And was the child murdered, too?

Bai. That no man can tell, sir, for he was never found.

Mrs. M'C. There was an old gipsy-woman (that then lived on the estate, and used to nurse the infant), was suspected of stealing him, out of revenge for Sir Godfrey's transporting one of her sons for poaching.

Col. And has nothing ever been heard of him since?

Mrs. MC. Nothing, sir; but from that day, the old gentleman, Sir Godfrey Bertram, who was never over careful, became worse and worse, and wasted and wanted, and wanted and wasted, and trusted and trusted

Bai. Till he trusted an attorney.

Mrs. MC. And then, sir, distresses broke his heart, and he died, leaving his poor daughter penniless and unprotected on the wide world.

Bai. His affairs in utter disorder, and twentyseven pounds six shillings and eightpence halfpenny in my books.

Mrs. MC. But, the worst of it, Baillie, was the advantage it gave that rogue of an attorney.

Bai. Yes, sir; for, if the boy had lived, the old gentleman could not have burdened, or parted with an acre, it was all so strictly settled on heirs male. But Glossin contrived, they say, while his mind was so distressed, to wheedle him out of some rash deed.

Mrs. M'C. But it will never prosper; if he has cheated the helpless, and oppressed the fatherless, he'll die-mark my words, Baillie-a good-fornothing beggar, yet..

Bai. Why, I hope the young heir may cast up; the mutability of human affairs is great, and there's news of Dirk Hatteraick's running a cargo on these shores again, for the first time since the business;

if so, the gipsy's wife, if she's alive, won't be far off, I dare say.

Mrs. M'C. The murderous wretches! if I catch them, I'll bring them to justice, if I sell the very sign over my door. (A noise heard without.) Gracious heaven! I hope that's not Miss Bertram come just now, before the house is clear of those drunken- and if it is, what shall I do?-for their room's close to the only one I have to show her into. (Goes and listens.)

Bai. (To the Colonel.) There was some little mistake between you and me, sir; you said you dealt in steel, whereby I thought

Col. (Smiling.) I have dealt in steel, sir; I am an officer in the army, retired from service. Bai. (Aside.) Retired from service! Then it would not be worth my while to offer him my shop-bill.

Col. And am just arrived from India, to settle in this neighbourhood. [Retires. Bai. (Aside.) From India! and settling here!that's a different story!

[Goes to the table, fumbles in his pockets, pulls out a spectacle case, large pocket-book, &c. Re-enter JOCK JABOS.

Jock. Mistress! mistress! there's Miss Bertram, poor young lady, just stepping out o' the chaise, wi' Mistress Flora, and Dominie Sampson buried up to the chin in old books,-you must go to them directly;-and mistress, who do you think yon gentleman is?

Mrs. M'C. Who, Jock?

Jock. The great Colonel Mannering!

Mrs. M'C. What? for whom the Woodbourne estate was bought?

Jock. The very same. Mrs. M'C. No, sure!

& Bai.

Jock. Ay, as sure as boots are not brogues-he was daily expected, you know. There's his servant, just rode in-a genteel lad like myself, and a good judge of horses; and there's his sister, and the devil and all, following as fast as they canthere's news for ye, mistress.

[Exit.

Mrs. M'C. He shall see Miss Bertram; he may be a good friend to the poor young lady. (Crossing to the Colonel.) Your honour will excuse me, I must attend to Miss Bertram, who is just arrived, sir.

Col. If you would take an opportunity of informing her, a friend of her late father is anxious to be acquainted with her, you will greatly oblige me.

Mrs. MC. That will I, sir, and gladly; for I am quite fearful of that Glossin's riotous party up stairs; perhaps some of 'em may intrude on her, and your presence may be a protection to her. I am but a poor double widow, sir! and as for the Dominie, worthy soul! he's just nobody at allYour servant, sir.

[Exit,-The Baillie, who has found his advertisement, struts up to the Colonel and presents

it.

Bai. Colonel Mannering, sir!-If, on your settlement in a strange land, you should have occasion for fire-grates, tongs, pokers, shovels, coal-scuttles plain or patent, candlesticks, snuffers, extinguishers, savealls, &c., &c., &c. You may be supplied as far as an extensive stock

Col. And the mutability of human affairs—
Bai. True, sir,-will permit-and that at the sign

of the Three Trouts and the Frying-pan, kept by | Enter DOMINIE SAMPSON, with an immensely your humble servant, Robin Mucklethrift, ironmonger and brazier, of Kippletringan in Scotland.

large book under his arm, in old fashioned binding, and brass clasps, his appearance puritanical, ragged black clothes, blue worsted stockings, pewter headed long cane, &c.

[Exit.

Col. The honest, and worshipful magistrate, I perceive, musn't lose sight of the main chance, in the uncertainty of affairs. (Looking off. R.) But yonder goes Miss Bertram-poor girl! how pale Well, and melancholy, and yet how engaging! the daughter of my earliest, and best friend, shall not be left without a protector, to shield her sorrows from injustice and oppression.

[Exit. SCENE II.-Another Room in the Inn-large doors, -a table, two chairs and two lighted candles, are brought on and placed.

Enter LUCY BERTRAM.

AIR.

Ye dear paternal scenes, farewell!

The home where early fortune smil'd!
No longer there must Lucy dwell-
Of fortune robb'd, from home exil'd,
A wretched orphan child

Now weeps her last farewell,
Farewell!
Tho' doom'd to wander far and wide,
A maiden, friendless, desolate,
With Heaven my innocence to guide,
I fear not, tho' I mourn my fate;
But all that it ordains await.
And weep my last farewell!
Farewell!

Enter MRS. M'CANDLISH, with a lighted candle, which she places on the table, FLORA, and a Man Servant, bringing in boxes and various light luggage.

Mrs. M'C. Dear Miss Bertram, I ask pardon-I never was so sorry in my life-my house quite full, and a noisy party of gentlemen in the best room. I have not another place but this to show your ladyship into, and this is but a public sort of a room neither, and I didn't expect your ladyship till to-morrow.

Lucy. Do not disturb yourself; I shall be but a few minutes in any one's way. I will but dismiss my servants, and retire to my bed-room.

Mrs. M'C. And here is Dominie-Sampson, your ladyship's old tutor stalking up stairs out of your carriage.

Lucy. Do not suffer your people, my good dame, to exercise their merriment at the expense of that worthy man.

Mrs. M'C. Not for the world, my dear lady. Lucy. His person, his retired habits, and great absence of mind are, at times, I own, calculated to excite somewhat more than a smile; but when the impulse of his excellent heart breaks forth, he rather forces a tear from the eye of sentiment, than a laugh from the lungs of ribaldry.

Mrs. MC. Very true, indeed. But I beg pardon, Miss Bertram, there is a stranger, a gentleman now in the house, a particular friend, he says, of my late honoured master, who wishes to be permitted to speak with you.

Lucy. If he has business, I suppose I must see him; but do no not let me be unnecessarily

troubled.

[She retires, pays, and dismisses the Man
Servant-Mrs. M'Candlish turns to go

out.

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Flora. Only see now; the poor dear man thinks himself in the parlour at Ellangowan, trimming the candles for my poor old master, to read the newspapers.-Oh! he has a rare head!

Lucy. You give yourself too much trouble, Mr. Sampson; it was not that I wanted of you: but I have a small account to settle. (Putting a little ocket-book into his hand.) Permit mo

Dom. (Looking at it.) Truly, a very small duodecimo! (Opens it, takes out the bank note, and unfolds it.) It is for the sum of fifty pounds-prodigious! Is it your pleasure that I should hie me forth to procure little notes in exchange for the same?

Lucy. No, Mr. Sampson; but, in my present circumstances, alone, almost without fortune, it is impossible-I have not indeed the means-to support a household, and that note is your own, till some other situation

Dom. (Slow at first to comprehend, he becomes agitated, and speaks with great feeling.) No! Miss Lucy, never! If your father, whom I served and loved in prosperity and adversity, should rise from the dead, and bid me leave you, it were impossible, impossible!-And that note-(Returning it.) - that note befits not me, young lady.

Lucy. I know it is inadequate. Yet trifling as the recompense is, take it-oh! take it, I beseech you.

Dom. (Gently pushing back her hand.) Peradventure, Miss Lucy, you are too proud to share my pittance, and I grow wearisome unto you.

Lucy. (Greatly distressed.) Oh no! you were my father's old, his only faithful friend; I am not proud-heaven knows, I have no reason to be sobut what, what can we do?

Dom. I can teach! I can write! I can cypher! I can labour! Heaven will protect! Heaven will provide, always! if our wills and endeavours be not wanting.

Lucy. Oh! sir!

Dom. (Solemnly.) But I cannot, cannot be severed from the child of my affections! the daughter of my dear, dear master! I will be no burden-I will be, Heaven willing, an aid-I—

[Lucy turns away much affected.) Enter COLONEL MANNERING and MRS. M CANDLISH, unperceived.

Flora. (Interposing.) Dear Mr. Sampson, you only distress yourself and Miss Bertram; you had ter take the

Dom. Woman, no! It is not the lucre-it is not the lucre! but I have eaten of her father's loaf, and drank of his cup for thirty years and upwards; and to think that I would leave his daughter, and leave her now, in her distress and dolour! No, Lucy Bertram-I crave pardon, Miss Bertram, I would say-you need never opine it. You would not have put a favourite dog of your father's from your door, and will you use me worse than a hound? En-

treat me not to leave thee, I beseech thee; for while Abel Sampson liveth, he will never, never be separated from thee!

[Rests upon the table, covering his face with his hands.-Exit Flora.

Mrs. M'C. (Aside to the Colonel.) Good lord, sir! did you ever hear any thing like that, from one who scarcely speaks three words on an ordinary occasion? The man's inspired!

Col. (Aside to Mrs. M'Candlish.) 'Tis the eloquence of the heart, my good lady,-whose fervour no efforts of the imagination can equal.

Lucy. Well, then, Mr. Sampson, we will not separate! no, even though our joint labours should procure our daily bread!

Dom. Gratias! beatissime!

Lucy. Alas! for the pride of birth! Of all the rich and noble, who claimed kindred with me, an heiress of that house, which was the source of their nobility-of all who shared my father's favour and hospitality, this being alone remains attached to me, who was the too frequent object of mockery and derision. [A burst of loud and boisterous mirth is heard behind the doors.] What noise of revelry is this

Mrs. M'C. Lord preserve us! they're breaking up, and, perhaps, some of 'em will be coming through here! (To Colonel Mannering, who retires a little.) Just bide a-bit here, sir.

Lucy. Gracious heaven! I thought I heard the voice of Glossin among them.

[The noise heard again. Dom. Mrs. M'Candlish, this vicinity to hilarious drunkards beseemeth not the chamber of Miss Lucy Bertram.

[Noise and laughter again heard-the doors fly open.

Enter GILBERT GLOSSIN, flushed with wine, and singing.

Lucy. (Drawing down her mourning veil.) Glossin himself! What am I doomed to suffer!

Mrs. MC. (Running up and opposing Glossin's entrance.) You really can't come this way, sir-it's impossible! there's a lady here, Mr. Glossin-a lady who would not wish to see you, sir.

Glo. Egad! I shall indulge no such caprice, Mrs M'Candlish. I have settled my bill, ma'am, and I have a right to walk into any public room in your house, ma'am. A lady not wish to see me! Egad! perhaps that's a civil hint that I should come to see her. (Advancing to Lucy.) I beg pardon, madam, if I intrude-but my name is Glossin, madam, Gilbert Glossin of Ellangowan, at your service.

Lucy. (Raising her veil with dignity.) I know it too well, sir, and how you became so. I remember my father's death-bed, and, who embittered his last moments, by pressing his alleged rights, how acquired, I leave between heaven and your own conscience.

Glo. (Aside, disconcerted.) Sta by me, good claret. Why, Miss Bertram, there are things which may have seemed harsh to you, doubtless, or any lady; but they flow from the law! from the law!

Lucy. (Calmly.) No, sir, not from the law, but from such as pervert it to their own sinister purposes, as empirics poison their patients by the undue use of medicine.

Glo. You are severe, Miss Bertram. (Assuming an air of confident familiarity.) But I trust you will see this matter otherwise. It is yet in your power to

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