University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A decayed apartment in the house of Trapbois, partly hung with tapestry. A huge oak-carved four-post bed, with cumbrous tapestry hangings. A cracked mirror in a massy brass-work frame. Chairs of various sorts and sizes, covered, some with leather, some with damask, and some with other materials. A slab against the back wall, with a box on it. In front, two chairs and a table.
Enter Trapbois shewing in Nigel.
Trapb.
This is your bed-chamber.

Nigel.
Sir, it shall serve.

Trap.
And—ugh! I beg your pardon,—but it's usual,—
Ugh—when we take in unknown lodgers, for 'em
To pay before.

Nigel.
I should not be unknown,
Seeing I placed, this morning, in your hands,
No less a pledge than the crown-jewels, to raise
Six thousand pounds on.

Trapb.
True, you are the gallant
That came with Master Heriot—ugh! Yes, yes,
I had almost forgot.

Nigel.
Has the boy brought
The box I sent for? (Seeing it on the slab)
Good,—I shall scarce stay
Beyond three days, or four: but this will answer
(Unlocking the box and giving him a piece of gold.)
For four night's lodging, host.

Trapb.
You may stay more—
The week, I hope, at least.

Nigel.
Another then,
And leave me. (Gives another piece.)


[Exit Trapbois examining the money.
Nigel.
(Taking his pistols from his belt, lays them on the slab, then, looking at the grate, calls after Trapbois.)
But they've lit no fire.—Some fire there!
No drudge to answer?—Ho! good host! some fire!

Trapb.
(without.)
Ugh—ugh!—What now? who's there?—What, fire! why, Martha!
Daughter of mine!

Martha.
(without.)
Peace, father, all is safe!

(Enter Martha and Trapbois following. She is dressed in a stiff ruff and farthingale; with a black hood on her head, concealing her hair.)
Martha.
What were you lacking, sir?

Nigel.
Nothing to tax
Your courtesy far; a little fire, no more.

Martha.
Faggot and coal are yonder in your reach.

Trapb.
The gentleman shall not be put to fill
The grate; I'll do't—for a consideration.
He'd waste the fuel sorely!

Martha.
To be plain,
My father's old; and, for myself, I care not
How few I see or speak with: so, for service,
You'll fare but scantly.

Nigel.
Could I hire no servant
While I stay with you?

Martha.
In all places, stranger,
And most in this, where ev'ry knave, that ties
Your points, would pick your purse, the wise man's ever
His own best servant. While you sojourn here,
(And, if you've wit, you'll scarce outstay necessity,)
Wait, therefore, on yourself; and let him not
Advance you money; for his faculties,
Ag'd as you see them in all else, would there
Be more than match for youth.

Trapb.
I'll be his servant,
And brush his cloak or shoes; do all his errands,
Ugh, soon and safe—for a consideration.

Martha.
Give you good night: it ill beseems a daughter
To hear a father thus, with his own tongue,
Undo his own respect: his aged wit
Grows mean, and draws his manners after it.
'Tis but the dread, lest robbers guess we've gold,
Makes him affect this sordidness.

Trapb.
No more
Of that, housewife; no more on't, or I'll beat thee,
Housewife; ugh! beat thee with my staff, for fetching
And carrying lies, to get our throats cut, housewife!

Martha.
(Drawing him away.)
Father, to bed; the night grows late; to bed.

Trapb.
Sir, I'm a poor man, very poor, and willing
To do you any turn in honesty,—
For a consideration.

[Exit, with Martha, who gently forces him off.
Nigel.
There they go,
Well fitted each to each, like bitter med'cine
Waiting upon disease.—How now? You never
Can hold this life, Lord Nigel. Poor you are
In all but your rich blood; which blood, so rich,
Being indulged, doth make men to be poor;
And your poor lord, like to a stately ship,
Wanting the wind, that should make flush her sails,
Lies logged, for lesser craft to mock in passing.
You, sirrah, rapier out.—sure you and I
With yonder pellets, (pointing to his pistols)
and the Palatine flag,
Could earn, upon some score of German skulls,
A livelier livelihood, than waits us here.
[Making a pass or two in the air.
Enter Martha.
Well, mistress, what's your errand?

Martha.
Of that rent
Which your improvidence has paid my father
In more than due advance, I have brought back
This piece—

Enter Trapbois.
Trapb.
Art mad? yield up my gold!

Nigel.
I gave it
Freely.

Martha.
While yet he could, he kept the house;
I keep it now, and suffer no extortion.
There! (she lays it on the slab near the box.)


Trapb.
Take thy poor old father's life?

Martha.
I see
You've arms. D'ye know their use?

Nigel.
I should so;
I am a soldier.

Martha.
You will find enough
Of fighting here, if you are fond of that.
'Tis well an't seek not you, and when least ready.

Nigel.
Have you such dang'rous neighbours?

Martha.
Mark that door:
A castle-gate is not more arm'd. The windows
We keep cross-barr'd o'th'outside; and within,
Look at these shutters; at the bolts and chains
Which guard them.

Trapb.
Shew him not the trick to lock,
Or loose them—Ugh! on no consideration.

Martha.
Yet when a bolt's to be repair'd, 'tis left
A fortnight ere he pluck up heart to pay
A smith for mending it.
The Old Man stands with his back to the audience, looking up the stage, towards the slab.
He hears me not.
Strange, that the love of gath'ring gold, should thus
Swallow the love of all that gold can buy,
Of life itself. Take care, sir, of your weapons,
And let not yonder loadstone lie exposed,
(Pointing to the gold in the half open box on the slab.)
Lest it attract some steel nearer your throat
Than may be healthy.
[Exit Martha.

Nigel.
A harsh monitress!
But the gnarl'd tree may bear a wholesome fruit.
I'll profit by her caution.
(Turning round, he sees Trapbois approaching the slab.)
Master landlord,
So near my arms? pray leave them. In strange lodgings
They're safe companions, and, just now, conceive you,
I want no other.

Trapb.
Why, I could be useful
In your affairs—for a consideration.

Nigel.
Enough: I thank you. (Motions him to withdraw.)

Trapbois still lingers.
Friend, I say, I thank you. (Peremptorily.)


Trapb.
No cost for thanks! draw bolts.
[Exit Trapbois. The heavy bolts are heard.

Nigel.
The sound is drear.
(Looking at his arms.)
If she spoke true, you're needful furniture.
How chill the river-fog strikes on my spirits!
A book, forsooth. Now. (opening it.)
Heav'n's revenge for murder!
Yes, these are awful narratives. (Turns over the leaves.)
Blood, still
Repaid with blood. Where man has broken in
To the mysterious tabernacle of life,
Dumb animals have brought the secret forth,
And birds o'th'air convey'd the matter. Aye,
The very grave has yawn'd, and sent its tenants
Back to revenge—What ghastly thing is that?
(During this soliloquy, Trapbois has crept into the room from a door behind the tapestry, and, when perceived by Nigel, is in the act of extending his arm towards the slab.)
You at those arms again? What's your fell purpose,
That thus a second time, at this late hour,
You creep upon my privacy, and crawl
To make your impotent clutch?

(Nigel, meanwhile, has snatched his sword from the table; he unsheaths it, and points it at the breast of Trapbois.
Trapb.
I'm not afraid,
You are.

Nigel.
I ask what brings thee near these pistols?
Dost come to clear the way for stouter ruffians?
Answer me, spectre!

Trapb.
What is mine, is mine;
I care not for your blade.

Enter Martha from a door behind the Tapestry with a light.
Martha.
A young man's sword
Against the poor remains of four score winters!
(Dashing aside the sword)
I'll have it for my spindle.

Nigel.
Stand you back;
I mean no harm to him; but I will know
Why thus again, almost at mid of night,
He prowls about my weapons.

Trapb.
While I live,
I'll not resign my own.

Martha.
(Taking up the gold piece from the slab.)
Why, look you there!
All the bright store of steel, and burnish'd brass
That flashes when the morning sun shines in
Upon the armoury of London Tower,
Are nothing in his eye, against the plack
Of dingy gold, a careless gallant leaves
Loose on his board.

Nigel.
Oh, your unsought rebate,
Upon the lodging.

Trapb.
It is mine, I say;
'Twas giv'n to me for a consideration:
I'll die before I quit it.

Nigel.
I entreat you,
Let him enjoy his gold, and me my quiet.

Martha.
Well, be it so; note me your debtor for it.

Trapb.
(Darting upon the coin in Martha's hand.)
Enough, enough, to bed; housewife, begone
To bed; we're wasting oil.

(Takes the lamp, and exit through the tapestry door.)
Martha.
Sir, I will see him
Fast in his chamber; and for your forbearance
To his infirmity, you have my thanks,
With all good wishes.

[Exit through the tapestry.
Nigel.
It is barely twelve,
And yet there creeps a drowsiness upon me
I cannot wrestle with. 'Twere hardly wise
To doff one's sword, or habit; so, I'll seek
A soldier's rest, and lull'd with harmony
Of houseless dogs, and heavy swinging signs,
That creak and flap in the low-moaning gust,
Dream of the means to quit my sanctuary.

(Throws himself in his clothes on the bed.