University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Subterranean apartment in the Hostelry or Inn at Kilnsey. At a rude table, garnished with drinking-vessels, sit a company of men in jerkens and armed.
HENRY.
A truce to song. My voice is out of tune.—
They do us wrong, my Brothers of the night
And of the forest, blithe and brave as e'er
Sung catch or shot a deer in merry Sherwood,
When Robin Hood was the bold monarch there—
They do us utter wrong who style us Outlaws.
'Tis true we love the greenwood, press for couch
The mountain heather—strewed upon the floor
Of some rock-vaulted cavern—and 'tis true,
When whim commands, our arrows mark the deer,
Marked fondly by Lord Clifford as his own.
'Tis also true, that when to dine we sit
Beneath the spreading oak, if thirst awake,
We slake it with a draught of noble vintage,
Cooled in some vaults we wot of. But it is
Most incorrect to call us, therefore, Outlaws.
We live as men o'th'world, who clothe themselves
By fleecing well their neighbours; only we,
Too honourable to imitate their meanness,
Take that by force which they obtain by fraud.
[The door flies open.
To arms! there is intrusion—
[Enter the Host.
Kindly meant, though,
And therefore welcome. 'Tis our ancient Host,
Good Harman Trueman. Wherefore, worthy friend,
This visit at so late an hour? It must
Be near the time when sky-larks stir their wings
To quit the dewy mead-flowers. But I judge
Thy guests so long have revelled, they have left
But empty casks at Kilnsey; and thou com'st,
Most wisely com'st, to quaff with us of Fountains.
Quaff then, and tell us—if the truth wont choke thee—
How far the Abbot's wine exceeds thine own.
One fault it has; but that is found, good Trueman,
Neither in taste nor hue, and Sawley's vaults
Shall furnish the corrective.

HOST.
Noble souls!
The Abbot's vintage is indeed delicious.
But much I fear the end of this wild course,
Which gives you thus to drink the wine of Abbots,
Is hurrying on; and that these eyes must soon
Rain tears as copiously as April skies,
To see you caper, every breeze's pastime,
'Twixt heaven and earth, or mark your grinning heads
Blacken on Skipton's gate-way.

HENRY.
Kind old man,
I well believe that thou wilt weep for us.
But drink again! 'Twill greatly help the flow
Of tears whose fount hath long been frozen up,
And every drop, when thus distilled from wine,
Will be more worthy of the friends it falls for.

HOST.
Well, well, ye heed me not. And since it is so,
Since moral precepts and advices sage
Glance from your bosoms, as the pointed steel
From warrior's breast-plate, I must tell my tidings;
And mark me, tidings that involve a project,
Which, deftly managed, will insure you sport
Richer than frightening monk, or robbing convent.

OMNES.
Name it!

HOST.
Perchance ye know my roof to-night
Is honoured by two ladies. Passing fair
Are both; but one—by good St. George of Kilnsey!
My Father's saint and mine—that one's an Angel!
When Margery was young, she rolled, methought,
As fine an eye as ever beamed through lash;
But with this stranger's matched, 'twere as that taper
Against the star of evening!

HENRY.
Fair indeed
Must be the maid thou talk'st of, since her charms
Have kindled in thy cranium—where till now
Idea ne'er was bred that deeper reached
Than spirit-vault, or higher rose than board
At which thy topers congregate—a flash
So very bright that it might half illumine
A Poetaster's page!—But for the project,
What wouldst advise?

HOST.
Catch Yorkshire, friend? Not so.
What if I said this falcon, come to flaunt
In Craven skies, might well repay the lure?
That every feather of her wing outweighs
A good King Harry's broad-piece? My description
Might lead you into guilt, and Trueman's conscience,
Light as a child's, might with a load be burthened,
That it were best ye share among yourselves.
No, no! I'm but a Guide-post—standing so—
[Extends his arm.
To point the way that leads you on to fortune,
Or seems to lead; but into that same way
I force no man to enter.

HENRY.
Honest Harman,
I own thy prudence and morality.
But say, what is the service to be done,
And who the nymph that asks it?

HOST.
Why, the service
Is but to lead the Northern Cavalcade
Through this wild land of ours, to Sawley Abbey;
And the fair nymph that asks it, is the same
I just described you.

HENRY.
And her name, dull proser?

HOST.
The Lady Margaret Percy.

[Henry starts up, and strides through the apartment in a state of great mental excitement. He then gives the Host a sign to withdraw, which is obeyed with marks of deference and humility.
HENRY.
Here ends the Outlaw!

FIRST OUTLAW.
For a play so good
It ends too soon.

HENRY.
Farce, friend, a wretched farce,
In which I've played the part of chief buffoon,
But shall no more. A nobler stage awaits me,
A nobler part demands my energies.
Norton, a word with you.

[Exeunt Henry and Norton, and re-enter Host speaking.
HOST.
By good St. George!
Why, what's up now? I met the Chief and Norton,
Who pass'd me like the wind; and, sooth to say,
Have almost taken mine in that strait passage!

FIRST OUTLAW.
That speed, my friend, bodes no good speed to thee.

HOST.
What! How! Hath there been treachery?

FIRST OUTLAW.
Calm thy fears.
The Chief hath turned devout, that's all, and means
To join his monkish sire in chanting hymns,
And calculating horoscopes.

HOST.
'Tis time
So wild a colt should own the curb, and learn
To go in harness.

FIRST OUTLAW.
Dost thou take it so?
When it is sure as Kilnsey Crag itself,
That thou mayst whistle for thy gains.

HOST.
Well be't so;
Old Trueman hath enough of wealth.

SECOND OUTLAW.
Come, come;
Pretend not this indifference, but confess
Thou lik'st the chink of gold, wouldst rather hear
The music of a thousand good broad-pieces
Jingling at once, than that of Sunday bells
Chiming to chapel.

HOST.
Why, for that, they both
Are too familiar to afford a joy
Superlative from either—thank the saint!
But, to say truth, my pleasure is not in
A rush or sudden overflux of fortune,
Which might deprive me of my footing, and
Take sense away i'th'current.

FIRST OUTLAW.
Thou dost like
To see it come in gentle rill, as streams
The wine from out the cask.

HOST.
Precisely so;
And thou hast pilfered my comparison.
—The heir of others' wealth knows not the joy,
The honest joy of him who makes his own.
To start in life with little; with keen eye
And ready hand, to watch and seize the first
Advantage-step in Fortune's upward ladder;
To lay the future pyramid's broad base
With piece on piece, as day succeeds to day;
To see it rise and rise, and yet to know
There is not in the growing heap a coin
But was placed there by labour or by thought,
The hand's work or the head's;—this, this is pleasure!

FIRST OUTLAW.
I thank thee, Harman, for that homily,
Learned at the tap—it could be learned but there—
Where each day hoards its little mite of gain.

SECOND OUTLAW.
A mite would buy the Widow's ten times doubled,
Or else good water's costly.

THIRD OUTLAW.
That remark,
Old Harman, is too bad. He means to say
The Wharf hath some acquaintance with thy wine.

HOST.
The river, like his wit, is far beneath
The level of my cellar.

OMNES
(laughing).
Well said, Trueman.

SECOND OUTLAW.
But water may be carried, good mine Host?

HOST.
And your wit cannot.

FIRST OUTLAW.
Why? Is it so heavy?

HOST.
No; 'tis too light—'tis nought, which he who winnows
Will not have even chaff for his reward.

SECOND OUTLAW.
Thou'rt sharp, sir. But the Crag hath nearer springs,
And cooler than the river.

HOST.
I know brains
To which the springs of Kilnsey, if applied,
With a slight tinge of Rhenish, might be useful,
So useful as to give the name of virtue
To the considerate knavery that bilked them.
[A general laugh.
But when I showed
The joy of saving cash, I meant not that
Of him who hoards it for its own vile sake.
I meant the pleasure of a man who cares
As little for the dross which men call gold
As any one that hears me; but who loves
The independence and the power it gives,
And, for their sakes, would strain each nerve to gain it
By fair and honest means.

FIRST OUTLAW.
Dost glance at us
In these sagacious saws?

HOST.
I glance at ye!
Rest every cask on its own end, say I.
To him that stands on Whernside-top, our Crag
Appears a mole-hill; so what I might deem
A crime, or fault, to your exalted eyes
May seem a frolic.

THIRD OUTLAW.
[Throwing a piece of Money on the Table.
Canst thou, in consistence
With thy new-found morality, take that,
And bring us its equivalent in wine?

HOST.
Most surely, Sir! with pleasure.

THIRD OUTLAW.
What, although
'Twas taken from a Bishop, honest Trueman?

HOST.
If thou hadst said 'twas taken from the Devil,
'Twere nought to me. Thou shalt have beverage
Fit for a King—imported from the Rhine.

SECOND OUTLAW.
And innocent of Wharf?

FIRST OUTLAW.
Come, come; we joke
The honest man too far. Away, and put
That piece upon the pyramid.

HOST.
(going out).
I will.
But not while thou art here.

[Aside and exit.
FIRST OUTLAW.
Shrewd knave!
The very pink of publicans, whose rule
Is, ne'er to contradict a guest's opinion
That bears a goodly purse.

SECOND OUTLAW.
Enough of him.
What of our Leader? Will he quit the pack?
Or hunt with us as erst? His opening note
Gives token that the scent lies strong.

FIRST OUTLAW.
Nor, doubtless,
Is the fair Hind unworthy of the chase;
And we will drink success to him.—Host! Host!

[Calling.
HOST
(entering).
Coming, ye madcaps! coming. There—

[Setting the Wine on the Table.
FIRST OUTLAW.
Fill round.—
Now—standing—drain a bumper; then to cover:
“Soon may the noble Doe from northern woods
Be captive in his toils!”
[All drink and a general huzza follows.
Kind Host, adieu.
Broad be the basis of thy pyramid,
And may its height match Whernside!

HOST.
Thanks
[Exeunt Outlaws.
God mend them!
Yet if he did, it would not mend my profits.
O self—self—self!—How virtuous one might be,
If it cost nought to be so!