Scene I.
—King Street, in front of the town-house. Kempthorn
in the pillory. Merry and a crowd of lookers-on.
KEMPTHORN
(sings).
The world is full of care,
Much like unto a bubble;
Women and care, and care and women,
And women and care and trouble.
Good Master Merry, may I say confound?
MERRY.
Ay, that you may.
KEMPTHORN.
Well, then, with your permission,
Confound the Pillory!
MERRY.
That 's the very thing
The joiner said who made the Shrewsbury stocks.
He said, Confound the stocks, because they put him
Into his own. He was the first man in them.
KEMPTHORN.
For swearing, was it?
MERRY.
No, it was for charging;
He charged the town too much; and so the town,
To make things square, set him in his own stocks,
And fined him five pound sterling,—just enough
To settle his own bill.
KEMPTHORN.
And served him right;
But, Master Merry, is it not eight bells?
MERRY.
Not quite.
KEMPTHORN.
For, do you see? I'm getting tired
Of being perched aloft here in this cro' nest
Like the first mate of a whaler, or a Middy
Mast-headed, looking out for land! Sail ho!
Here comes a heavy-laden merchantman
With the lee clews eased off, and running free
Before the wind. A solid man of Boston.
A comfortable man, with dividends,
And the first salmon, and the first green peas.
A gentleman passes.
He does not even turn his head to look.
He 's gone without a word. Here comes another,
A different kind of craft on a taut bow-line,—
Deacon Giles Firmin the apothecary,
A pious and a ponderous citizen,
Looking as rubicund and round and splendid
As the great bottle in his own shop window!
Deacon Firmin
passes.
And here 's my host of the Three Mariners,
My creditor and trusty taverner,
My corporal in the Great Artillery!
He 's not a man to pass me without speaking.
Cole
looks away and passes.
Don't yaw so; keep your luff, old hypocrite!
Respectable, ah yes, respectable,
You, with your seat in the new Meeting-house,
Your cow-right on the Common! But who 's this?
I did not know the Mary Ann was in!
And yet this is my old friend, Captain Goldsmith,
As sure as I stand in the bilboes here.
Why, Ralph, my boy!
Enter Ralph Goldsmith.
GOLDSMITH.
Why, Simon, is it you?
Set in the bilboes?
KEMPTHORN.
Chock-a-block, you see,
And without chafing-gear.
GOLDSMITH.
And what 's it for?
KEMPTHORN.
Ask that starbowline with the boat-hook there,
That handsome man.
MERRY
(bowing).
For swearing.
KEMPTHORN.
In this town
They put sea-captains in the stocks for swearing,
And Quakers for not swearing. So look out.
GOLDSMITH.
I pray you set him free; he meant no harm;
'T is an old habit he picked up afloat.
MERRY.
Well, as your time is out, you may come down.
The law allows you now to go at large
Like Elder Oliver's horse upon the Common.
KEMPTHORN.
Now, hearties, bear a hand! Let go and haul.
Kempthorn is set free, and comes forward, shaking Goldsmith's
hand.
KEMPTHORN.
Give me your hand, Ralph. Ah, how good it feels!
The hand of an old friend.
GOLDSMITH.
God bless you, Simon!
KEMPTHORN.
Now let us make a straight wake for the tavern
Of the Three Mariners, Samuel Cole commander;
Where we can take our ease, and see the shipping,
And talk about old times.
GOLDSMITH.
First I must pay
My duty to the Governor, and take him
His letters and despatches. Come with me.
KEMPTHORN.
I'd rather not. I saw him yesterday.
GOLDSMITH.
Then wait for me at the Three Nuns and Comb.
KEMPTHORN.
I thank you. That 's too near to the town pump.
I will go with you to the Governor's,
And wait outside there, sailing off and on;
If I am wanted, you can hoist a signal.
MERRY.
Shall I go with you and point out the way?
GOLDSMITH.
Oh no, I thank you. I am not a stranger
Here in your crooked little town.
MERRY.
How now, sir?
Do you abuse our town?
[Exit.
GOLDSMITH.
Oh, no offence.
KEMPTHORN.
Ralph, I am under bonds for a hundred pound.
GOLDSMITH.
Hard lines. What for?
KEMPTHORN.
To take some Quakers back
I brought here from Barbadoes in the Swallow.
And how to do it I don't clearly see,
For one of them is banished, and another
Is sentenced to be hanged! What shall I do?
GOLDSMITH.
Just slip your hawser on some cloudy night;
Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, Simon!
[Exeunt.
