University of Virginia Library

NEWS FROM HOME;

OR, BREAKING IT OUT BY DEGREES.

Squire.
Why, who'd e'er have thought, that to town you'd have come, John—
But I glad am to see you, when all's done and said.
What brings you to London, and what news from home, John?

John.
Faith bad enough, sir, for the magpie be dead!

Squire.
Eh! what? Poor old Mag gone the way of all living—
What occasioned her death? Zounds! this is something fresh!

John.
Over-ate herself—

Squire.
Ah! she to guttling was given!
But what did she gorge herself with, John?

John.
Horseflesh?

Ambo.
[Very dolefully.]
Tol lol lol, &c.

Squire
Eh! horseflesh! Where could she get so much in one day?

John.
Your father's stud, sir—

Squire.
Ah! the best in all York!
Has he lost any horses?

John.
Yes, five died last Monday—

Squire.
Died! what did they die of?

John.
Faith, sir, overwork!

Squire.
You astonish me quite! Why what work'd them so hard there?

John.
Bearing water to put out the fire that we found—

Squire
Eh! fire, John—what fire?

John.
The fire in the farm yard, there,
Which burnt your poor father's house down to the ground!

Ambo.
(Dolefully.)
Tol lol lol, &c.

Squire.
My father's house burnt! Who is of it accus'd, then?

John.
The torches, 'tis thought, sir, were chiefly in fault.

Squire.
The torches! what torches?

John.
Why those that were us'd, when
Your mother was put in the family vault!

Squire.
My mother dead!

John.
Yes—the bad tidings excuse, sir—

Squire
Of course from my father a letter you bear?

John.
No, sir, he's dead, too—he received the bad news, sir,
And, poor gentleman! died the next day in despair.

Ambo.
(Dolefully)
Tol lol lol, &c.

Squire.
Bad news, eh? what news?

John.
Why the run on his bank, there—

Squire.
Impossible!

John.
Sir, 'tis as true as you're born

Squire.
Why his with the very first houses might rank there—

John.
But now it's stopp'd payment—its credit is gone!

Squire.
Stopp'd payment!

John.
Yes, sir—you are not worth a shilling—
I grieve, for you still were the kindest of masters,
So I took the York waggon, for I, sir, were willing,
To break by degrees to you all your disasters.

Ambo.
(Dolefully.)
Tol lol lol, &c.