University of Virginia Library

Scene Sixth.

—The Garden of the Uncle's Suburban Villa. House, L. 2 E.; two garden seats on R. and L.; man-trap behind tree, R. 2 E.
Enter Maria, her hair down and in great grief, followed by Thoroughgood, also in grief, R. 1 E.
Enter Uncle, with large blunderbuss; a Gardener with a hoe, backing him up; a fat Cook, with a sauce ladle; a Housemaid, with a broom; and a Groom, with a pitchfork—all alarmed—from house, L. 2 E.
Uncle.
Wh-wh-where are you, you garotting brute, you?
Let's know your whereabouts, that I may shoot you.
This blunderbuss's contents you I'll lodge in—
Your'e fixed, my friend, and so it's no use dodging!
You've prigged my pears, ha! ha! there's no escape!
My apples, too—now you shall taste my grape!

Maria
(falls on knees, C.)
Mercy! it is my father!

Thoro.
(R.)
Yes, it's me—Thoroughgood,
Hosier, ten hundred and three, Tot'nam Court-road!

Uncle.
What are you doing, there, in that enclosure?
Who'd think, 'midst apple-trees, to find an osier!

(Servants release Thoroughgood, and exit, L.
Thoro.
Oh, sir, De Barnwell!

Uncle.
What, my nevvy, oh!

Thoro.
Gone!

Uncle.
Oh, this is indeed a nevvy blow (all take out pocket handkerchiefs)


Trio, “Johnny was a shoemaker,”
Thoro.
That George de B. was to make her,
His wife was understood;
But he's gone alack,
And I fear he won't come back;
Though he's certainly not gone for good-ood-ood.

Maria.
That apprentice to a hosi-er,
Behaved most shamefullee;
For the heartless sinner,
Run away, just after dinner,
And he never came back to his tea ee-ee.

Uncle.
Bound him 'prentice to a haberdash-er.
Did I. My handkerchief
You'll give back some
Of the heavy premi-um.
We'll go inside and give way to grief eef-eef.

(all exit in house)
Music, “The Wolf.”—Enter Barnwell, R., in the dress of a Coburg Bandit, black ringlet wig, russet boots, gauntlets, and large buckle in his belt which is studded with knives; combat sword.
Barn.
To nerve me to the deed so dark and vile,
I've togged myself in the old Coburg style;
Thus have I seen transpontine villains stride,
(imitates melodramatic style)
Thus have I seen them enemies deride;
(laughs in same manner)
Thus with a voice that's well up in the throat,
Have heard them growl “In cell beneath the moat,
Load them with chains and manacles, you he-ar,
Ha, ha! Remorsolino knows no fear.”
Where are my weapons? I've sufficient knives,
Ay, “if the slave had forty thousand lives;
My great revenge has stomach for them all,”
He comes!—here goes to make short work of Paul.

Enter Uncle with watering pot from house.
Uncle.
(L.)
Heigho! to keep my spirits up I'll try;

George.
(R.)
Excuse me, but teremble—also die.

Uncle.
Who are you?

George.
What, who am I? as for that a—
I am—

Uncle.
You are—

George.
I am, ha, ha! no matter;
Just have the kindness please, to take your fate.
Music.—Fences with the Uncle who guards himself with the watering pot, which has a very long spout—George

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30

rubs his sword along the spout after manner of minor theatre combatants, and leaves off to wipe his brow. The fight is renewed, and Barnwell falls, the Uncle pours some water on him and he revives; fights on one knee, drives Uncle to L. garden chair, on which he sinks.
Now die.

Uncle.
You wouldn't hit me when I'm down?

Barn.
Of course I would—here goes! (sticks him)
Oh, Uncle Brown!
I didn't go to do it! Here! it's I,
Your nephew George! He's killed, by George! don't die.
I only meant with just a prod to drill him!
He is my uncle! Oh! I can't un-kill him.
It's all that dreadful creature Milwood's doing;
She wrought my ruin!

Enter Millwood through vampire in flat suddenly— tremulous music through this.
Milwood.
What, the deed your rueing,
Your sorry for it, eh?—You'd gladly be
Once more the poor apprentice, happy, free
From silly notions foreign to your station;
In fact you'd like your former situation,
Maria's love—

Barn.
Don't torture me, I see
Policeman eighteen hundred sixty-three!
With Bluchers for a Brodignagian meet,
And elephantine boots on his poor feet!
His blood-shot bull's-eye glares from it's deep socket;
He pulls the cruel handcuffs from his pocket!
(kneels—tearing off wig and robber's dress)
Mercy! take that and that—there, there, and there!
I'm guilty!—collar me!—Despair, despair!

(falls helplessly on the ground on his face)
Milwood.
Enough—the spell 'tis full now time to break,
First, though, my form original I'll take.
(music.—her dress of Milwood vanishes, and Folly appears in its place)
Quick, George de Barnwell, from your dream awake!

(touches him—he looks up)
Barn.
Where am I?

Enter Thoroughgood, Trueman, and Maria, from house L.
Thoro.
There he is—my boy—my 'prentice!

Uncle.
My nevvy!

Maria.
George!

Barn.
What, am I compos mentis?

Thoro.
My dear de Barnwell, you've been out all night.

Barn.
What, uncle, ain't you dead then?

Uncle.
No, not quite.

Barn.
Where's Lady Milwood?

Folly.
Married, now forget her.
The least you say about all this the better.
Let bygones bygones be, your dream is past,
We'll hope that the impression, though, will last,
And that the moral we've to-night conveyed
Will be of a fast colour, and not fade.

Maria.
Why, you've been walking in your sleep, what fun!

Uncle.
Let's hope the walk may finish in a run.

Barn.
Forgiven, thankee; you'll forgive me too,
Your hands alone, you know, can pull me through.
De Barnwell's going into business, and
He asks your favours, thus—you understand?
He needs naught else his future path to bless
If you'll stamp this night's vision a success.

Finale.—“Hot Cod[illeg.]ings.”
Folly.
The dreadful condition

Maria.
To which is brought

Uncle.
The sort of ambition

Barn.
One didn't ought

Maria.
To flourish, we to-night have shown,
In language not at all high flown.

Folly.
Then smile on our absurditee.
Let George de Barnwell happy be.
Thus us jolly make, our folly take,
As you've very often done at Christmas time, oh!

All.
Thus us folly make, &c.

(all sink through traps during chorus)