 | The Hunchback |  |
SCENE I.
—A Tavern.On one side Sir Thomas Clifford, at a table, with wine before him; on the other, Master Wilford, Gaylove, Holdwell, and Simpson, likewise taking wine.
Wilf.
Your wine, sirs! your wine! You do not justice to
mine host of the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear
the beverage is good! It is as palatable poison as you will
purchase within a mile round Ludgate! Drink, gentlemen;
make free. You know I am a man of expectations; and hold
my money as light as the purse in which I carry it.
Gay.
We drink, Master Wilford. Not a man of us has
been chased, as yet.
Wilf.
But you fill not fairly, sirs! Look at my measure!
Wherefore a large glass, if not for a large draught? Fill,
I pray you, else, let us drink out of thimbles! This will
never do for the friends of the nearest of kin to the wealthiest
peer in Britain.
Gay.
We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of
advancement which has so unexpectedly opened to you.
Wilf.
Unexpectedly indeed! But yesterday arrived the
news that the Earl's only son and heir had died; and, to-day,
has the Earl, himself, been seized with a mortal illness.—His
dissolution is looked for hourly; and I, his cousin in only the
third degree, known to him but to be unnoticed by him—a
decayed gentleman's son—glad of the title and revenues of a
scrivener's clerk,—am the undoubted successor to his estates
and coronet.
Gay.
Have you been sent for?
Wilf.
No; but I have certified to his agent, Master Walter,
the Hunchback, my existence, and peculiar propinquity; and
momentarily expect him, here.
Gay.
Lives there any one that may dispute your claim,—I
mean vexatiously?
Wilf.
Not a man, Master Gaylove. I am the sole remaining
branch of the family tree.
Gay.
Doubtless you look for much happiness from this
change of fortune?
A world! Three things have I an especial passion
for. The finest hound, the finest horse, and the finest wife
in the kingdom, Master Gaylove!
Gay.
The finest wife?
Wilf.
Yes, sir; I marry. Once the earldom comes into my
line, I shall take measures to perpetuate its remaining there.
I marry, sir! I do not say that I shall love. My heart has
changed mistresses too often to settle down in one servitude
now, sir. But fill, I pray you, friends. This, if I mistake
not, is the day whence I shall date my new fortunes; and, for
that reason, hither have I invited you; that, having been so
long my boon companions, you shall be the first to congratulate
me.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter.
You are wanted, Master Wilford.
Wilf.
By whom?
Waiter.
One Master Walter.
Wilf.
His lordship's agent! News, sirs! Show him in!
[Waiter goes out.
My heart's a prophet, sirs.—The Earl is dead.
Enter Master Walter.
Well, Master Walter. How accost you me?
Wal.
As your impatience shows me you would have me.—
My lord, the Earl of Rochdale!
Gay.
Give you joy!
Hold.
All happiness, my lord!
Simp.
Long life and health unto your lordship!
Gay.
Come!
We'll drink to his lordship's health! 'Tis two o'clock,
We'll e'en carouse till midnight! Health, my lord!
Hold.
My lord, much joy to you!
Simp.
All good to your lordship!
Wal.
Give something to the dead!
Gay.
Give what?
Wal.
Respect!
He has made the living! First to him that's gone,
Say “Peace!”—and then with decency to revels!
Gay.
What means the knave by revels?
Wal.
Knave?
Gay.
Ay, knave!
Wal.
Go to! Thou'rt flush'd with wine!
Gay.
Thou sayest false!
Though didst thou need a proof thou speakest true,
I'd give thee one. Thou seest but one lord here,
And I see two!
Wal.
Reflect'st thou on my shape?
Thou art a villain!
Gay.
[Starting up.]
Ha!
Wal.
A coward, too!
Draw!
[Drawing his sword.
Only mark him! how he struts about!
How laughs his straight sword at his noble back
Wal.
Does it? It cuffs thee for a liar then!
[Strikes Gaylove with his sword.
Gay.
A blow!
Wal.
Another, lest you doubt the first!
Gay.
His blood on his own head! I'm for you, sir!
[Draws.
Clif.
Hold, sir! This quarrel's mine!
[Coming forward and drawing.
Wal.
No man shall fight for me, sir!
Clif.
By your leave,
Your patience, pray! My lord, for so I learn
Behoves me to accost you—for your own sake,
Draw off your friend!
Wal.
Not till we have a bout, sir!
Clif.
My lord, your happy fortune ill you greet!—
Ill greet it those who love you—greeting thus
The herald of it!
Wal.
Sir, what's that to you?
Let go my sleeve!
Clif.
My lord, if blood be shed
On the fair dawn of your prosperity,
Look not to see the brightness of its day.
'Twill be o'ercast throughout!
Gay.
My lord, I'm struck!
Clif.
You gave the first blow, and the hardest one!
Look, sir; if swords you needs must measure, I'm
Your mate, not he!
Wal.
I'm mate for any man!
Clif.
Draw off your friend, my lord, for your own sake!
Wilf.
Come, Gaylove! let's have another room.
Gay.
With all my heart, since 'tis your lordship's will.
Wilf.
That's right! Put up! Come, friends!
[Wilford and Friends go out.
Wal.
I'll follow him!
Why do you hold me? 'Tis not courteous of you!
Think'st thou I fear them? Fear! I rate them but
As dust! dross! offals! Let me at them!—Nay,
Call you this kind? then kindness know I not;
Nor do I thank you for't! Let go, I say!
Clif.
Nay, Master Walter, they're not worth your wrath!
Wal.
How know you me for Master Walter? By
My hunchback, eh!—my stilts of legs and arms,
The fashion more of ape's than man's? Aha!
So you have heard them, too—their savage gibes
As I pass on,—“There goes my lord!” Aha!
God made me, sir, as well as them and you!
'Sdeath! I demand of you, unhand me, sir!
Clif.
There, sir, you're free to follow them! Go forth,
And I'll go too: so on your wilfulness
Shall fall whate'er of evil may ensue.
Is't fit you waste your choler on a burr?
To break their villain jests on worthy men,
The worthier the fitter! Fie for shame!
Regard what such would say? So would not I,
No more than heed a cur.
Wal.
You're right, sir; right.
For twenty crowns!—so there's my rapier up!
You've done me a good turn against my will;
Which, like a wayward child, whose pet is off,
That made him restive under wholesome check,
I now right humbly own, and thank you for.
Clif.
No thanks, good Master Walter, owe you me!
I'm glad to know you, sir.
Wal.
I pray you, now,
How did you learn my name? Guess'd I not right?
Was't not my comely hunch that taught it you?
Clif.
I own it.
Wal.
Right, I know it; you tell truth.
I like you for't.
Clif.
But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on 'change soon as his bond;
A liberal man—for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man—the good he does,
That's told of, not the half—I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter's back!
Wal.
You would not flatter a poor citizen?
Clif.
Indeed, I flatter not!
Wal.
I like your face—
A frank and honest one! Your frame 's well knit,
Proportion'd, shaped!
Clif.
Good sir!
Wal.
Your name is Clifford?—
Sir Thomas Clifford. Humph! You're not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy? He
That was, was drown'd, abroad. Am I not right?
Your cousin, was't not?—so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne'er promised you.
Clif.
I see you know my history.
Wal.
I do.
You're lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see. That's right! Why should you?
What merit to be dropp'd on fortune's hill?
The honour is to climb it. You'd have done it;
For you were train'd to knowledge, industry,
Frugality, and honesty,—the sinews
That surest help a man to gain the top,
And then will keep him there. I have a clerk,
Humph! I may thank you for my life to-day.
Clif.
I pray you say not so.
Wal.
But I will say so!
Because I think so, know so, feel so, sir!
Your fortune, I have heard, I think, is ample!
And doubtless you live up to't?
Clif.
'Twas my rule,
And is so still, to keep my outlay, sir,
A span within my means.
Wal.
A prudent rule!
The turf is a seductive pastime?
Clif.
Yes.
Wal.
You keep a racing stud? You bet?
Clif.
No, neither.
'Twas still my father's precept—“Better owe
A yard of land to labour, than to chance
Be debtor for a rood!”
Wal.
'Twas a wise precept.
You've a fair house—you'll get a mistress for it?
Clif.
In time!
Wal.
In time? 'Tis time thy choice were made!
Is't not so yet? Or is thy lady love
The newest still thou seest?
Clif.
Nay, not so.
I'd marry, Master Walter, but old use—
For since the age of thirteen, I have lived
In the world—has made me jealous of the thing
That flatter'd me with hope of profit. Bargains
Another would snap up, might lie, for me;
Till I had turn'd and turn'd them! Speculations,
That promised twenty, thirty, forty, fifty,
Ay, cent-per-cent. returns, I would not launch in,
When others were afloat, and out at sea;
Whereby I made small gains, but miss'd great losses.
As ever, then, I look'd before I leap'd,
So do I now.
Wal.
Thou'rt all the better for it!
[Aside.]
Let's see! Hand free—heart whole—well-favour'd—so!
Rich—titled—let that pass!—kind, valiant, prudent—
Sir Thomas, I can help thee to a wife,
Hast thou the luck to win her!
Clif.
Master Walter!
You jest?
Wal.
I do not jest!—I like you!—Mark!—
I like you—and I like not every one!
I say a wife, sir, can I help you to,
The pearly texture of whose dainty skin
Alone were worth thy baronetcy! Form
And feature has she, wherein move and glow
Cull'd by the sculptor's jealous skill and joinéd there,
Inspire us! Sir, a maid, beneath whose feet,
A duke—a duke might lay his coronet,
To lift her to his state, and partner her!
A fresh heart too!—a young fresh heart, sir; one
That Cupid has not toy'd with; and a warm one—
Fresh, young, and warm!—Mark that! A mind to boot—
Wit, sir; sense, taste;—a garden strictly tended—
Where nought but what is costly flourishes!
A consort for a king, sir! You shall see her!
Clif.
I thank you, Master Walter! As you speak,
Methinks I see me at the altar-foot!
Her hand fast lock'd in mine!—the ring put on!
My wedding-bell rings merry in my ear;
And round me throng glad tongues that give me joy
To be the bridegroom of so fair a bride!
Wal.
What! sparks so thick? We'll have a blaze anon!
Servant.
[Entering.]
The chariot's at the door.
Wal.
It waits in time!
Sir Thomas, it shall bear thee to the bower
Where dwells this fair—for she's no city belle,
But e'en a sylvan goddess!
Clif.
Have with you!
Wal.
You'll bless the day you served the Hunchback, sir!
[They go out.
| The Hunchback | |