University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene.—Tower Green by Moonlight. Two days have elapsed. Women and Yeomen of the Guard discovered.
[Exeunt all.
Enter Jack Point, in low spirits, reading from a huge volume.
Point
(reads).

“The Merrie Jestes of Hugh Ambrose. No.
7863. The Poor Wit and the Rich Councillor. A certayne
poor wit, being an-hungered, did meet a well-fed councillor.
‘Marry, fool,’ quoth the councillor, ‘whither away?’ ‘In
truth,’ said the poor wag, ‘in that I have eaten naught these
two dayes, I do wither away, and that right rapidly!’ The
councillor laughed hugely, and gave him a sausage.” Humph!
The councillor was easier to please than my new master, the
Lieutenant. I would like to take post under that councillor.
Ah! 'tis but melancholy mumming when poor heartbroken-jilted
Jack Point must needs turn to Hugh Ambrose for original
light humour!

Enter Wilfred, also in low spirits.
Wil.
(sighing).

Ah, Master Point!

Point
(changing his manner).

Ha! friend jailor! Jailor
that wast—jailor that never shalt be more! Jailor that jailed
not, or that jailed, if jail he did, so unjailorly that 'twas but
jerry-jailing, or jailing in joke—though no joke to him who,
by unjailorlike jailing, did so jeopardize his jailorship. Come,
take heart, smile, laugh, wink, twinkle, thou tormentor that
tormentest none—thou racker that rackest not—thou pincher
out of place—come, take heart, and be merry, as I am!—
(aside, dolefully)
—as I am!

Wil.

Ay, it's well for thee to laugh. Thou hast a good
post, and hast cause to be merry.

Point
(bitterly).

Cause? Have we not all cause? Is not
the world a big butt of humour, into which all who will may
drive a gimlet? See, I am a salaried wit; and is there aught
in nature more ridiculous? A poor dull, heart-broken man,
who must needs be merry, or he will be whipped; who must
rejoice, lest he starve; who must jest you, jibe you, quip you,
crank you, wrack you, riddle you, from hour to hour, from day
to day, from year to year, lest he dwindle, perish, starve, pine,
and die! Why, when there's naught else to laugh at, I laugh
at myself till I ache for it!

Wil.

Yet I have often thought that a jester's calling would
suit me to a hair.

Point.

Thee? Would suit thee, thou death's head and crossbones?

Wil.

Ay, I have a pretty wit—a light, airy, joysome wit,
spiced with anecdotes of prison cells and the torture chamber.
Oh, a very delicate wit! I have tried it on many a prisoner,

and there have been some who smiled. Now it is not easy
to make a prisoner smile. And it should not be difficult to
be a good jester, seeing that thou art one.

Point.

Difficult? Nothing easier. Nothing easier. Attend,
and I will prove it to thee!

Song.—Point

Point.

And so thou wouldst be a jester, eh? Now, listen!
My sweetheart, Elsie Maynard, was secretly wed to this Fairfax
half an hour ere he escaped.

Wil.

She did well.

Point.

She did nothing of the kind, so hold thy peace and
perpend. Now, while he liveth she is dead to me and I to her,
and so, my jibes and jokes notwithstanding, I am the saddest
and the sorriest dog in England!

Wil.

Thou art a very dull dog indeed.

Point.

Now, if thou wilt swear that thou didst shoot this
Fairfax while he was trying to swim across the river—it needs
but the discharge of an arquebus on a dark night—and that he
sank and was seen no more, I'll make thee the very Archbishop
of jesters, and that in two days' time! Now, what
sayest thou?

Wil.

I am to lie?

Point.

Heartily. But thy lie must be a lie of circumstance,
which I will support with the testimony of eyes, ears and
tongue.

Wil.

And thou wilt qualify me as a jester?

Point.

As a jester among jesters. I will teach thee all my
original songs, my self-constructed riddles, my own ingenious
paradoxes; nay, more, I will reveal to thee the source whence
I get them. Now, what sayest thou?

Wil.

Why, if it be but a lie thou wantest of me, I hold it
cheap enough, and I say yes, it is a bargain!

Duet.—Point and Wilfred.
Both.
Hereupon we're both agreed,
And all that we two
Do agree to
We'll secure by solemn deed,
To prevent all
Error mental.
I/You on Elsie am/are to call
With a story
Grim and gory;
How this Fairfax died, and all
I/You declare to
You're/I'm to swear to.
Tell a tale of cock and bull,
Of convincing detail full;
Tale tremendous,
Heaven defend us!
What a tale of cock and bull!
In return for your/my own part
You are/I am making,
Undertaking,
To instruct me/you in the art
(Art amazing,
Wonder raising)
Of a jester, jesting free.
Proud position—
High ambition!
And a lively one I'll/you'll be,
Wag-a-wagging,
Never flagging!
Tell a tale of cock and bull, etc.

[Exeunt together.
Enter Fairfax.
Fair.

A day and a half gone, and no news of poor Fairfax!
The dolts! They seek him everywhere, save within a dozen
yards of his dungeon. So I am free! Free, but for the cursed
haste with which I hurried headlong into the bonds of matrimony
with—Heaven knows whom! As far as I remember, she
should have been young; but even had not her face been concealed
by her kerchief, I doubt whether, in my then plight,
I should have taken much note of her. Free? Bah! The
Tower bonds were but a thread of silk compared with these

conjugal fetters which I, fool that I was, placed upon mine own
hands. From the one I broke readily enough—how to break
the other!

Song.—Fairfax.

Enter Meryll.
Fair.

Well, Sergeant Meryll, and how fares thy pretty
charge, Elsie Maynard?

Mer.

Well enough, sir. She is quite strong again, and leaves
us to-night.

Fair.

Thanks to Dame Carruthers' kind nursing, eh?

Mer.

Ay, deuce take the old witch! Ah, 'twas but a sorry
trick you played me, sir, to bring the fainting girl to me. It
gave the old lady an excuse for taking up her quarters in my
house, and for the last two years I've shunned her like the
plague. Another day of it and she would have married me!
Good Lord, here she is again! I'll e'en go. (Going.)

Enter Dame Carruthers and Kate, her niece.
Dame.

Nay, Sergeant Meryll, don't go. I have something of
grave import to say to thee.

Mer.
(aside).

It's coming.

Fair.
(laughing).

I'faith, I think I'm not wanted here.
(Going.)

Dame.

Nay, Master Leonard, I've naught to say to thy father
that his son may not hear.

Fair.
(aside).

True. I'm one of the family; I had forgotten!

Dame.

'Tis about this Elsie Maynard. A pretty girl, Master
Leonard.

Fair.

Ay, fair as a peach blossom—what then?

Dame.

She hath a liking for thee, or I mistake not.

Fair.

With all my heart. She's as dainty a little maid as
you'll find in a midsummer day's march.

Dame.

Then be warned in time, and give not thy heart to
her. Oh, I know what it is to give my heart to one who will
have none of it!

Mer.
(aside).

Ay, she knows all about that. (Aloud.)
And
why is my boy to take heed of her? She's a good girl, Dame
Carruthers.

Dame.

Good enough, for aught I know. But she's no girl.
She's a married woman.

Mer.

A married woman! Tush, old lady—she's promised to
Jack Point, the lieutenant's new jester.

Dame.

Tush in thy teeth, old man! As my niece Kate sat
by her bedside to-day, this Elsie slept, and as she slept she
moaned and groaned, and turned this way and that way—and,
“How shall I marry one I have never seen?” quoth she—then,
“A hundred crowns!” quoth she—then, “Is it certain he will
die in an hour?” quoth she—then, “I love him not and yet I
am his wife,” quoth she! Is it not so, Kate?

Kate.

Ay, mother, 'tis eyen so.

Fair.

Art thou sure of all this?

Kate.

Ay, sir, for I wrote it all down on my tablets.

Dame.

Now, mark my words: it was of this Fairfax she
spake, and he is her husband, or I'll swallow my kirtle!

Mer.
(aside).

Is this true, sir?

Fair.

True? Why, the girl was raving! Why should she
marry a man who had but an hour to live?

Dame.

Marry? There be those who would marry but for a
minute, rather than die old maids.

Mer.
(aside).

Ay, I know one of them!

Quartette.—Kate, Fairfax, Dame Carruthers, and Meryll.

[Exeunt Dame Carruthers, Meryll, and Kate.
Fair.

So my mysterious bride is no other than this winsome
Elsie! By my hand, 'tis no such ill-plunge in Fortune's lucky
bag! I might have fared worse with my eyes open! But she
comes. Now to test her principles. 'Tis not every husband
who has a chance of wooing his own wife!

Enter Elsie.
Fair.

Mistress Elsie!

Elsie.

Master Leonard!

Fair.

So thou leavest us to-night?

Elsie.

Yes, Master Leonard. I have been kindly tended, and
I almost fear I am loth to go.

Fair.

And this Fairfax. Wast thou glad when he escaped?

Elsie.

Why, truly, Master Leonard, it is a sad thing that a
young and gallant gentleman should die in the very fulness of
his life.

Fair.

Then when thou didst faint in my arms, it was for joy
at his safety?

Elsie.

It may be so. I was highly wrought, Master Leonard,
and I am but a girl, and so, when I am highly wrought, I faint.

Fair.

Now, dost thou know, I am consumed with a parlous
jealousy?

Elsie.

Thou? And of whom?

Fair.

Why, of this Fairfax, surely!

Elsie.

Of Colonel Fairfax!

Fair.

Ay. Shall I be frank with thee? Elsie—I love thee,
ardently, passionately! (Elsie alarmed and surprised.)
Elsie,
I have loved thee these two days—which is a long time—and
I would fain join my life to thine!

Elsie.

Master Leonard! Thou art jesting!

Fair.

Jesting? May I shrivel into raisins if I jest! I love
thee with a love that is a fever—with a love that is a frenzy—
with a love that eateth up my heart! What sayest thou?
Thou wilt not let my heart be eaten up?

Elsie.
(aside).

Oh, mercy! What am I to say?

Fair.

Dost thou love me, or hast thou been insensible these
two days?

Elsie.

I love all brave men.

Fair.

Nay, there is love in excess. I thank Heaven, there
are many brave men in England; but if thou lovest them all, I
withdraw my thanks.

Elsie.

I love the bravest best. But, sir, I may not listen—
I am not free—I—I am a wife!

Fair.

Thou a wife? Whose? His name? His hours are
numbered—nay, his grave is dug, and his epitaph set up!
Come, his name?

Elsie.
Oh, sir! keep my secret—it is the only barrier that
Fate could set up between us. My husband is none other than
Colonel Fairfax!

Fair.

The greatest villain unhung! The most ill-begotten,
ill-favoured, ill-mannered, ill-natured, ill-omened, ill-tempered
dog in Christendom!

Elsie.

It is very like. He is naught to me—for I never saw
him. I was blindfolded, and he was to have died within the
hour; and he did not die—and I am wedded to him, and my
heart is broken!

Fair.

He was to have died, and he did not die! The scoundrel!
The perjured, traitrous, villain! Thou shouldst have insisted
on his dying first, to make sure. 'Tis the only way with these
Fairfaxes.

Elsie.

I now wish I had!

Fair.
(aside).

Bloodthirsty little maiden! (Aloud.)
A fig
for this Fairfax! Be mine—he will never know—he dares not
show himself; and if he dare, what art thou to him? Fly with
me, Elsie—we will be married to-morrow, and thou shalt be the
happiest wife in England!

Elsie.

Master Leonard! I am amazed! Is it thus that brave
soldiers speak to poor girls? Oh! for shame, for shame! I am
wed—not the less because I love not my husband. I am a
wife, sir, and I have a duty, and—oh, sir! thy words terrify
me—they are not honest—they are wicked words, and unworthy
thy great and brave heart! Oh, shame upon thee! shame
upon thee!

Fair.

Nay, Elsie, I did but jest. I spake but to try thee.

[Shot heard.
Enter Meryll, hastily.
Mer.
(recit.).
Hark! What was that, sir?

Fair.
Why, an arquebus—
Fired from the wharf, unless I much mistake.

Mer.
Strange—and at such an hour! What can it mean?

[In the meantime, the Chorus have entered.
Chorus.

Lieutenant enters, also Point and Wilfred.
Lieut.
Who fired that shot? At once the truth declare!

Wil.
My lord, 'twas I—to rashly judge forbear!

Point.
My lord, 'twas he—to rashly judge forbear!

Duet and Chorus.—Wilfred and Point.
Wil.
Like a ghost his vigil keeping—

Point.
Or a spectre all-appalling—

Wil.
I beheld a figure creeping—

Point.
I should rather call it crawling—

Wil.
He was creeping—

Point.
He was crawling—

Wil.
He was creeping, creeping—

Point.
Crawling!

Wil.
Not a moment's hesitation—
I myself upon him flung,
With a hurried exclamation
To his draperies I hung;
Then we closed with one another
In a rough-and-tumble smother;
Colonel Fairfax and no other
Was the man to whom I clung!

All.
Colonel Fairfax and no other
Was the man to whom he clung!

Wil.
After mighty tug and tussle—

Point.
It resembled more a struggle—

Wil.
He, by dint of stronger muscle—

Point.
Or by some infernal juggle—

Wil.
From my clutches quickly sliding—

Point.
I should rather call it slipping—

Wil.
With the view, no doubt, of hiding—

Point.
Or escaping to the shipping—

Wil.
With a gasp, and with a quiver—

Point.
I'd describe it as a shiver—

Wil.
Down he dived into the river
And, alas, I cannot swim.

All.
It's enough to make one shiver,
With a gasp and with a quiver;
Down he dived into the river,
It was very brave of him!

Wil.
Ingenuity is catching;
With the view my king of pleasing,
Arquebus from sentry snatching—

Point.
I should rather call it seizing—

Wil.
With an ounce or two of lead
I despatched him through the head!

All.
He despatched him through the head

Wil.
I discharged it without winking,
Little time he lost in thinking,
Like a stone I saw him sinking—

Point.
I should say a lump of lead.

Wil.
Like a stone, my boy, I said—

Point.
Like a heavy lump of lead.

Wil.
Anyhow the man is dead.

All.
Whether stone or lump of lead,
Arquebus from sentry seizing,
With the view his king of pleasing.
Wilfred shot him through the head,
And he's very, very dead.
And it matters very little whether stone or lump of lead,
It is very, very certain that he's very, very dead!

Recitative.—Lieutenant.
The river must be dragged—no time be lost;
The body must be found, at any cost.
To this attend without undue delay;
So set to work with what despatch ye may!

[Exit.
All.
Yes, yes,
We'll set to work with what despatch we may!

[Four men raise Wilfred, and carry him off on their shoulders.
Chorus.
Hail the valiant fellow who
Did this deed of derring-do!
Honours wait on such an one;
By my head, 'twas bravely done

[Exeunt all but Elsie, Point, Fairfax, and Phœbe.
Point
(to Elsie, who is weeping).

Nay, sweetheart, be comforted.
This Fairfax was but a pestilent fellow, and, as he had
to die, he might as well die thus as any other way. 'Twas a
good death.

Elsie.

Still he was my husband, and had he not been, he was
nevertheless a living man, and now he is dead; and so, by your
leave, my tears may flow unchidden, Master Point.

Fair.

And thou didst see all this?

Point.

Ay, with both eyes at once—this and that. The
testimony of one eye is naught—he may lie. But when it is
corroborated by the other, it is good evidence that none may
gainsay. Here are both present in court, ready to swear to him!

Phœ.

But art thou sure it was Colonel Fairfax? Saw you
his face?

Point.

Ay, and a plaguy ill-favoured face too. A very
hang-dog face—a felon face—a face to fright the headsman himself,
and make him strike awry. Oh, a plaguy bad face, take
my word for 't. (Phœbe and Fairfax laugh).
How they
laugh! 'Tis ever thus with simple folk—an accepted wit has
but to say, “Pass the mustard,” and they roar their ribs out!

Fair.
(aside).

If ever I come to life again thou shalt pay for
this, Master Point!

Point.

Now, Elsie, thou art free to choose again, so behold
me: I am young and well-favoured. I have a pretty wit. I
can jest you, jibe you, quip you, crank you, wrack you, riddle
you—

Fair.

Tush, man, thou knowest not how to woo. 'Tis not to
be done with time-worn jests and thread-bare sophistries; with
quips, conundrums, rhymes, and paradoxes. 'Tis an art in itself,
and must be studied gravely and conscientiously.

Trio.—Fairfax, Elsie, and Phœbe.
Fair.
A man who would woo a fair maid,
Should 'prentice himself to the trade;
And study all day,
In a methodical way,
How to flatter, cajole, and persuade.
He should 'prentice himself at fourteen,
And practice from morning to e'en;
And when he's of age,
If he will, I'll engage,
He may capture the heart of a queen!

All.
It is purely a matter of skill,
Which all may attain if they will:
But every Jack,
He must study the knack
If he wants to make sure of his Jill!

Elsie.
If he's made the best use of his time,
His twig he'll so carefully lime,
That every bird
Will come down at his word,
Whatever its plumage and clime.
He must learn that the thrill of a touch
May mean little, or nothing, or much;
It's an instrument rare,
To be handled with care,
And ought to be treated as such.

All.
It is purely a matter of skill, etc.

Phœ.
Then a glance may be timid or free,
It will vary in mighty degree.
From an impudent stare
To a look of despair
That no maid without pity can see.
And a glance of despair is no guide—
It may have its ridiculous side;
It may draw you a tear
Or a box on the ear;
You can never be sure till you've tried!

All.
It is purely a matter of skill, etc.

Fair.
(aside to Point).

Now, listen to me—'tis done thus.
(Aloud.)
Mistress Elsie, there is one here who, as thou knowest,
loves thee right well!

Point
(aside).

That he does—right well!

Fair.

He is but a man of poor estate, but he hath a loving,
honest heart. He will be a true and trusty husband to thee, and
if thou wilt be his wife, thou shalt lie curled up in his heart,
like a little squirrel in its nest!

Point
(aside).

'Tis a pretty figure. A maggot in a nut lies
closer, but a squirrel will do.

Fair.

He knoweth that thou wast a wife—an unloved and
unloving wife, and his poor heart was near to breaking. But
now that thine unloving husband is dead, and thou art free, he
would fain pray that thou wouldst hearken unto him, and give
him hope that thou wouldst be his!

Phœ.
(alarmed).

He presses her hands—and he whispers in
her ear! Odds boddikins, what does it mean?

Fair.

Now, sweetheart, tell me—wilt thou be this poor good
fellow's wife?

Elsie.

If the good, brave man—is he a brave man?

Fair.

So men say.

Point
(aside).

That's not true, but let it pass this once.

Elsie.

If this brave man will be content with a poor penniless
untaught maid—

Point
(aside).

Widow—but let that pass.

Elsie.

I will be his true and loving wife, and that with my
heart of hearts!

Fair.

My own dear love! (Embracing her.)

Phœ.
(in great agitation).

Why, what's all this? Brother—
brother—it is not seemly!

Point
(also alarmed).

(Aside.)
Oh, I can't let that pass!
(Aloud).
Hold, enough, master Leonard! An advocate should
have his fee, but methinks thou art over-paying thyself!

Fair.

Nay, that is for Elsie to say. I promised thee I would
show thee how to woo, and herein is the proof of the virtue of
my teaching. Go thou, and apply it elsewhere! (Phœbe bursts into tears.)

Quartette.—Elsie, Fairfax, Phœbe, and Point.
Elsie and Fair.
When a wooer
Goes a-wooing,
Naught is truer
Than his joy.
Maiden hushing
All his suing—
Boldly blushing—
Bravely coy!

All.
Oh, the happy days of doing!
Oh, the sighing and the suing!
When a wooer goes a-wooing,
Oh, the sweets that never cloy!

Phœ.
(weeping)
When a brother
Leaves his sister
For another,
Sister weeps.
Tears that trickle,
Tears that blister—
'Tis but mickle
Sister reaps!

All.
Oh, the doing and undoing,
Oh, the sighing and the suing,
When a brother goes a-wooing,
And a sobbing sister weeps!

Point.
When a jester
Is out-witted,
Feelings fester,
Heart is lead!
Food for fishes
Only fitted,
Jester wishes
He was dead!

All.
Oh, the doing and undoing,
Oh, the sighing and the suing,
When a jester goes a-wooing,
And he wishes he was dead!

[Exeunt all but Phœbe, who remains weeping.
Phœ.

And I helped that man to escape, and I've kept his
secret, and pretended that I was his dearly loving sister, and
done everything I could think of to make folk believe I was his
loving sister, and this is his gratitude! Before I pretend to be
sister to anybody again, I'll turn nun, and be sister to everybody
—one as much as another!

Enter Wilfred.
Wil.

In tears, eh? What a plague art thou grizzling for
now?

Phœ.

Why am I grizzling? Thou hast often wept for jealousy
—well, 'tis for jealousy I weep now. Ay, yellow, bilious,
jaundiced jealousy. So make the most of that, Master Wilfred.

Wil.

But I have never given thee cause for jealousy. The
Lieutenant's cook-maid and I are but the merest gossips!

Phœ.

Jealous of thee! Bah! I'm jealous of no craven cock-on-a-hill,
who crows about what he'd do an he dared! I am
jealous of another and a better man than thou—set that down,
Master Wilfred. And he is to marry Elsie Maynard, the little
pale fool—set that down, Master Wilfred; and my heart is well
nigh broken! There, thou hast it all! Make the most of it!

Wil.

The man thou lovest is to marry Elsie Maynard? Why,
that is no other than thy brother, Leonard Meryll!

Phœ.
(aside).

Oh, mercy! what have I said?

Wil.

Why, what manner of brother is this, thou lying little
jade? Speak! Who is this man whom thou hast called brother,
and fondled, and coddled, and kissed—with my connivance
too! Oh! Lord, with my connivance! Ha! should it be this
Fairfax! (Phœbe starts.)
It is! It is this accursed Fairfax!
It's Fairfax! Fairfax, who—

Phœ.

Whom thou hast just shot through the head, and who
lies at the bottom of the river!

Wil.

A—I—I may have been mistaken. We are but fallible
mortals, the best of us. But I'll make sure—I'll make sure.
(Going.)

Phœ.

Stay—one word. I think it cannot be Fairfax—mind,
I say I think—because thou hast just slain Fairfax. But
whether he be Fairfax or no Fairfax, he is to marry Elsie—and
—and—as thou hast shot him through the head, and he is dead,
be content with that, and I will be thy wife!

Wil.

Is that sure?

Phœ.

Ay, sure enough, for there's no help for it! Thou art
a very brute—but even brutes must marry, I suppose.

Wil.

My beloved! (Embraces her.)

Phœ.
(aside).

Ugh!

Enter Leonard, hastily.
Leon.

Phœbe, rejoice, for I bring glad tidings. Colonel Fairfax's
reprieve was signed two days since, but it was foully and
maliciously kept back by Secretary Poltwhistle, who designed
that it should arrive after the Colonel's death. It hath just
come to hand, and it is now in the Lieutenant's possession!

Phœ.

Then the Colonel is free? Oh, kiss me, kiss me, my
dear! Kiss me, again, and again!

Wil.
(dancing with fury).

Ods bobs, death o'my life! Art
thou mad? Am I mad? Are we all mad?

Phœ.

Oh, my dear—my dear, I'm well-nigh crazed with joy!
(Kissing Leonard.)

Wil.

Come away from him, thou hussy—thou jade—thou
kissing, clinging, cockatrice! And as for thee, sir, I'll rip thee
like a herring for this! I'll skin thee for it! I'll cleave thee
to the chine! I'll—Oh! Phœbe! Phœbe! Phœbe!
Who is this man?

Phœ.

Peace, fool. He is my brother!

Wil.

Another brother! Are there any more of them? Produce
them all at once, and let me know the worst!

Phœ.

This is the real Leonard, dolt; the other was but his
substitute. The real Leonard, I say—my father's own son.

Wil.

How do I know this? Has he “brother” writ large on
his brow? I mistrust thy brothers! Thou art but a false
jade!

[Exit Leonard.
Phœ.

Now, Wilfred, be just. Truly I did deceive thee before
—but it was to save a precious life—and to save it, not for me,
but for another. They are to be wed this very day. Is not
this enough for thee? Come—I am thy Phœbe—thy very own
—and we will be wed in a year—or two—or three, at the most.
Is not that enough for thee?

Enter Meryll, excitedly, followed by Dame Carruthers (who listens unobserved).
Mer.

Phœbe, hast thou heard the brave news?

Phœ.
(still in Wilfred's arms).

Ay, father.

Mer.

I'm nigh mad with joy! (Seeing Wilfred.)
Why,
what's all this?

Phœ.

Oh, father, he discovered our secret through my folly,
and the price of his silence is—

Wil.

Phœbe's heart.

Phœ.

Oh dear, no—Phœbe's hand.

Wtl.

It's the same thing!

Phœ.

Is it!

[Exeunt Wilfred and Phœbe.
Mer.
(looking after them).

'Tis pity, but the Colonel had to
be saved at any cost, and as thy folly revealed our secret, thy
folly must e'en suffer for it! (Dame Carruthers comes down.)

Dame Carruthers!

Dame.

So this is a plot to shield this arch-fiend, and I have
detected it. A word from me, and three heads besides his
would roll from their shoulders!

Mer.

Nay, Colonel Fairfax is reprieved. (Aside.)
Yet if my
complicity in his escape were known! Plague on the old

meddler! There's nothing for it! (Aloud.)
Hush, pretty
one! Such bloodthirsty words ill become those cherry lips!
(Aside.)
Ugh!

Dame
(bashfully).

Sergeant Meryll!

Mer.

Why, look ye, chuck—for many a month I've—I've
thought to myself—“There's snug love saving up in that
middle-aged bosom for some one, and why not for thee—that's
me—so take heart and tell her—that's thee—that thou—that's
me—lovest her—thee—and—and—well, I'm a miserable old
man, and I've done it—and that's me!” But not a word about
Fairfax! The price of thy silence is—

Dame.

Meryll's heart?

Mer.

No, Meryll's hand.

Dame.

It's the same thing!

Mer.

Is it!

Duet.—Meryll and Dame Carruthers.
Dame.
Rapture, rapture!
When love's votary,
Flushed with capture,
Seeks the notary,
Joy and jollity
Then is polity;
Reigns frivolity!
Rapture, rapture!

Mer.
Doleful, doleful!
When humanity,
With its soul full
Of satanity,
Courting privity,
Down declivity
Seeks captivity!
Doleful, doleful!

Dame.
Joyful, joyful!
When virginity
Seeks, all coyful,
Man's affinity;
Fate all flowery,
Bright and bowery
Is her dowery!
Joyful, joyful!

Mer.
Ghastly, ghastly!
When man, sorrowful,
Firstly, lastly,
Of to-morrow full,
After tarrying,
Yields to harrying—
Goes a-marrying.
Ghastly, ghastly!

Finale.
Enter Yeomen, Women, and Elsie as Bride.
Chorus of Women.
(Elegiacs.)
Comes the pretty young bride, a-blushing, timidly shrinking—
Set all thy fears aside—cheerily, pretty young bride!
Brave is the youth to whom thy lot thou art willingly linking!
Flower of valour is he—loving as loving can be!
Brightly thy summer is shining,
Fair is the dawn of the day;
Take him, be true to him—
Tender his due to him—
Honour him, love and obey!

Trio.—Phœbe, Elsie, and Dame Carruthers.
'Tis said that joy in full perfection
Comes only once to womankind—
That, other times, on close inspection,
Some lurking bitter we shall find.
If this be so, and men say truly,
My day of joy has broken duly.
With happiness my soul is cloyed—
This is my joy-day unalloyed!

All.
Yes, yes,
This is her joy-day unalloyed!

Flourish. Enter Lieutenant.
Lieut.
Hold, pretty one! I bring to thee
News—good or ill, it is for thee to say.
Thy husband lives—and he is free,
And comes to claim his bride this very day!

Elsie.
No! no! recall those words—it cannot be!
Leonard, my Leonard, come, oh, come to me!
Leonard, my own—my loved one—where art thou?
I knew not how I loved thine heart till now!

Ensemble.
Elsie and Phœbe.
Oh, day of terror! day of tears!
What fearful tidings greet mine ears?
Oh, Leonard, come thou to my side,
And claim me as thy loving bride.

Chorus and Others.
Oh, day of terror! day of tears!
What words are these that greet our ears?
Who is the man who, in his pride,
So boldly claims thee as his bride?

Lieut. and Point.
Come, dry these unbecoming tears,
Most joyful tidings greet thine ears.
The man to whom thou art allied
Appears to claim thee as his bride.

Flourish. Enter Colonel Fairfax, handsomely dressed, and attended by other Gentlemen.
Fair.
(sternly.)
All thought of Leonard Meryll set aside.
Thou art mine own! I claim thee as my bride.

Elsie.
A suppliant at thy feet I fall:
Thine heart will yield to pity's call!

Fair.
Mine is a heart of massive rock,
Unmoved by sentimental shock!
Thy husband he!

Elsie.
Leonard, my loved one—come to me,
They bear me hence away!
But though they take me far from thee,
My heart is thine for aye!
My bruisèd heart,
My broken heart,
Is thine, my own, for aye!
(To Fairfax.)
Sir, I obey,
I am thy bride;
But ere the fatal hour
I said the say
That placed me in thy power,
Would I had died!
Sir, I obey!
I am thy bride!
(Looks up and recognizes Fairfax.)
Leonard!

Fair.
My own!

Elsie.
Ah! (Embrace.)


Elsie and Fair.
With happiness my soul is cloyed,
This is my joy-day unalloyed!

All.
Yes! yes!
With happiness their souls are cloyed,
This is their joy-day unalloyed!

Point.
Oh thoughtless crew!
Ye know not what ye do!
Attend to me, and shed a tear or two—
For I have a song to sing, O!

All.
Sing me your song, O! etc.

Point.
It is sung to the moon
By a love-lorn loon,
Who fled from the mocking throng, O!
It's the song of a merryman moping mum,
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

All.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Elsie.
I have a song to sing, O!

All.
Sing me your song, O!

Elsie.
It is sung with the ring
Of the songs maids sing
Who love with a love life-long, O!
It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud,
Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud
At the moan of the merryman moping mum,
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

All.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

[Fairfax embraces Elsie as Point falls insensible at their feet.