University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A decayed apartment in the house of Trapbois, partly hung with tapestry. A huge oak-carved four-post bed, with cumbrous tapestry hangings. A cracked mirror in a massy brass-work frame. Chairs of various sorts and sizes, covered, some with leather, some with damask, and some with other materials. A slab against the back wall, with a box on it. In front, two chairs and a table.
Enter Trapbois shewing in Nigel.
Trapb.
This is your bed-chamber.

Nigel.
Sir, it shall serve.

Trap.
And—ugh! I beg your pardon,—but it's usual,—
Ugh—when we take in unknown lodgers, for 'em
To pay before.

Nigel.
I should not be unknown,
Seeing I placed, this morning, in your hands,
No less a pledge than the crown-jewels, to raise
Six thousand pounds on.

Trapb.
True, you are the gallant
That came with Master Heriot—ugh! Yes, yes,
I had almost forgot.

Nigel.
Has the boy brought
The box I sent for? (Seeing it on the slab)
Good,—I shall scarce stay
Beyond three days, or four: but this will answer
(Unlocking the box and giving him a piece of gold.)
For four night's lodging, host.

Trapb.
You may stay more—
The week, I hope, at least.

Nigel.
Another then,
And leave me. (Gives another piece.)


[Exit Trapbois examining the money.
Nigel.
(Taking his pistols from his belt, lays them on the slab, then, looking at the grate, calls after Trapbois.)
But they've lit no fire.—Some fire there!
No drudge to answer?—Ho! good host! some fire!

Trapb.
(without.)
Ugh—ugh!—What now? who's there?—What, fire! why, Martha!
Daughter of mine!

Martha.
(without.)
Peace, father, all is safe!

(Enter Martha and Trapbois following. She is dressed in a stiff ruff and farthingale; with a black hood on her head, concealing her hair.)
Martha.
What were you lacking, sir?

Nigel.
Nothing to tax
Your courtesy far; a little fire, no more.

Martha.
Faggot and coal are yonder in your reach.

Trapb.
The gentleman shall not be put to fill
The grate; I'll do't—for a consideration.
He'd waste the fuel sorely!

Martha.
To be plain,
My father's old; and, for myself, I care not
How few I see or speak with: so, for service,
You'll fare but scantly.

Nigel.
Could I hire no servant
While I stay with you?

Martha.
In all places, stranger,
And most in this, where ev'ry knave, that ties
Your points, would pick your purse, the wise man's ever
His own best servant. While you sojourn here,
(And, if you've wit, you'll scarce outstay necessity,)
Wait, therefore, on yourself; and let him not
Advance you money; for his faculties,
Ag'd as you see them in all else, would there
Be more than match for youth.

Trapb.
I'll be his servant,
And brush his cloak or shoes; do all his errands,
Ugh, soon and safe—for a consideration.

Martha.
Give you good night: it ill beseems a daughter
To hear a father thus, with his own tongue,
Undo his own respect: his aged wit
Grows mean, and draws his manners after it.
'Tis but the dread, lest robbers guess we've gold,
Makes him affect this sordidness.

Trapb.
No more
Of that, housewife; no more on't, or I'll beat thee,
Housewife; ugh! beat thee with my staff, for fetching
And carrying lies, to get our throats cut, housewife!

Martha.
(Drawing him away.)
Father, to bed; the night grows late; to bed.

Trapb.
Sir, I'm a poor man, very poor, and willing
To do you any turn in honesty,—
For a consideration.

[Exit, with Martha, who gently forces him off.
Nigel.
There they go,
Well fitted each to each, like bitter med'cine
Waiting upon disease.—How now? You never
Can hold this life, Lord Nigel. Poor you are
In all but your rich blood; which blood, so rich,
Being indulged, doth make men to be poor;
And your poor lord, like to a stately ship,
Wanting the wind, that should make flush her sails,
Lies logged, for lesser craft to mock in passing.
You, sirrah, rapier out.—sure you and I
With yonder pellets, (pointing to his pistols)
and the Palatine flag,
Could earn, upon some score of German skulls,
A livelier livelihood, than waits us here.
[Making a pass or two in the air.
Enter Martha.
Well, mistress, what's your errand?

Martha.
Of that rent
Which your improvidence has paid my father
In more than due advance, I have brought back
This piece—

Enter Trapbois.
Trapb.
Art mad? yield up my gold!

Nigel.
I gave it
Freely.

Martha.
While yet he could, he kept the house;
I keep it now, and suffer no extortion.
There! (she lays it on the slab near the box.)


Trapb.
Take thy poor old father's life?

Martha.
I see
You've arms. D'ye know their use?

Nigel.
I should so;
I am a soldier.

Martha.
You will find enough
Of fighting here, if you are fond of that.
'Tis well an't seek not you, and when least ready.

Nigel.
Have you such dang'rous neighbours?

Martha.
Mark that door:
A castle-gate is not more arm'd. The windows
We keep cross-barr'd o'th'outside; and within,
Look at these shutters; at the bolts and chains
Which guard them.

Trapb.
Shew him not the trick to lock,
Or loose them—Ugh! on no consideration.

Martha.
Yet when a bolt's to be repair'd, 'tis left
A fortnight ere he pluck up heart to pay
A smith for mending it.
The Old Man stands with his back to the audience, looking up the stage, towards the slab.
He hears me not.
Strange, that the love of gath'ring gold, should thus
Swallow the love of all that gold can buy,
Of life itself. Take care, sir, of your weapons,
And let not yonder loadstone lie exposed,
(Pointing to the gold in the half open box on the slab.)
Lest it attract some steel nearer your throat
Than may be healthy.
[Exit Martha.

Nigel.
A harsh monitress!
But the gnarl'd tree may bear a wholesome fruit.
I'll profit by her caution.
(Turning round, he sees Trapbois approaching the slab.)
Master landlord,
So near my arms? pray leave them. In strange lodgings
They're safe companions, and, just now, conceive you,
I want no other.

Trapb.
Why, I could be useful
In your affairs—for a consideration.

Nigel.
Enough: I thank you. (Motions him to withdraw.)

Trapbois still lingers.
Friend, I say, I thank you. (Peremptorily.)


Trapb.
No cost for thanks! draw bolts.
[Exit Trapbois. The heavy bolts are heard.

Nigel.
The sound is drear.
(Looking at his arms.)
If she spoke true, you're needful furniture.
How chill the river-fog strikes on my spirits!
A book, forsooth. Now. (opening it.)
Heav'n's revenge for murder!
Yes, these are awful narratives. (Turns over the leaves.)
Blood, still
Repaid with blood. Where man has broken in
To the mysterious tabernacle of life,
Dumb animals have brought the secret forth,
And birds o'th'air convey'd the matter. Aye,
The very grave has yawn'd, and sent its tenants
Back to revenge—What ghastly thing is that?
(During this soliloquy, Trapbois has crept into the room from a door behind the tapestry, and, when perceived by Nigel, is in the act of extending his arm towards the slab.)
You at those arms again? What's your fell purpose,
That thus a second time, at this late hour,
You creep upon my privacy, and crawl
To make your impotent clutch?

(Nigel, meanwhile, has snatched his sword from the table; he unsheaths it, and points it at the breast of Trapbois.
Trapb.
I'm not afraid,
You are.

Nigel.
I ask what brings thee near these pistols?
Dost come to clear the way for stouter ruffians?
Answer me, spectre!

Trapb.
What is mine, is mine;
I care not for your blade.

Enter Martha from a door behind the Tapestry with a light.
Martha.
A young man's sword
Against the poor remains of four score winters!
(Dashing aside the sword)
I'll have it for my spindle.

Nigel.
Stand you back;
I mean no harm to him; but I will know
Why thus again, almost at mid of night,
He prowls about my weapons.

Trapb.
While I live,
I'll not resign my own.

Martha.
(Taking up the gold piece from the slab.)
Why, look you there!
All the bright store of steel, and burnish'd brass
That flashes when the morning sun shines in
Upon the armoury of London Tower,
Are nothing in his eye, against the plack
Of dingy gold, a careless gallant leaves
Loose on his board.

Nigel.
Oh, your unsought rebate,
Upon the lodging.

Trapb.
It is mine, I say;
'Twas giv'n to me for a consideration:
I'll die before I quit it.

Nigel.
I entreat you,
Let him enjoy his gold, and me my quiet.

Martha.
Well, be it so; note me your debtor for it.

Trapb.
(Darting upon the coin in Martha's hand.)
Enough, enough, to bed; housewife, begone
To bed; we're wasting oil.

(Takes the lamp, and exit through the tapestry door.)
Martha.
Sir, I will see him
Fast in his chamber; and for your forbearance
To his infirmity, you have my thanks,
With all good wishes.

[Exit through the tapestry.
Nigel.
It is barely twelve,
And yet there creeps a drowsiness upon me
I cannot wrestle with. 'Twere hardly wise
To doff one's sword, or habit; so, I'll seek
A soldier's rest, and lull'd with harmony
Of houseless dogs, and heavy swinging signs,
That creak and flap in the low-moaning gust,
Dream of the means to quit my sanctuary.

(Throws himself in his clothes on the bed.

SCENE II.

The bed-chamber of Trapbois: very bare, hung, in parts, with ragged tapestry. A window on the left. Beneath it, a seat: a bed on the right: a table under which is a chest chained to the floor.
From a door behind the tapestry, enter Trapbois, in an old damask night-gown.
Trapb.
Old as they think me,—ugh,—I can cross bite them.
Let's see all safe before we sleep. These jewels,
(Opening a casket which he takes from his pocket.)
I would not lend six thousand pounds upon 'em,
For all the Master Heriots in the town:
But there be fools, who will; so I shall make
The broker's penny on 'em—Ugh! they're things
I never liked the charge of. I was wrong
To let that Heriot have my undertaking
(Unlocks the chest under the table with one hand, holding the casket in the other.)
For the safe render of them; were I robb'd now,
I must be answerable. Lie with me.
(Relocks the chest, takes the jewels out of the casket, which he puts empty on the table, and folds them

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54

into a leathern case, which he thrusts into the pocket of his night-gown: Then putting out the lamp, he gets into bed.)
We'll not be parted for to-night. So, so,
I have the trick on't.

(When all is still, Dalgarno without, from below, climbs to the window and enters, followed by Peppercole. They both wear masks and cloaks. Peppercole carries also a dark lanthorn.)
Dalg.
Speedily, but softly.

Pep.
An' this be called a frolic, then I know not
What makes a burglary. Doth the true manhood,
Like the salt water, wait upon the moon?
Methinks, my valour then is most at full,
When vulgar day is down— (he gropes towards the chest.)
Beard of my father!
What noise?

Dalg.
The echo of a bragging tongue;
A swagger at the second hand.—Hast found it?
Thou didst affect to be familiar here.

Pep.
The chest is chained.

Dalg.
Thou hast thy picklock: that
Will serve the turn.

Pep.
What will it not, when I
Command its service?

Dalg.
Work it then, and prate not.

Pep.
(picking the lock.)
Hark!

Dalg.
Hush! Thou doest nothing, but with noise;
Thou can'st not go a bat-fowling o'nights,
But bear'st a cracker in thy lanthorn.

(The moon rising, shines in over the window-seat. Trapbois stirs in bed.)
Pep.
There!

Trapb.
Who's that?

Dalg.
I shall know to silence him.

Trapb.
(stumbling out of bed.)
Ugh!—thieves again!

Dalg.
(Forcing Trapbois back to the bed.)
Dare but so much as breathe
Above a whisper, and you breathe your last!

Pep.
Such a vile pickster!

Dalg.
Quick, knave, or this muzzle— (Pointing his pistol towards Peppercole.)

Shall teach thy nostrils a more intimate smell
Of dry salt-petre, than they ever whiff'd
Of moist Virginia.

Trap.
I can hold no longer:
Better my life be reft at once—

(They struggle: the old man tears Dalgarno's scarf.)
Dalg.
Again!
Thou strugglest toughly for thy years; but this
(Noosing the torn scarf over the mouth of Trapbois.)
At least will muffle thee.

Trapb.
(Grasping the leathern case, the top of which peeps from his night gown pocket.)
What, wilt thou gag me?

Dalg.
And bind those bony hands. What's that they hug
With such a deadly gripe?

Pep.
(bringing up the dark lanthorn.)
The very jewels,
The ruby gems we seek! How red they glimmer!

Dalg.
I'd have them, were they redder than his blood.

Trapb.
Help! murder! murder!

Dalg.
(tearing the jewels from the leathern case.)
Nay, if thou peal out
That shrill alarm, our own security
Will need a shorter course.

Martha rushes in, from a door opposite to the tapestry.
Martha.
No, on my soul,
Murderer! for in a father's cause, the nerves
Ev'n of weak woman catch a giant's strength,
And dash th'assassin off!

(She arrests the right hand of Dalgarno, which is raised over Trapbois, and falls on her knees in the effort; while Dalgarno's left hand becomes entangled in, and strains, the scarf, which having been noosed over the old man's mouth, is now, by his own resistance, slipped and tightened round his throat.
Trapb.
(Faintly.)
They've done it, housewife.

(The leathern case drops from his hand, he gasps and dies.)
Dalg.
'Tis false, old churl—not I, but thine own struggles
Have strain'd the noose thy feeble breath is choked with.
Down, woman, down!

A noise is heard behind the tapestry, as of some one trying to force his way. Martha stoops her head, and snatches a pistol from Dalgarno's belt.
Martha.
Down—but to rise in vengeance!

Dalgarno with his left hand which he has withdrawn from the scarf, seizes Martha; and having parried, with his right hand, the pistol she points at him, endeavours to force it from her.
Dalg.
Then thus we close the strife. (He wrests the pistol from her) Nigel, bursting through the tapestry door, discharges his pistol at Dalgarno.


Nigel.
And thus make up
Th'account of blood!

Pep.
(retreating through the open door at which Martha entered.)
Which balance, I'll not wait
The striking of.

[Exit.
Dalgarno presents at Nigel his pistol, which, missing fire, he throws away, and draws his sword.
Dalg.
I am but grazed, not maimed.

They fight: Dalgarno is driven back to the window seat. Through the window opposite, lights are seen.
Martha.

Hark! voices! help! Good people,
murder! help!

Nigel.
Yield, ruffian, thy resistance is in vain
Against approaching numbers!

Hildebrod, and others
(without)
Up stairs!

Martha.
Ha!
They hear and come! Now, felon, we shall have thee!
[Exit Martha.

Dalg.
(leaping upon the window seat)
If I give ground, it is to numbers, not
To thee.

(Throws himself from the window with the jewels in his left hand, fighting with his right to the last.)
Nigel.
I'd rather fight a few more passes,
Than keep this lonely guard of death and darkness.
What, does the old man stir? Sure something rustled
Like his harsh gown. Shame on my fev'rish fancy!
The light!

Re-enter Martha followed by Hildebrod Jin. Vin. habited as a Waterman, and Alsatians, bearing lights.
Jin.
One, now as I approached the house,
Burst from the door.

Nigel.
The other fought his way
To yonder casement.

Hild.
(approaching the body.)
Here's no wound.

Nigel.
This scarf,
This was the deadly means.

Martha.
(who has thrown herself on her knees before the body)
No breath! no motion!

Hild.
(To Nigel)
Both masqued, you say?

Martha.
(Starting up)
Diligence, bailiff—Justice—
And full revenge!

Hild.
To-morrow: my police
Are scarce in trim to take the field to-night.

Martha.
What would you give the murd'rers time, t'escape?

Hild.
Silence!

Martha.
A daughter silent, while her father
Lies murder'd at her feet! Man, it were best
You trifle not with me!

Hild.
With a she-bear
As soon. You will have justice, never fear,
Mistress, for you can pay her. What is that?
(To Nigel, who has taken up the empty casket, left on the table by Trapbois)
A jewel-casket?

Nigel.
(throwing it again on the table)
One I know too well!
Its rich contents filch'd out,—and, with them gone
The lands and hopes of Nigel!

Hild.
Why your burglar
Must live by's trade, like others—Well, be watchful;
And I will hold my inquest here to-morrow,
At two i'the afternoon, when (To Nigel and Martha)
you'll attend
As witnesses. (Aside to Nigel)
I leave you with the heiress;
Hum! you conceive me?

[Exit winking his one eye at Nigel, and followed by all, except Nigel, Martha, and Jin. Vin.
Nigel.
Pestilent ribaldry,
Unquenchable as the Greek fire, will flash
Amid the very damps of death itself!
Now lad, (To Jin. Vin.)
your bus'ness?

Jin.
I am sent by friends,
That wish you from Whitefriar's. I've a boat yonder.

(Nigel and Jin. Vin. confer aside.
Martha.
I knew 'twould come to this! My poor, poor father!
For the accursed gold they've murder'd him!

Nigel.
(To himself.)
The king's to hunt at dawn, in Greenwich park.
Why not at once present myself before him,
And trust his goodness?

Jin.
Well, resolve at once.

Nigel.
Wait for me, then, here, by the river stairs.

Jin.
Then, quickly.

[Exit.
Nigel.
I am very loath to leave
A lonely woman in the house of death;
But I must quit this roof.

Martha.
I will go with you.

Nigel.
You!

Martha.
Yes. I will persuade my poor old father
To quit this murd'rous den. My father! Oh!
I have no father now.

Nigel.
Would I could help you.

Martha.
(As if suddenly taking her resolution.)
Then give me but a passage in your boat,
Unto Paul's wharf. I've kinsfolk there, with whom
I would fain take my shelter, 'till this inquest.

Nigel.
The boat shall land you there.

[Going.
Martha.
(Approaching the body.)
Only a moment.
It is not fit that nature's rude convulsion
Should meet the eye so fearfully. (Composes and covers the body.)
There, rest,
My father, rest. With no irrev'rent hand
(Loosens the scarf from his neck)
I loose this web, this fatal instrument;
But in the sacred hope, that by its clue
Thy murd'rers may be traced. So, fare thee well,
With this one look, the last. If thou did'st love
Nought else of human kind, yet me, at least,
Thou loved'st. So to die! and by such hands!

Nigel.
I would not break upon your griefs, but, time—

Martha.
My moan is made! my sorrow (all, at least,
That man shall ever note in me) is past:
My future thought shall be of justice only.
(Strikes her foot against the leathern case.)
What's here? the case where he was wont to keep
His close and secret papers. Ah! I doubt me
Lest its contents be little fit to meet
The curious and most vulgar eyes of those,
Who must sit here to-morrow. It is heavy.

Nigel.
I'll bear it: would I bore a heart as light!

Martha.
(Giving him the case.)
If wealth might lighten thee, thou shouldst not lack
Alleviation; for this case contains
The key to all he had: bills, bonds, long harvest
Of fourscore years, the bootless portion now
Of his lone daughter. Come, thou lagging day,
Bring back thy light, that I may set about
The work of my revenge; for, if the murderers
Fly to the earth's extreme, I will pursue,
Till I have hunted down, this track of blood!

[Exeunt.