ACT I.

I CAN scarce believe I am safe, but where's that young peasant that rescued me?

That young fellow behaved very well, he did indeed, my, lovely Emma, but you are safe now, I give you joy.

Give me joy, no, that you never shall;—

Now you are angry, but when we are married—

You and I married, that we never shall.

Oh [...] that will be fine indeed, to be [...] from Normandy, your father the earl of M [...]cia says, you Count Lewis, shall wed my daughter Emma—But the enemy of all sport, a wicked Dane, darted like a [Page] ravenous falcon on you, my pretty little dove, and because I would not fight, you will not marry me—now if I did, I might be killed, and would not be married.

To run away, and not even draw your sword.

It is ill manners to draw—in the presence of the ladies.

To be sure you're a gallant cham­pion for the ladies!

I love the ladies, and love myself,—for the ladies sake—besides the Danes are a barbarous enemy, and I made a vow ne­ver to encounter a Dane.

Here comes my benefactor and deliverer.

Madam— I've chastised the vil­lains that have dared to insult you, but hope you've received no hurt!

Thanks to your kindness—but what is your name?

William, madam.—

William—while I am here in Co­ventry, this token will remind you who it is you have oblig'd

And young man, if you were a a little more polished, I would prefer you to be squire, to my lady wife here.

Your wife! never.

Never! Oh, I will go and tell your father—Oh! I—

[Page 3]

No, nothing shall ever unite me to a creature so contemptible.

Charming Emma! when she knows me to be Harold, the son of Earl Goodwin, her father's prosessed enemy, my blooming hopes are blasted in the birth.

Is any body here? Joy! joy! huz­za!

[Page 4]

For what?

Because Earl Goodwin and his sons are banished.

My father, myself and my brother banishe dmdash;

Huzza! bishop Dunstan has com­manded king Edward, to command the earl, to command the mayor, to command me, to make proclamation at the cross, that the earl Goodwin and his sons, are traitors in the land.mdash;And I am now going to do the jobmdash;come along good-folks, God bless the king, and the crier, knights, yeomen, young and old men, women and children—O yes!—0 yes!

Shall I venture into the town, if once Emma returns to her father's castle, proba­bly I snall never see her again, she is lodg­ed here in the mayor's house, if I am known to be Harold, it is instant death, but life without my Emma is not worth my care.

Nay, now, don't, I told your worship—you know, don't you believe any such thing—Lord, what will the folks say, to see his honour the mayor of Coventry, make so free with Tom the taylor's wife?

Let me hear them talk, and I'll set them in. the stocks—Zounds, dare [Page 5] they censure a magistrate—Let me see them wink and there's the ducking-stool—for a nod, the cage—for an inuendo, the pillory—and for a malicious whisper five hundred twirls in the whirligig.

You know, your worship, I was vartuous—you know I was forced to leave madam, your wife's service, because I would not let you—you know I would not be naught with you, and sooner than do so—I was forced to take up with Tom, who but a taylor, was honest!

Ay! Tom's a rogue!

A rogue, and like your worship!—why he's a bit of a magistrate—was not he a parish clerk, beadle and sexton at one time, and is he not now overseer and church-warden?

Ay, but who made him all this?—was he no better than a clown, till I took him under my wing?

He's certainly a little beholden to your worship.

Ah ! he owes it all to your pretty face Maud—it was all for your sake, in your beauty—for you have provisions of all forts—why you have got a beadle in that arched dimple—a constable's staff in that pretty mole—an overseer in that hazle-eye—a church-warden in those auburn-locks— and a pair of plump aldermen in that pant­ing bosom—

[Page 6]

Oh lord, I did not think I was such a great body.

Yes, you are, indeed you are—talk of Godiva the earl's new-married lady, and his daughter Emma—why I will wager that smile, against the whole kingdom of Mercia—egad, if those stars were to twinkle in the court of Gloster, king Edward would soon forget his vow of chastity.

I tell you what now, Mr. Mayor, you shall not talk to me in that way any more, that's what you shall not.

[Page 7]

But I will—I will tell you what—I will call on you by and by—do not be out—I know Tom will be ringing his bells.

Lord, your honor, if your lady should know.

My lady, poh! poh! she's at home, God bless her, let her stay there.

Ay, but then the neighbours.—

Neighbours!—the pillory—the stocks—the whirligig.— I'll tell you Maud, I'll send you a present of some French wine, that I had from count Lewis, and Egad we'll be so snug and so comfortable; you go home and I'll be with you by and by.

My wife will be a mayor soon and I shall be an alderman.

I'll send you the wine, and there's something to buy a bit of dinner. (gives Tom money)

I'm obliged to your worship.

( surprised at seeing Tom instead of Maud) Tom, ay, ay, how do you do Tom, how do you do, how do you do ?

Pretty well I thank your worship;— but sir, is this for a corporation dinner?

No, no, (what the devil brings this felllow here, aside.) Pray have you not a ring­ing to day, at the Guy of Warwick, Tom.

Oh yes, we jingle a peal of tripple-bobs, for a leg of mutton and trimmings.

[Page 8]

(Egad that's very lucky, I shall have Maud all to myself.) Tom you are a good ringer.

Pretty well, sir.

Yes, you are Tom, you are, you will certainly win. Mind your bells, Tom—do not neglect going, you'll certainly win Tom.—But what brought you to me now Tom?

Tho' merry I be, I never was so treated in my whole life, why you know our old mad Crazy, the beadle, I thought he might make some blunder in proclaiming, the proclamation of earl Goodwin and his sons, as traitors, so I took the bell and rung the people all about me, and there I stood like a hen and chickens, but I no sooner cried ' O Yes, O Yes' than I heard a voice like a gander in the marshes, screaming out' O No, O No' and who should this be but old Cra­zy, for I having got the city bell, he hobbled with the 'pothecary's pestle and mortar, and clattered with such a devil of a noise, folks could not hear, and because I told him to be quiet, he flew at me and tripped up the leg of old corporal Standfast, tumbled over Kit the tinker, overturned father Fogarty, the fat fryar, and has mauled my nose in this manner—look—he fit for an office, indeed, an old driveller.

Why, you most impudent of all rascals, who am I?

[Page 9]

Why, sir, you are the Mayor of Co­ventry.

And did not I appoint him beadle?

Why, lord, he's so infirm, that when he stands at church-door with the poor's box, his hand shakes so, that the gentle folks charity-farthings fall out of the box—why, he has not one of his twelve senses left but his scratching.

Sirrah, he has all his talents about him,—he's been a devilish shrewd fellow.

Yes, he's a man of sharp talons as my nose can testify.

Oh! here he comes.

You a mayor—there's a fig for your crown and sceptre.

There your worship, the fellow has made a king of you.

Tell me of kings—I that have seen Edward the martyr—the glorious Alfred and Canute the great!

Yes, but did Canute the great give you authority to scratch my nose?

I'll Canute you—I that have been beadle here ever since the days of Edmond Ironside.

Ay, and a devilish clever fellow he was.

What do you mean?

[Page 10]

I mean that you are cursedly shabby about the noddle,—you have lived a great while.

Come, be quiet Tom—here I com­mand you to read the proclamation—now shew him that you can proclaim it right;—mind, in king Edward's name, you are to of­fer a reward of five hundred marks, to any man that will bring in Goodwin, earl of Warwick, dead or alive.

Yes I will—This is to give notice, that by command of Earl Goodwin, king Edward shall have five hundred marks for bringing in the head of the mayor of Coven­try, dead or alive.

That sensible fellow has made a pret­ty proclamation!

Now, ain't I an old chaunter?

Yes—I'll trust you with the public affairs, but you shall have nothing to do with mine.

So—between the magistrate and his deputy, the affairs of the public are likely to fare well—he has not sense enough to help you in your love affairs with the girls, as he used to do.

I'll try him

can't you con­trive to keep Tom from going home?

What! you are going to Maud?— well, I will, I will.

Mind your bells Tom—Tom—mind your bells.

[Page 11]

I will:

There never was a young woman so beset as I am by his worship—if I tell Tom, there's a quarrel—and then there's no staying for us in Coventry, the mayor has such a power of interest—I've a great mind to tell madam, his lady, now I will be quit with him one way or other, for his bad opi­nion of me, that I will; when people get up a little in the world—Lord, they think there's nothing but to use poor folks as they please [Page 12] —hang the town—how is my Tom altered since I came into it,

Oh! here comes the wicked mayor.

Now, here, bring the hamper this way—bring it along—make haste—there now, get along with you.

What shall I do ?

Come along—come—there get a­long—now to bolt the door,

I'm undone, no creature in the house but myself—he must not know that or he may be unmodest indeed,

Egad here I am Maud, and Tom is abroad with the ringers practising his bells [Page 13] —here am I—but you little rogue, how nicely you gave me the flip just now!

I ask your pardon, but you know I must obey my husband—why would you bring me all this wine?

All under the rose; you shall treat me with a glass; it will make your veins thrill, your cheeks glow, your bosom pant, your heart beat, your eyes sparkle with love and rapture.

Lord, sir, will wine bewitch a body so?

Yes, it will, do you know that Love has summoned you before me, as a witch, and by the virtue of my authority, I commit you to those arms!

O! sure your worship's a little mad-dish!

I am at this time as mad a magis­trate as ever devoured a haunch of venison.

Nay, now do not talk that way to me, now, do not now,

Maud, Maud, why have you bolted the door?

That's my Tom!

Where shall I go?

Oh, lord, if he sees you?

I'll go up stairs.

You must not, indeed, he will go up there!

[Page 14]

What shall I do? oh my dear re­putation, hide me, hide me, some where.

Suppose you hide in this hamper that brought the wine ?

Oh, excellent! right woman, for invention, saith,

Why don't you open the door, Maud?

I'm coming, I'm coming, Tom.

Why the deuce did you bolt the door Maud, now I've broke the bolt.

Because I was alone, and one can't tell what might happen to a body—but what brought you home, Tom?

Why grand news!

News!

Yes, there is his lorship, the earl of Mercia, coming to our town—and there is the wedding liveries to be finished—and you are to pay your honours to the bride before she leaves the mayor's house, and goes back to the castle—I have won the wager Maud, at the Guy of Warwick.

Have you?

I have won it, tol de rol—I'm come home half fuddled with joy—I'll now go and see how the cloaths go on—what hamper's that Maud?

Oh that!—aye, that's a hamper of wine that the Mayor desires you to see left safe at home, and deliver'd to madam his lady.

[Page 15]

Wine!—Oh! I'll carry it immedi­ately, as I'm an Officer should do the May­or's business.

So you should Tom—for the Mayor is willing enough to do your business.

I'll see the hamper deliver'd to none but his lady.

Egad, you'll trim his wor­ship neatly.

You are a happy wife to have so cle­ver a husband as I am— such a rare hus­band, Maud !

And you have a rare wife of me, if you knew but all— Lord ! what gcod spi­rits you're come home in Tom.

How loving good cheer makes a body,

The people of this town are all run­ning after news—Mobs and Proclamations—it is bold of me to venture here even into the Mayor's house, and a price set upon my head by command of the earl—Cruel fate! but I will see Emma again, 'tho at the risk of my life—Ah! what, my lovely Emma sleeping—sweet emblem of innocence.

There—leave the hamper of wine 'till I find out madam the Mayoress—where the plague are all the servants, Oh dear! ah! ah! there is young lady Emma taking a nap after dinner—egad these great folks eat so heartily of so many dishes—she looks so rosy and for all the world like a pretty pic­ture [Page 17] —what a charming landscape—I fancy your great ladies never snore— even Maud does not snore much—perhaps she's dream­ing—I dreamt once, I should be exalted a­bove the whole town, by the means of a great lady—may be this is my lucky mi­nute; what if I—Oh dear, I have a great mind—Egad I will give her a kiss—I will

I'm dead.

Tom, you are the only person that has seen me enter here, betray me and here is instant death—assist me, and here is the means of living well.

Sir, I always love to live well, be­cause—because—I am a good christian.

Take your choice, gold or steel.

Gold is a pretty thing, I am out of conceit with steel, since last Monday, when I run the needle into my thumb.

When she wakes give her this ring, and if she questions tell her the owner's at hand.

Yes Sir, I'll tell her its in the own­ers hands.

From thence I may form some idea of my success.

Madam, a handsome gentleman, an ill-looking robber, with great civility— a sword to my throat—said, Sir be so good, to shew that lady this ring—you villain—you dog—give her this.

[Page 18]

That ring I gave to my benefac­tor, my dear my generous William.

Heavens! what do I hear?

Oh, ho! well I will go and carry the hamper to the May­oress— Oh, ho!—I suppose so—oh well—what's that to Tom?—Aye, oh, aye!—oh, ho!—oh, ho!

Madam, if I am so happy as to hold, a place in your affections, whilst I acknow­ledge your condescension, permit me to say, it reflects no dishonour on your choice, for in poor William the peasant, you behold Harold, son to Goodwin, earl of Kent, and happy only in being hated by the father of her he loves.

Is it possible, are you Harold, for whose life the proclamation is out? Oh hea­vens! if you are discovered you are lost, and I miserable,

Charming Emma, that tender anx­iety for my safety, rewards a life of exile; but this evening is appointed for the celebra­tion or your nuptials with the Count—This moment the equipage is on the road to con­vey you away to the castle.

Oh Heavens! doomed to a wretch I despise.

Trust to my honor madam, and I will instantly convey you to my father's court; thus you will avert the impending storm, and there in safety you may determine the fate of him who adores you.

[Page 19]

It would be ungrateful to distrust your sincerity—I resign myself entirely to your protection—free me from this odious match with count Lewis, and it will be a fa­vour I shall ever acknowledge—and esteem as a generous obligation.

Yes, that poor fellow must be some rich man from the money he gave me—there is love—0 yes, there is certainly love in the case—well, what's that to Tom?—my bu­siness is to deliver this wine to the Mayoress, I am in great favour—she smiles upon me whenever she sees me,—now if she should be the great lady who is to exalt me—who knows, here comes the Mayoress herself.

Not a servant in this house, all gone I suppose to see the young lady, Go­diva come into town—Oh ! good Tom.

She always calls me good Tom, that's no bad sign.

What's this Tom?

Madam, when I went home, I found my door locked, and bursting it open, my wife Maud got this hamper in care, which [Page 20] his worship the Mayor had told her—to tell me, to fetch it to your ladyship.

More nonsense of my blockhead of a husband.

It's no nonsense madam, because it's wine.

Oh, wine I suppose that he has purchased from the French Count.

It's no purchase, it's a present.

[...] a present from the French Count I suppose—Well for this trouble Tom you shall have the first glass.

I long to drink your ladyship's health—you are the tulip of Coventry.

You have a good taste Tom.

Taste, Madam, I could drink a bot­tle when you are the toast;

Ay, and you will have a bottle well filled presently.

What brings you here?

I come to empty the hamper, ma­dam.

You.

Yes madam for it was last filled at my house.

So Maud you was toping, when you locked yourself in.

There madam!

My husband!

Egad, this is indeed a big-bellied bottle!

[Page 21]

What—you have been at your old tricks I suppose.

Well done Maud—Egad you have hamper'd his worship.

You are a right worshipful ma­gistrate.

So I am wife—Tom, remember I am the father of you all.

Yes! and you want to be father of my children.

Come here wife—come here—well Tom, as this was only a frolic you'll send home the wine.

Oh, is it at home now?

Yes, but you'll send it home to me.

Oh no—the devil a drop you get—I'll keep it to drink to my wife's virtue, and the like success to your worship's intrigues.

Dear wife, forgive this.

ACT II

HUZZA! huzza! neighbours, neigh­bours, where are you all going?

Huzza!—to meet the earl of Mercia, and lady Godiva!

Why, neighbours, what will they think of our town—let us welcome them in order—if we must roar, let us roar like men and christians—I'll chear them with a choice chaunt—and then I'll make a fine speech,— and then when I'm making the speech—not a grunt from one of you—not a grunt!

Why, what will you say?

Why, suppose now, you to be the countess—I desire you to make a low court­sey to me, because you are very civil—now you frown with your under lip more—now curl up your nose—so now Mr. Countess take your fingers out of your mouth—do, now settle your diamond necklace—shew your fine ring and white hand.—

[Page 23]

But Mr. Tom, as I have got no dia­mond necklace, won't it do as well to stroke my beard ?

No, no it won't—did you ever hear of a countess stroking her beard?—now I will make a spcech—"May it please your lordship and your ladyship—the great honor you have done us, in coming to our beggar­ly town;"

What—Coventry a beggarly town?—why you deserve a kicking!

Now, did you ever know a countess to kick a church-warden?

No speech, no speech—a speech from the mayor, to be sure.

The mayor's an ignorant man!

What's the matter here?

Here's Tom abusing the whole town.

Is he?—get you gone all of you— Tom, you are a very impudent fellow—so Tom, I'm an ignorant man.

Are you, sir?

And you are an impudent rascal;

My impudence, and having a wise too pretty for me, and too virtuous for your worship.

Tom, I discharge you from all public offices—the public good demands it.

The public good-why—can you forget when you collected the poor's-rate, you lent out the money at three pence a week for a shilling—and when church-war­den, you was detected in putting in six-pence and taking out half-a-crown

I put in half-a-crown.

Ay, that was compound.

Tom, I discharge you down to a common constable.

He is no constable, that office be­longs to me!

Tom, I supercede you—I must be ready to receive the earl of Mercia.

Mr. Mayor, my daughter has made a long visit at your house.

She does my house, my lord much honor.

Has not your fair at Coventry lasted much longer than usual?

My lady, in order to compensate for the great honor done us, we have had a greater variety of entertainments than ever was known in Coventry!

We have indeed had great diversions my lady; lord, how beautiful she is!

Yes, we have had much merry­making.

Who are you, my old friend?

Please your worship—I'm mayor of Coventry.

The devil you are.

Please your worship, that old gentle­man's wits are a little out at the elbows, and tho'my brain is quite new, and I've been so active in every office, yet the mayor has put him over my head—and he's mad.

Crazy there has merit.

I've done nothing.

So then you are the active officer that has done nothing!

I do all myself!

[Page 26]

This same town of Coventry seems to be well-governed—if one may judge by the appearance of its magistrates.

His lordship seems to be in a plaguy ill-humour—he looks dam'd glum—come— clear up your pipes and give him a song.

Emma, my lord, your daughter's fled—gone off—and accompanied by a young peasant—that I dare say must be the peasant that rescued her from the Danes; it [Page 27] seems Harold, earl Goodwin's son has been lurking about the town.

Is this your fi­delity to me—since you have joined in the treason, all partake in the punishment—for this offence I amerce your city in a thousand marks, and by Heavens, the power of man shall not induce me to abate one scruple—see that this is complied with in an hours notice, or rigour shall enforce my sentence.

Here's a pretty job!

I remember Alfred the great laid a tax upon horn combs.

Fine care you have taken of us!

Fire, sword and famine is come up­on Us!—O grief—O ruin!

You see when my lord takes a thing in his head, he says I will do it—and in that case he surely does it—and then it's done.

We all know that lady Godiva is as sweet-temper'd as her husband is crab­bed and crusty—now I will summon all the good-wives in a body and I will go at their head, and with dishevelled hair and stream­in'g eyes, will beseech the lady, to beseech her husband—to take off the tax.

An excellent thought!

I must get the consent of the cor­poration—I will go summon the livery—

[Page 28]

Summon the Livery, you had better go summon the petticoats—

I'm for the petticoats.

And I love the petticoats.

What a dilemma?

The city guard being posted pre­vented our escape—

When my father knows you are the person that assisted my escape, he will be in such a rage—

A separation from my Emma, alone is a terror for her faithful Harold.

Was my father but to consider your valour, he would certainly be reconcil­ed.

True, my love, I have bled in my country's cause, and shall again—not the fire of love, nor the frost of age, shall check my spirit in the cause of Britain.

Oh, do not have an idea of sepa­ration; if you could but find a place of safety here for the present—I think this is the house of poor honest Tom, the taylor, I have seen so often at the Mayor's.

Ay, they there go—what a fine string of them, I did not think there were so ma­ny women in Coventry, at least not so ma­ny pretty girls in it—I love the pretty girls because they are generally so handsome— they always snigger at me as they pass, how can they help it, when I cast such fly looks at them—there they all march in a body—egad it's a delicate body and the May­oress at their head, she's a fine head—well if this scheme succeeds, I will get drunk to­night like a sober citizen, and drink suc­cess to the petticoat corporation—Oh lord, madam Emma, there they are gone up to the lady Godiva.

You'll not betray me!

Mind Tom, money or steel.

No, Sir, I have enough of gold and keep the sword to defend the lady,—you will find shelter in my house, perhaps as good as in a rich man's—for lord, I am as great a friend to love as the women's fa­vourite the fat fryar father Fogarty.

I have a great fancy to know what Maud and the Mayoress have done—Lord, how I long to know what success they have had, or whether they will forgive the tax—oh, there's Maud come back, I hear her voice.

Oh, madam, I'll only tell my Tom.

Oh, Tom, here we have got the young lady Emma in the house—have you seen the countess?

I know what we have got—but tell me, shall we get the tax off, you all went, and were you all there?

Yes, there we went, and we were all admitted to lady Godiva's presence!

[Page]

Oh, God that was pleasant.

So it was Tom—we all fell a cry­ing.

How did you manage that, Maud—I never saw you cry in all my life.

I only made believe—then we all fell on our knees, then we got up again.

Yes, yes, Oh, I see—I see you did!

Then the Countess she heard our petitions, and she asked my lord to pardon the city—no, said his lordship that I will not—I have sworn that the power of man shall not persuade me—Yes, but says she, the power of woman may, and I am a woman, says she.

Oh, she need not have told him that.

And says her ladyship, I am a good woman and your wife; and you as a good husband ought to do as I bid you.

She was a little out there.

Says the earl as you are a good woman, I will forgive the tax, only on one condition—what's that says my lady? It is, says he, only if you will ride through the city of Coventry naked, without a rag of cloaths on.

What!

Now, he only joked; having no notion she would do it—but she having the good of our city at heart took him at his word, and is actually now preparing for it.

[Page 32]

Lady Godiva, ride a horse-back—all through the city, without any—well if I ever—

Now you are all agog, with you nonsensical curiosity.

I have? no curiosity.

Tom, Tom, our fortune is made, for as the lady Emma has taken shelter in our house—

O u house— ride—so, so—

But here's a young peasant in her company.

Company; then I suppose she will have nothing, at all—

Tis very odd, for he seems to have a fight of money.

Sight of money—such a sight.

Hang the man is he grown stupid—what are you thinking of Tom?

I was thinking of a side-saddie.

Was there ever such a fool, but I must go and attend lady Emma, so I will leave you to ride on your side-saddle.

Talk of a coronation, 'tis no more to this—Lady Godiva is a procession in her­self, I must go in time to procure a good place—shall I ask our Maud to go—no, no, the sight would be lost, upon Maud—but I'll go—

What brings you here, Sir.

[Page 33]

Well Tom, I suppose you have heard?

Yes Sir.

Lady Godiva, in her progress thro' the city, passes by your house here.

Gad Sir, that's lucky, I shall have an opportunity of seeing her nicely.

Yes, and you will have an oppor­tunity of hanging in hemp nicely at your own door—the streets are to be cleared—all the windows and the houses to be fastened up, no person to be seen on pain of death, of the male kind.

Me—do you think I would look, sir,—I wish I could get him out of my house— why what need your worship be in a hurry to go.

I am in a hurry to go Tom.

It's a fine day abroad, Sir.

But every body must stay at home.

Well if you will go home you must—good-bye, to you, Sir.

What are you going Tom?

Yes, Sir; I wish you a good-bye, Sir, I will not stay in this room, while lady Godiva passes it commands such a prospect.

Gad that's true, from that window I could have a charming peep, if that fel­low was but out of the way.

I'll go down, and lock myself in the cellar to avoid temptation.

[Page 34]

Do Tom—that's a good boy, and I'll go home, Tom!

Good-bye to you, Sir.

Good-bye to you, Tom.

So you are going home, Sir?

Yes, I'm going home, now do you go and lock yourself up in the cellar.

Yes, I will Sir, good-bye, Sir

Good-bye, Tom!

Good-bye, Sir.

Good-bye, Tom!

By this time, lady Godiva's past the cross, all is clear, and foolish Tom has lock­ed himself up in the cellar, and thinks I am gone home—She cannot be far off now—I shall have a charming peep at her from that window—I'll go and look for something to put on this table.

So by this time his worship's at home, curst troublesome old hound, and lady Go­diva must be at hand—I think. I hear her horse's feet—the clinking of their hoofs is far sweeter than a haut-boy.

There there, she's turning the corner.

I can find, nothing—I'll. try to reach the window upon my tip-toes, tho' I break my neck for it—

Oh, you villain have I caught you peeping.

Sir, I was only going to take in the cock chaffinch.

Come down, I'll have you hanged—I came here only on the look-out.

You shall be hanged Tom.

Then your lordshp must get me another neck, for this is engaged already—

How, sirrah! did you not know it was instant death!

True, my lord, but I thought it was no harm.

Oh, my dear, what's the matter, it is all along this wicked Mayor, he wants to make a widow of me—it would be for the public good if he was hanged, instead of my husband—

Then we should leave his wife here a sorrowful widow.

Oh, my lord I should not mind my private sorrows for the public good—

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So then Mr. Mayor, all this was to forward your designs upon the young wo­man—if this culprit here will give up my daughter, his life shall be saved.

Then I have a dull chance, my lord; but my lord, tho'I am but a poor fellow, the richest jewel in your lordship's coronet could not make me betray a person, after once giving him the protection of my roof.

See him to execution—I will try him further.

No mercy, my lord.

Yes, if you can produce Harold in your place, that may save your life.

Then save his life and take mine, I am Harold, but now the husband of your un­happy daughter.

Disobedient child—of all men upon earth, is this your wretched choice?

My choice—my pride.

I would sooner have bestowed you on that peasant, that rescued you from the Danes, for his valour at loast has a claim up­on my gratitude.

Then let Harold have that claim; he was that peasant, the protector of my life and honour.

I see now that my prejudice to Earl Goodwin, has blinded me to his son's pecu­liar virtues, and what you have saved—take for your reward.

My lord, your daughter I claim ac­ording to your promise.

No, he's unworthy of a lady's [...]e, that has not courage to protect it.

So here I stand all this while with the rope about my neck.

I must do my duty, bring in the constables.

Tis your duty to resign an office to which you are a disgrace—Here I grant Tom a full pardon for his adherence to his word, and in your place I appoint him Mayor of Coventry.

What Peeping Tom!

Hold your tongue, you dog, or I'll put you in the stocks.

Whoever is Mayor, I'll be Church-Warden.

I believe I have been too severe up­on your city, but since it has produced one honest man, I relinquish my claims.

Yes, I'm an honest man, and you have found me out.

Then I hope our friends will be equally indulgent, and every man that loves a fine woman, will pardon, PEEPING TOM OF COVENTRY.