SCENE—I. A Room in Sir ROWLAND's Castle, APATHY discover­ed at a Table, Books, &c. lying before him.

WHAT a set of fools are philosophers, who advise to study away life for the benefit of posterity—that is—die while you live, that you may live after you are dead! these (shewing the book) may do well enough to garnish the brains of fools, but this (shewing the bottle) This is the true feast of reason.

As tutor of these or­phans, I lead a tolerable easy life of it—I teach the children idleness—that's no difficult matter—I pimp for my patron, their uncle—that's no diffi­cult matter—I find Latin enough to puzzle the par­son of the parish—that's no difficult matter—I go into the cellar for an hour or two—that's no diffi­cult matter—come out again—that's no—yes, egad that, sometimes is a very difficult matter.

Oh fye Mr. Apathy! What drinking in a morn­ing?

[Page 4]

Why—my patron bid me plead his passion for you, and so I was just taking a drop to inspire me.

I wonder Sir Rowland will continue his impor­tunities. what can he have to say to a poor girl like me?

So as I—he says, he's unhappy, and how a man that has such a cellar as Sir Rowland has, can be un­happy, is to me something very amazing—but have you no feeling?

Feeling indeed—don't you remember when poor Walter, the carpenter's house was burnt down?

I have a shrewd guess that Walter has drill'd a hole through your heart.

Don't you remember, I say? that instead of en­quiring after the poor sufferers by the fire—the first question you asked, was, whether the young suck­ing pigs were safe? was that feeling?

No;—that was philosophy.

Philosophy!

Yes, my philosophy! and this is the source from whence it springs

By eating we arrive at the highest preferments of church and state—how do you arrive at the dignity of Lord [Page 5]Mayor? Why you eat your why to it, and by drink­ing we appro [...]h the gods who never walk'd, they slid.—

Ha! What do I see—my dear Walter!—Mr. Apathy, go to the children—now go.

But what shall I say to Sir Rowland?

Oh! say any thing—what you please—now go.

My dear Josephine—

Well, Walter, how do you do?

Very well Josephine, but I say it's devilish hard to be so poor, I, that every body says am such an industrious clever fellow—now a coffin—I'd make [Page 6]a coffin with e'er an undertaker in Norfolk, and at a bed—why the carpenters' wives say, that at a bed I'm the very thing.

I should not have thought indeed of your mak­ing beds for the carpenter's wives.

Ah, Josephine, I'm making a bed for us, my girl.

I tell you what Josephine, if you don't consent to run away from the castle, I shall believe you listen to Sir Rowland.

[Page 7]

Lord! Walter, don't be a fool now—when my dear Lady Elinor went away to meet her husband, Lord Alford—Josephine, savs she, "the only comfort I have, is, to know you will take as much care of my dear little innocents as a mother"—and while the poor little orphans are at the castle, I am determined not to leave it.

Ah! Heaven rest their souls, we shall never see them again at the castle.—

Ha! Walter here—Walter, what brought you here?

Your honor—why—only a job, Sir.

Yes—A job, Sir.

A job was it—seize that fellow there.

Oh Lord! here's a pretty job!

Silence those brats—and prepare them for a visit, they must pay their gossips.

Silence them I say—

Soon, their silence shall be eternal, my brother being concluded dead, that 'lustrious orb being set in night, shall these pigmy satellites eclipse me—no—that fellow—

I am sure of —from his eye, remorse is banished, and unmask'd murder low'rs [Page 8]upon his brow—he shall dispatch them while on this seeming visit—but to send him alone may breed distrust, were it not good to ply this Walter? —release from present fears—the hopes of Jo­sephine—with with large rewards back'd with tenements and bevy will surely ply the conscience of a hind.

—Oliver I have found you a companion for our purpose, he shall accompany you.

SCENE—II. Another Apartment in the Castle, APATHY discoscovered asleep with Books at his feet, the Children playing about the Room.

What asleep, Mr. Apathy?

'Egad I've had a very comfortable nap, what o'clock is it?

Exactly mid-day—the children are going to visit their godfathers directly.

Is dinner ready yet?

No; it is'nt ordered.

Not order'd! Oh Lord!—the dinner not or­dered —talk to me of the children, and nonsense, and dinner not ordered!—here cook. cook.

Who goes with us to our godfathers?

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Oliver, my dear.

I won't go with Oliver.

Why, my love?

Because of what I heard Walter say.

What was that?

Why, that Oliver was a damn'd black-looking rascal,

Heavens! my dear, I shall scould Walter for saying such words before you.

I know you won't, though you say so.

Why, my dear?

Because of what I heard you say last night.—

I don't recollect it—What was it?

Why, you cried out in the middle of your sleep, Oh Walter how I love you—and I know it's true because you blush so.

Oh! you little tell-tale—

Have you forgot that song I learnt you the other day!

[Page 10]

No—I'll try to sing it, if you will help me.

Have you finished your song?

Yes.

[Page 11]

I'm glad of it—an't you my darling.

Time way—

[...] run away [...] of him dear [...]

[...].

What—your honor?

Murder the children—that's my resolve—the re­ward.—Josephine.

Murder innocents—Tempt me in the form of an angel, to do the [...]ct of a devil.

—Damme, I have a great mind to thiottle him

Eh— stop—suppose I only seemingly consent, and then if I can but save them—the very thought makes me cry for joy.

What! whimpering, fool!

Consider your honor—I'm not much used to butcher children, its rather out of my line.

What's your determination?

[Page 12]

But then to be scorned—

Look through the world—where points scorn his finger at ermin'd guilt?—no, at houseless merit. It is not levelled at the wealthy cheat, but at rag­ged honesty—be wise—be wise.

Why, to be sure, as your honor says—but my honor.—

Honor?—that's a tinsel toy—Wise men plate it o'er with gold, that gives the worthless metal cur­rency, and brings wealth to the holder of it— think of that.

Why—indeed that's very true again—very true. —Oh! the Devil damn him—

Well then, your honor, I consent, and if I don't,—

Hush! take this sword—but first swear.

Oh, your honor, I never swear—never swear.

No trifling, fool, but swear—when next we meet this sword shall be sheath'd with blood.

Well, for once I will swear—By all my hopes of mercy hereafter—it shall be sheathed in blood.

Oliver will accompany you.

Zounds! that blood-thirsty villain.—You had better let me do it myself, your honor

[Page 13]

Silence—follow.

SCENE—III. Another Apartment in the Castle.

Come, my dears—which of you will have your mama's picture.

I will.

I'm sure I ought to have it—I'm a very funny little girl, and ought to be made a pet of.

She was an elegant woman.

And every body says I'm very much like her.

Ha! Walter in earnest conversation with Sir Rowland!

Oh Josephine!—I've such news to tell you, as will make your hair stand on end—I am in high favor with Sir Rowland—and am to go with the children to their godfathers.

[Page 14]

I'm glad Walter is to go with us.

Aye, and what do you think, Josephine? Oh! do you know that—Oh!—um—

Well, my little cherubs—what, delighted with your walk?

Oh! yes, uncle.

Why, Walter, you have got on your sword.

A sword—have I—

Why yes, it is a bit of a kind of a sword, as you say, to be sure— but—

Well, take your leave of Josephine.

Come kiss us, Josephine—good bye dear Joseph­ine —don't cry—we'll soon come back again— shan't we uncle?

[Page 15]

Certainly sweetlings—Farewell! and Heaven take you to its care.

(Amen! say I)—come.

Walter following with the children, one in each hand.

I shall be glad when they come back again—I can't bear melancholy.

Then, why love to inflict it?

Sir, I wonder you can think of a poor girl like me—besides were your passions such as with ho­nor I could listen to, —I could never love you.

Mark, Josephine, tho' gratitude is dead in you— fear, I perceive still exists, and what has hitherto been entreaty, shall now be force.

SCENE—IV. A WOOD, AND CUT WOOD.

I say Walter—this place will do delightfully!

[Page 17]

Nay! I don't much like this place—let's find some other.

I say this place will do—and shall be the place.

Shall it, —There, little dears, go and play there—while I talk to Oliver a bit.

I say, Oliver, you have one failing.

Aye!—what is it?

Why you are too tender hearted.

Am I?

Now I am, you know, such a blood-thirsty ras­cal; that I could murder for amusement, therefore, I say, Oliver, suppose you leave this job to me.

What, you'll dispatch them, will you?

[Page 18]

Yes, to be sure on't—so my dear fellow—you may go back to the castle—get the reward, and leave them to me—go.

Why, must not you think me a pretty scoundrel?

Why—I do for that matter.

To receive money for doing a bit of work and not compleating it.

I say, Oliver, suppose—

Suppose, what?

Why—suppose—suppose we were just to save 'em, Oliver.

Save 'em, eh!

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Me save 'em—Eh—what you—you will, —eh? Aye, you wish it—and I consent, how pity becomes you, Oliver?

how savage he looks!

Why should we save 'em?

Why, to be sure, there are two or three trifling reasons—first, it is'n't very manly to murder inno­cents —next, we shall be damn'd for it—and—

Why an't you a pretty rascal?

Well, Oliver, you must consent to save e'm! look at 'em poor little dears! Ah! I perceive a tear standing in the corner of your eye

I am determined so—

Oh! Walter save us!

Stop, Oliver; only two words more.

Well.

[Page 20]

Look at them—have you a heart hard enough to kill 'em?

I have.

Why then, have you an arm strong enough to fell me down, you damn'd dog?

Fell you?

Yes, for you must do that before you shall touch a hair of their heads.

Indeed! we'll try that.

Damme, I did'nt think I had so much pluck in me—there he lies—come forth my little tremblers, I am your champion.

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Have you kill'd Oliver?

Dead as a door nail!

Go kill him again—such a rascal as he cannot be too dead.

Walter your hand is all bloody—come I'll kise it, and make it well—

Shall we return to our uncle's, Walter?

Alas! poor dears, you have no home—let me consider what's best to be done—I'll return to that rascal their uncle, get the reward and Josephine, and steal something from the buttery—then we'll go far enough out of the reach of that villain—I say, dears, I'll go and bring Josephine to you, will stay here till I come back?

We'll do any thing that Walter bids us.

I'll soon come back—see here's a nice arbour, and here's my cloak to sit down upon—and here are victuals—now don't stir from this spot, I charge you—Good bye, I won't be long.

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Look sister what quantities of blackberries and nuts there are in that bush, let's go, pluck them.

we can soon find the place out again, and they are better than the beef and manchets, Walter le [...]t us.

SCENE—I.

TO speak with me! if its Oliver or Walter! Heaven foresend any ill should come to my children.

I never saw this man before, Sir; he says his business is urgent.

[Page 23]

Admit him.

who can it be!

Ha! my brother's servant—should he be alive.

Gabriel I am glad to see you.

The joy is mutual your honor, but your honor looks a little pate, your countenance has'n't that rosy appearance mine has.

Grief, Gabriel.

True, your honor—grief brings on drinking, and then what is man?—O never drink, your honor—never drink!

Now to know my fate—

I shall soon meet my brother, where grief cannot come.

True you'll meet very soon.

All's safe I find

where are my brother's sad remains?

Remains—Oh he remains but a little way off, your honor.

[Page 24]

This drunken guise, little becomes your mourn­ful errand.

Why, you see you honor, I was sent before to get every thing in readiness, but living on salt provisions at Sea, gave me such a confounded thirst, that I was forced to stop every mile, to moisten my mouth with a quart of ale; so on my second day's journey, my master overtakes me—so says he—says he—Gabriel—says he,—

Say! who say?—

My master, your honor—Gabriel, says he, I dis­charge you—but my sweet mistress cried, I might stay, for says she, if ever we part with Gabriel, we shall loose the only sober servant we have got—so my master only gave me a kick, and set me for­wards again.

Idiot!—wretch he's dead.

Dead, is he? I could shew you the mark he made with his foot, and if you call that a blow for a dead man to give—why, however, if you won't credit the mark of his soot, here's the mark of his hand.

Damnation!

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Damnation—A comical way of expressing joy— your brother arrived says I—damnation says he —but I hope your honor has taken care of the children?

Aye, aye—they're taken care of.

If that cursed thirst had not seized me, I would have been here yesterday.

Oh! had you come but yesterday—begone, leave me, drunkard.

Yes, your honor, I'll go to the cellar, for I feel a kind of dryness on my palate—yet your brother and his lady will soon be here your honor—they are not far behind me. I have a notion I did'nt come here quite staight, your honor.

Confusion! ruin! yet if the hand of Heaven has been stretch'd forth to save the innocent, if the children live.

It is concluded—where's Oliver?

Gone—Heav'n knows whither—I have fulfilled my oath—just mention the reward your honour, the prize of angels, your honor—Josephine your honor—the—

Wretch! Murderer! avoid me—take my curses —such ever be the reward of villainy.

So say I.

But your honor consider I kill'd—

Dare but to name the [...]ou [...] act, and by hell thou shalt be rewarded—a [...]al [...]r v [...]lain—go from their [Page 26]haunts of men and devour thy heart in misery and contempt.

I should be a devil of a fool to do that, make a companion of my conscience, does your honor find your's so pleasant a one?

I cave me fellow—

I go—I'm gone, Sir—Heigo!

What now he'd give to do this—now to [...] something from the buttery—endeavour to find Josephine—and away again to the children —Oh sier and fome—They say vi [...]ains inflict [...]ery on their fellow creatures—but I think they [...] make none so miserable as they make them­selves.

Lost beyond hope—how shall I act— How— how! but on—my purpose was, my brother's family should [...]t in Heaven, and it shall be ac­c [...]shed—I'll chaunt my coffers, and to some t [...]i [...]less rascal. throw down the dazzling ore, and while their ternes are risled by the damning dear delation. I'll lead them to destroy this hated brother—Forture continue dull and blind—now for happiness or perdition.

SCENE—II. A WOOD.

How do you do, sister:

Very [...] and very hungry—I could eat some of [...]he meat Walter left us.

I w [...] we [...] the place—let us try to [...].

[...] I'm so sleepy—and [...] brother. [...] may [...] picture [...], and [Page 27]should sleep a long while, I should go where my mamma is—so she [...]l know us [...] the picture

Are you frighten'd, sister?

No—not much.

Look yonder's a place to hie us—for sure the thunder can't shoot us there.—Come sister.

I can't walk—indeed I can't—I'm so sick— Don't cry, brother.

I don't cry.

do try to walk a I it— there—see, I'll help you—very well—very well.

SCENE—III. Another part of the [...]ood.

Zounds, what a peppering storm—sweet souls how glad they'll be to see me—The cunning rogues have got under the cloak—and I dare say have got fast aslcep—

Gone, murder, murder—Oh! they have hid themselves to frighten me. I see you, I see you—you may as well come, I see you—

—They're gone! I can never sleep more— Ha! the print of a foot—

What the devil do I stand here for? I'll roar myself dumb—I'll hollo!—Hollo!

SCENE—IV, A ROAD.

Look out.

The travelers have gain'd the hills, and are dis­mounted.

'Tis well—behind that thicket wait their ap­proach —be firm—here's encouragement.

This way—this way.

Thou art weary Helen,

In truth, most [...]dly, but let us on.

No—here rest a while, this place is most dear to my r [...]m [...]mbrance, when my good falcon urged on his quarty to this forest's ve [...]ge, reclined beneath this aged oak, I first [...]aw thee, my Helen.

Ah! these times my Alford, what were then our hopes and fears, the remembrance is strong within me still.

But look my lord, this avenue displays your castle's stubborn turrets. The western tower con­tains our lovely children—Oh how sweetly fancy passing the bounds of vision, picture to me my babes—At great nature's bidding, stretching forth their little hands to clasp their mother—the thought's rapture—On—on—my dear lord, you ne­ver saw the youngest—indeed he's most like you, the image of my Alford—pardon these foolish tears, they are a mothers joy.

Master—defend yourself

What two to one!—

Are you hurt, Sir?

[Page 29]

Never heed that—Have you succeeded?

No, sir, the travellers escaped in the wood.

Providence, I thank thee!

Shall we pursue them?

No—on your souls, forbear—convey me to the castle.

Shall I fly for assistance?

No—I'll none—do as I order'd you.

What the devil does all this mean—where are the people l've been fighting for—or where are the people l've been fighting with—I'm pretty sure I've drill'd one of them—Damm [...], now my hand's in, I shall be killing a man every day, I suppose— But these poor children—I'm almost mad—night coming on too—Ha!—Another Ruffian—I'll soon do his business.

SCENE—V. A WOOD.
Moonlight, lamps down, Banks on—and Children discover d, seeming dead, folded in each others arms, on the Bank, with leaves strew'd over them.

Courage, my Helen.

I'm wonderous faint.

Droop not, my love—we are safe—here we'll remain to-night.

'Twas most strange—spoil was not their aim, but blood—a thousand fears press on me—the vigor'd ruffian had an air me thought of.

[Page 30]

Dearest love, calm thy troubled mind—rest on that verdant bank.

My servants, e'er this have gain'd the castle—I'm sure my brother's anxious care will find us e'er the morning.

She sleeps—I'll forth, and under covert of the friendly shade, de [...]ry if danger be aloft.

Heavenly powers, what's here! two infant's! cold e'en to death! poor wretched babes.—poor wretched pa­rents —what pangs must rend their hearts—How shall I thank thee Heaven, for giving mine, a bro­ther's fostering care.

Cold and breathless!

Merciful pow­ers! my own children!

My Alford!

My child—my child! my darling boy [...]!

How is my girl?

[Page 31]

She will recover.

How came they here? but let's away.

—At the eastern exremity of this forest, stands an humble cottage—there we'll hasten—thy feeble arms cannot sustain.

Away—away—under my own disasters I might droop—but a mother's fears have amagozonian strength—away, my lord.

SCENE—VI. Inside of Walter's house, door open.

I thought so—well, and so—

And so, goody, a servant came to the castle, and Sir Rowland order'd him to be confined in the dark tower, and do you know old King says it is a ser­vant of Lord Alford.

I thought so—well, and s—

Why, then Sir Rowland went out disguised with four men—and in the confusion I step'd out— but goody—where's Walter?

Oh! Heaven knows whether we shall ever see the dear boy again.

Oh dear you frighten the—why goody—

Why do you know, I saw a spider crawl up the fide of the chimney, and the horse-shoe was last night taken off the door,

Hallo!

Here is Walter.

I thought so.

Why, child, what's the matter?—have you seen a ghost? Sit cross leg'd my dear boy.

There—will that please you?

Ah! Josephine is it you?

Well, Walter, where did you leave the children?

Under a tree, and told them to stay there till I—

Under a tree! Oh! in the Gentleman's garden.

No. no.

Yes, yes, where else should I leave them—For a wood where they might be starv'd?

No—that I'm sure you wou'dn't.

I never was afraid of Goblins—but to night I though [...] every tree a ghost—and took old Jowler for the Devil.

Ay, ay, old Tab did not scratch under her ear for nothing—a sure sign that somebody will be hang'd.

Damn old Tab.

Aye, Walter, you have been drinking.

My own tears then.

[Page 33]

But come, here's a capon for your supper.

Oh, if the dear children had that capon.

Lord! Walter why they have plenty.

Plenty have they!

to be sure I know that as well as you, Josephine.

Had I known how cros you would have been, I would not have come.

I beg your pardon. Josephine—don't cry my girl; I'm almost mad

Oh! he's spilt the salt

And I see here's a winding sheet in the candle.

Damn it mother don't frighten me so—Joseph­ine, my dear girl, sing me a song.

I'll sing you what I bought of the old blind ped­lar who passed by this morning—Its intitled and call d, the Norfolk tragedy, shewing how the ghost of a murder'd babe.

No—do—don't sing that.

Yes, yes, sing it, Josephine.

Walter—why do you tremble, are you frighten'd?

Me frighten'd—bless your soul—nonsense.go on.

Mother, mother, mother; don't leave me.

What, alive, Oh Lord! oh lord! oh lord!—

What, my honored lord, and lady too! Oh! 'tis to much.—Josephine, come here, down on your knees.

The— I know nothing, yes, I know every thing; you see, my lord, —your brother, aye, you little rogue to run away, —and so so my lord, your brother sent, and I—my lord, —I, —I, cannot tell you not—

I'm very hungry.

Hungry are you!

[Page 35]

Laugh! look there.

Eless my soul! there they are at supper; a ca, pon. I declare; vert pretty eating, I could like to pick a bit.—Oh! my lord your brother is dy­ing —he has confess'd he employed Oliver, and Walter, to murder your children.

True; I kill'd Oliver.

My gallant fellow.

He then plann'd your destruction.

A curs'd ambition, wretched brother.

And went out with armed ruffians to attack you.

But heaven, sent an unknown friend to save us. Walter could'st thou but find him.

Why, my lady, I could find him, I believe,

Sure that look, —you protected us.

I believe I did.

My preserver!

My friend!

Dear, my lord, sweet dear lady! don't kill me with kindness, I can't [...]ear it I'm too happy— [...] ill g [...]t [...]en wealth do this?

[Page 36]

Name some reward.

A treasure!

If India can produce it, it is yours.

My lord, you need not go so far, there's the treasure I want; give, give me, my little Josephine, and I am happy.

My dearest girl—receive from my hand your faithful Walter, and it shall be my study to reward his services.

Madam I'll serve you with my latest breath! but I trust the children in the wood will, to night, find better friends than poor Walter the carpenter.