BLACKTHORN.

And that is quite enough, I warrant you.
But, stay, where shall I find a dress
To play this-what d'ye call him-Owlspiegle?

KATLEEN (takes dresses out of the cabinet.)
Why, there are his own clothes,

Preserved with other trumpery of the sort,

For we have kept naught but what is good for naught.

[She drops a cap as she draws out the clothes. Blackthorn lifts it, and gives it to her. Nay, keep it for thy pains-it is a coxcomb; So call'd in ancient times, in ours a fool's cap; For you must know they kept a Fool at Devorgoil In former days; but now are well contented To play the fool themselves, to save expenses; Yet give it me, I'll find a worthy use for't. I'll take this page's dress to play the page Cockledemoy, who waits on ghostly Owlspiegle; And yet 'tis needless, too, for Gullcrammer Will scarce be here to-night.

BLACKTHORN.

Hark to old Sweetlips!

Away with you before the full cry open-
But stay, what have you there?

KATLEEN (with a bundle she has taken from the wardrobe.)

My dress, my page's dress-let it alone.

BLACKTHORN.

Your tiring room is not, I hope, far distant; You're inexperienced in these new habilimentsI am most ready to assist your toilet.

KATLEEN.

Out, you great ass! was ever such a fool! [Runs off.

BLACKTHORN (sings.)

O, Robin Hood was a bowman good,
And a bowman good was he,

And he met with a maiden in merry Sherwood,

All under the greenwood tree.

Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood,
Now give me a kiss, said he,

For there never came maid into merry Sherwood,
But she paid the forester's fee.

I've coursed this twelvemonth this sly puss, young
Katleen,

And flung me out a score of yards at once;
And she has dodged me, turn'd beneath my nose,

If this same gear fadge right, I'll cote and mouth her,

And then! whoop! dead! dead! dead!- She is the

metal

To make a woodman's wife of!-

[Pauses a moment. Well I can find a hare upon her form

With any man in Nithsdale-stalk a deer,

Run Reynard to the earth for all his doubles,
Reclaim a haggard hawk that's wild and wayward,
Can bait a wild-cat-sure the devil's in't
But I can match a woman-I'll to study.

[Sits down on the couch to examine the paper.

SCENE II.

Scene changes to the inhabited apartment of the Castle, as in the last scene of the preceding Act. A fire is kindled, by which ŐSWALD sits in an attitude of deep and melancholy thought, without paying attention to what passes around him. ELEANOR is busy in covering a table; FLORA goes out and re-enters, as if busied in the kitchen. There should be some by-play-the women whispering together, and watching the state of OsWALD; then separating, and secking to avoid his observation, when he casually raises his head, and drops it again. This must be left to taste and management. The women, in the first part of the scene, talk apart, and as if fearful of being overheard; the by-play of stopping occasionally, and attending to OSWALD's movements, will give liveliness to the Scene.

Tush, maid-I know thy father's humour better.
He was high-bred in gentle luxuries;
And when our griefs began, I've wept apart,
While lordly cheer and high-fill'd cups of wine
Were blinding him against the wo to come.
He has turn'd his back upon a princely banquet:
We will not spread his board-this night at least,
Since chance hath better furnish'd-with dry bread,
And water from the well.

Enter KATLEEN, and hears the last speech. KATLEEN (aside.) Considerate aunt!-she deems that a good supper Were not a thing indifferent even to him

Who is to hang to-morrow; since she thinks so,

Mother, alas! when Grief turns reveller,
Despair is cup-bearer. What shall hap to-morrow?

ELEANOR.

I have learn'd carelessness from fruitless care.
Too long I've watch'd to-morrow-let it come
And cater for itself-Thou hear'st the thunder.
[Low and distant thunder.
This is a gloomy night-within, alas!

[Looking at her husband. Still gloomier and more threatening-Let us use Whatever means we have to drive it o'er, And leave to Heaven to-morrow. Trust me, Flora, 'Tis the philosophy of desperate want To match itself but with the present evil, And face one grief at once.

Away, I wish thine aid and not thy counsel.

LAS FLORA is about to go off, GULLCRAMMER'S voice is heard behind the flat scene, as if from the drawbridge.

GULLCRAMMER (behind.) Hillo--hillo-hilloa-hoa-hoa!

[OSWALD raises himself and listens; ELEANOR goes up the steps, and opens the window at the loop-hole; GULLCRAMMER's voice is then heard more distinctly.

GULLCRAMMER.

KATLEEN (aside.)

Now, as I live, the voice of Gullcrammer!
Now shall our gambol be play'd off with spirit;
I'll swear I am the only one to whom
That screech-owl hoop was e'er acceptable.

OSWALD.

ELEANOR.

GULLCRAMMER.

OSWALD.

Who's he that is thus clamorous without? (TO ELEANOR.) Thou know'st him?

ELEANOR (confused.)

KATLEEN.

OSWALD.

ELEANOR.
What can I do?
OSWALD.

I would not give this sport for all the rent Of Devorgoil, when Devorgoil was richest! (To ELEANOR.) But now you chided me, my dearest aunt,

For wishing him a horse-pond for his portion?

ELEANOR.

Yes, saucy girl; but, an it please you, then
And skill to bear him as some casual stranger,-
He was not fretting me; if he had sense enough,
But he is dull as earth, and every hint

Is lost on him, as hail-shot on the cormorant,
Whose hide is proof except to musket-bullets!
FLORA (apart.)

And yet to such a one would my kind mother,
Whose chiefest fault is loving me too fondly,
Wed her poor daughter!

Enter GULLCRAMMER, his dress damaged by the storm; ELEANOR runs to meet him, in order to explain to him that she wished him to behave as a stranger. GULLCRAMMER, mistaking her approach for an invitation to familiarity, advances with the air of pedantic conceit belonging to his character, when OSWALD enters, ELEANOR recovers herself. and assumes an air of distance,-GULLCRAMMEE is confounded, and does not know what to make of it.

GULLCRAMMER.

Nay, the high heavens forefend that I were vain!
When our learn'd Principal such sounding laud
Gave to mine Essay on the hidden qualities
Of the sulphuric mineral, I disclaim'd

OSWALD (apart.)

at the dance,

The lovely Saccharissa Kirkencroft,
Daughter to Kirkencroft of Kirkencroft,

Graced me with her soft hand, credit me, ladies,
That still I felt myself a mortal man,
Though beauty smiled on me.

Shame us not with thy niggard housekeeping;
He is a stranger-were it our last crust,
And he the veriest coxcomb ere wore taffeta,

A pitch he's little short of-he must share it,

Though all should want to-morrow.

Of hospitality in this old mansion Shall not be sullied.

LEONARD (without.)

Ope, for the sake of love and charity!

[OSWALD goes to the loop-hole

GULLCRAMMER.

Heaven's mercy! should there come another stran

ger,

And he half starved with wandering on the wolds, The sow's face boasts no substance, nor the sausages,

To stand our reinforced attack! I judge, too,
By this starved Baron's language, there's no hope
Of a reserve of victuals.

FLORA.

Go to the casement, cousin.

And bid the gallant who that bugle winded

Sleep in the storm-swept waste; as meet for him As for Lance Blackthorn.-Come, I'll not distress you,

I'll get admittance for this second suitor,
And we'll play out this gambol at cross purposes.
But see, your father has prevented me.

OSWALD (seems to have spoken with those without,

and answers.)

Well, I will ope the door; one guest already,
Driven by the storm, has claim'd my hospitality,
And you, if you were fiends, were scarce less wel-

come

Your favourite dishes, sir, unless perchance

You bring such dainties with you.

VOL. I.-4 P

Why so? You're welcome both-only the word
Warrants more courtesy than our present means
Permit us to bestow. A huntsman and a soldier
May be a prince's comrade, much more mine;
And for a beggar-friend, there little lacks,
Save that blue gown and badge, and clouted pouches,
To make us comrades too; then welcome both,
And to a beggar's feast. I fear brown bread,
And water from the spring, will be the best on't;
For we had cast to wend abroad this evening,
And left our larder empty.

one.

Still do I say, that a sow's face and sausages

OSWALD (looks sternly at him, then at his wife.) There's something under this, but that the present Is not a time to question. (To ELEANOR) Wife, my mood

Is at such height of tide, that a turn'd feather
Would make me frantic now, with mirth or fury!
Tempt me no more-but if thou hast the things
This carrion crow so croaks for, bring them forth;
For, by my father's beard, if I stand caterer,
Twill be a fearful banquet!

OSWALD.

Do not displace it. My grandsire, Erick, doubled human strength, And almost human size-and human knowledge, And human vice, and human virtue also, As storm or sunshine chanced to occupy His mental hemisphere. After a fatal deed, He hung his armour on the wall, forbidding It e'er should be ta'en down. There is a prophecy, That of itself 'twill fall, upon the night When, in the fiftieth year from his decease, Devorgoil's feast is full. This is the era; But, as too well you see, no meet occasion Will do the downfall of the armour justice, Or grace it with a feast. There let it bide, Trying its strength with the old walls it hangs on, Which shall fall soonest.

DURWARD (looking at the trophy with a mixture of feeling.)

Then there stern Erick's harness hangs untouch'd, Since his last fatal raid on Cumberland!

OSWALD.

dishes on the table.)

OSWALD (to DUrward.)

How did you lose your path?

DURWARD.

E'en when we thought to find it, a wild meteor
Danced in the moss, and led our feet astray.
I give small credence to the tales of old,
Of Friar's-lantern told, and Will-o'-Wisp,
Else would I say, that some malicious demon
Guided us in a round; for to the moat,
Which we had pass'd two hours since, were we led,
And there the gleam flicker'd and disappear'd
Even on your drawbridge. I was so worn down,
So broke with labouring through marsh and moor,
That, wold I nold I, here my young conductor
Would needs implore for entrance; else, believe me,

I had not troubled you.

Still yoked with waste and want-have stripp'd these walls

Of every other trophy. Antler'd skulls,
Whose branches vouch'd the tales old vassals told
Of desperate chases-partisans and spears-
Knights' barred helms and shields the shafts and
bows,

Axes and breastplates, of the hardy yeomanry-
The banners of the vanquish'd-signs these arms
Were not assumed in vain, have disappear'd;
Yes, one by one, they all have disappear'd;
And now Lord Erick's harness hangs alone,
'Midst implements of vulgar husbandry
And mean economy; as some old warrior
Whom want hath made an inmate of an alms-
house,

Shows, mid the beggar'd spendthrifts, base mecha

nics,

And bankrupt pedlers, with whom fate has mix'd him.