قراءة كتاب The Surrender of Calais: A Play, in Three Acts
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c5">The Place, in the Town of Calais.
Enter an Officer, Sergeant, and Soldiers.—Citizens enter severally during the Scene.
Officer. Bravely, good fellows! Courage! Why, still there's life in't. Sergeant!
Serg. Your honour!
Officer. How do the men bear up? Have they stout hearts still?
Serg. I know not, sir, for their hearts; but I'll warrant them stout stomachs. Hunger is so powerful in them, that I fear me they'll munch their way through the stone walls of the city.
Officer. This famine pinches. Poor rogues! Cheer them with hopes, good Sergeant.
Serg. Hope, your honour, is but a meagre mess for a regiment. Hope has almost shrunk them out of their doublets. Hope has made their legs so weary of the lease they had taken of their hose, that all their calves have slunk away from the premises. There isn't a stocking in the whole company that can boast of a tolerable tenant. The privates join in the public complaining; the drummers grow noisy; our poor corporal has no body left; and the trumpeter is blown up with wind.
Officer. Do they grow mutinous? Look to them—check their muttering.
Serg. Troth, sir, I do my best:—when they grumble for meat, I make them eat their own words; and give them some solid counsel, well seasoned with the pepper of correction.
Officer. Well, well! look to them; keep a strict watch; and march the guards to their several posts.
[Exit Officer.
Serg. Now must I administer consolation, and give the rogues their daily meal of encouragement.—Hem! Countrymen, fellow soldiers, and Frenchmen!—be of good cheer, for famine is come upon you, and you are all in danger of starving. Is there any thing dearer to a Frenchman than his honour? Isn't honour the greater, the greater the danger? and has any body ever had the honour of being in greater danger than you?—Rejoice, then, for your peril is extreme! Be merry, for you have a glorious dismal prospect before you; and as pleasing a state of desperation as the noble heart of a soldier could wish! Come! one cheer for the glory of France.—St. Dennis, and our Grand Monarque, King Philip the Sixth!
[Soldiers huzza very feebly.
Oons! it sounds as hollow as a churchyard. The voice comes through their wizen mouths like wind from the crack of an old wainscot. Away, rogues, to your posts! Bristle up your courage, and wait the event of time! Remember ye are Frenchmen, and bid defiance to famine! Our mistresses are locked up with us in the town; we have frogs in the wells, and snuff at the merchants'. An Englishman, now, would hang himself upon this, which is enough to make a gay Frenchman happy. Allons, camarades!
SONG.—SERGEANT.
My comrades so famish'd and queer,
Hear the drums, how they jollily beat!
They fill our French hearts with good cheer,
Although we have nothing to eat.
Rub a dub.
All. Nothing to eat: rub a dub,
Rub a dub—we have nothing to eat.
Then, hark to the merry toned fife!
To hear it 'twill make a man younger:
I tell you, my lads, this is life
For any one dying with hunger.
Toot a too.
All. Dying with hunger: toot a too,
Toot a too—we are dying with hunger.
The foe to inspire you to beat,
Only list to the trumpet so shrill!
Till the enemy's kill'd we can't eat:
Do the job—you may eat all you kill.
Ran ta tan.
All. We'll eat all we kill; ran ta tan,
Ran ta tan—we may eat all we kill.
[Exeunt Soldiers.—Citizens come forward.
1 Cit. Bon jour, Monsieur Grenouille?
2 Cit. Aha! mon voisin! Here's a goodly morning. The sun shines till our blood dances to it like a frisky wench to a tabor.
1 Cit. Yes, truly; but 'tis a dance without refreshments. We, are in a miserable plight, neighbour.
2 Cit. Ma foi! miserable indeed! mais le soleil—
1 Cit. How fare your wife and family, neighbour Grenouille?
2 Cit. Ah! my pauvre wife and famille; litel to eat now, mon voisin—nothing bye and bye: lucky for me 'tis fine weather. Great many mouths in my house; very litel to put into 'em. But I am French; the sun shines; I am gay.—There is myself, my poor dear wife, half a loaf, seven children, three sprats, a tom cat, and a pipkin of milk. I am hungry; mais il fait beau temps; I dance—my famille starves—I sing—toujours gai—the sun shines—tal lal la! tal lal la!
3 Cit. Tut, we wo'not bear it. 'Tis our Governor is in fault: this way we are certain to perish.
4 Cit. Peste! we'll not endure it. Shut up, near eleven months, within the walls.
2 Cit. In fine weather—no promenade!
3 Cit. No provisions.—We'll to the Governor, force the keys, and surrender the town. Allons! come along, neighbours, to the Governor!
All. Ay, ay—to the Governor. Away!
[Going in a Posse.
Enter Eustache de St. Pierre, carrying a small Wallet.
Eust. Why, how now, ho!—nothing but noise and babble!
Whither away so fast? Stand, rogues, and speak!
3 Cit. Whither away? Marry! we would away from famine: we are for the Governor's, to force the keys of the town.
Eust. There roar'd the wrathful mouse! You squeaking braggart,
Whom hunger has made vent'rous, who would thrust
Your starveling nose out to the cat's fell gripe,
That watches round the cranny you lie snug in,
Nibble your scraps; be thankful, and keep quiet.
Thou rail on hunger! why, 'twas hunger bore thee;
'Twas hunger rear'd thee; fixing, in thy cradle,
Her meagre stamp upon thy weazel visage;
And, from a child, that half starved face of thine
Has given full meals the lie. When thou dost eat,
Thou dost digest consumption: thou'rt of those kine
Thou wouldst e'en swallow up thy brethren, here,
And still look lean. What! fellow citizens,
Trust you this thing? Can skin and bones mislead you?
If we must suffer, suffer patiently.
Did I e'er grumble, mongrels? What am I?
3 Cit. You! why, Eustache de St. Pierre you are; one of the sourest old crabs of all the citizens of Calais; and, if reviling your neighbours be a sign of ill will to one's country, and ill will to one's country a sign of good will to strangers, why a man might go near to think you are a friend to the English.
Eust. I honour them.
They are our enemy—a gallant enemy;
A biting, but a blunt, straight-forward foe: