قراءة كتاب The Surrender of Calais: A Play, in Three Acts
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class="i2">Who, when we weave our subtle webs of state,
And spin fine stratagems to entangle them,
Come to our doors, and pull the work to pieces;
Dispute it fist to fist, and score their arguments
Upon our politic pates. Remember Cressy!—
We've reason to remember it—they thump'd us,
And soundly, there:—'tis but some few months, back;—
There, in the bowels of our land—at Cressy—
They so bechopp'd us with their English logic.
That our French heads ached sorely for it:—thence,
Marching through Picardy, to Calais here,
They have engirded us; fix'd the dull tourniquet
Of war upon our town; constraining, thus,
The life blood of our commerce, with fair France,
Of whom we are a limb; and all this openly:—
And, therefore, as an open foe, who think
And strike in the same breath, I do esteem
Their valour, and their plainness.
I view them with a most respectful hatred.
Much may be learnt from these same Englishmen.
4 Cit. Ay, pr'ythee, what? Hunger and hard blows seem all we are like to get from them.
Eust. Courage; which you may have—'twas never tried tho';
Patience, to bear the buffets of the times.
Ye cannot wait till Fortune turns her wheel:
You'll to the Governor's, and get the keys!
And what would your wise worships do with them?
Eat them, mayhap, for ye have ostrich stomachs;
Ye dare not use them otherwise.—Home! home!
And pray for better luck.
[The Citizens exeunt severally. An Old Man, alone, remains in the Back of the Scene.
Fie, I am faint
With railing on the cormorants. Three days,
And not break bread—'tis somewhat. There's not one
Among these trencher-scraping knaves, that yet
Has kept a twenty hours' lent;—I know it;
Yet how they crave! I've here, by strong entreaty,
And a round sum, (entreaty's weak without it,)
E'en just enough to make dame Nature wrestle
Another round with famine. Out, provision!
[Takes off his Wallet.
Old Man. [Coming forward.] O, Heaven!
Eust. Who bid thee bless the meat?—How now old grey beard!
What cause hast thou——
Old Man. I have a daughter—
Eust. Hungry, I warrant.
Old Man. Dying!
The blessing of my age:—I could bear all;—
But for my child;—my dear, dear child!—to lose her
To lose her thus!—to see disease so wear her!—
And when a little nourishment——She's starving!
Eust. Go on;—no tears;—I hate them.
Old Man. She has had no nourishment these four days.
Eust. [Affected.] Death! and—well?
Old Man. I care not for myself;—I should soon go,
In nature's course;—but my poor darling child!
Who fifteen years has been my prop—to see her
Thus wrested from me! then, to hear her bless me;
And see her wasting!——
Eust. Peace! peace!
I have not ate, old man, since—Pshaw! the wind
Affects my eyes—but yet I—'Sdeath! what ails me?
I have no appetite.—Here, take this trash, and—
[The Old Man takes the Wallet, falls upon his Knees, and attempts to speak.
Pr'ythee away, old soul;—nay, nay, no thanks;—
Get home, and do not talk—I cannot.—
[Exit Old Man.
Out on't!
I do belie my manhood; and if misery,
With gentle hand, touches my bosom's key,
I bellow straight, as if my tough old lungs
Were made of organ-pipes.
[Huzza without.
Hey! how sits the wind now?
Enter Citizens, crying Huzza! and Succour! La Gloire, in the midst of them, loaded with Casks of Provision, &c.
La Gloire. Here, neighbours! here, here I am dropt in among you, like a lump of manna. Here have I, following my master, the noble Count Ribaumont, brought wherewithal to check the grumbling in your gizzards. Here's meat, neighbours, meat!—fine, raw, red meat!—to turn the tide of tears from your eyes, and make your mouths water.
All. Huzza!
2 Cit. Ah! mon Dieu! que je suis gai!—meat and sun too!—tal lal lall la!
La Gloire. Silence! or I'll stop your windpipe with a mutton cutlet.
All. Huzza!
Eust. Peace, ho! I say; can ye be men, and roar thus?
Blush at this clamour! it proclaims you cowards,
And tells what your despair has been. Peace, hen hearts!
Slink home, and eat.
La Gloire. Ods my life! cry you mercy, father; I saw you not;—my honest, hungry neighbours, here, so pressed about me. Marry, I think they are ready to eat me. Stand aside, friends, and patience, till my father has said grace over me. Father, your blessing.
[Kneels.
Eust. Boy, thou hast acted bravely, and thou follow'st
A noble gentleman. What succour brings he?
La Gloire. A snack! a bare snack, father; no more. We scudded round the point of land, under the coast, unperceived by the enemy's fleet, and freighted with a good three days' provender: but the sea, that seems ruled by the English—marry, I think they'll always be masters of it, for my part—stuck the point of a rock through the bottom of our vessel, almost filled it with water, and, after tugging hard for our lives, we found the provision so spoiled, and pickled, that our larder is reduced to a luncheon. Every man may have a meal, and there's an end;—to-morrow comes famine again.
2 Cit. N'importe; we are happy to-day; c'est assez pour un François.
La Gloire. [Aside, to Eustache.] But, father, cheer up! Mum! If, after the distribution, an odd sly barrel of mine—you take