PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING.
A Schoolroom.
_SCHOOLMASTER (not certificated), VICAR, and CHILD.
VICAR. Why did you send for me? I hope all's
right?
Schoolmaster. Well, sir, we thought this end o' the room
was dark.
V. Indeed! So 't is. There's my new study lamp—
S. 'T would stand, sir, well beside yon laurel wreath.
Shall I go fetch it?
V. Do, we must not fail.
Bring candles also.
[Exit Schoolmaster. Vicar arranges chairs.
Now, small six years old,
And why may you be here?
Child. I'm helping father;
But, father, why d'you take such pains?
V. Sweet soul,
That's what I'm for!
C. What, and for nothing else?
V. Yes! I'm to bring thee up to be a man.
C. And what am I for?
V. There, I'm busy now.
C. Am I to bring you up to be a child?
V. Perhaps! Indeed, I have heard it said thou art.
C. Then when may I begin?
V. I'm busy, I say. Begin to-morrow an thou canst, my son, And mind to do it well.
[Exit Vicar and Child.
Enter a group of women, and some children.
Mrs. Thorpe. Fine lot o' lights!
Mrs. Jillifer. Should be! Would folk put on their Sunday best I' the week unless they looked to have it seen? What, you here, neighbour!
Mrs. Smith. Ay, you may say that.
Old Madam called; said she, 'My son would feel
So sorry if you did not come,' and slipped
The penny in my hand, she did; said I,
'Ma'am, that's not it. In short, some say your last
Was worth the penny and more. I know a man,
A sober man, who said, and stuck to it,
Worth a good twopence. But I'm strange, I'm shy.'
'We hope you'll come for once,' said she. In short,
I said I would to oblige 'em.
Mrs. Green. Ah, 't was well.
Mrs. S. But I feel strange, and music gets i' my throat,
It always did. And singers be so smart,
Ladies and folk from other parishes,
Candles and cheering, greens and flowers and all
I was not used to such in my young day;
We kept ourselves at home.
Mrs. J. Never say 'used,'
The most of us have many a thing to do
We were not used to. If you come to that,
Why none of us are used to growing old,
It takes us by surprise, as one may say,
That work, when we begin 't, and yet 't is work
That all of us must do.
Mrs. G. Nay, nay, not all.
Mrs. J. I ask your pardon, neighbour; you be right. Not all.
Mrs. G. And my sweet maid scarce three months dead.
Mrs. J. I ask your pardon truly.
Mrs. G. No, my dear,
Thou'lt never see old days. I cannot stint
To fret, the maiden was but twelve years old,
So toward, such a scholar.
Mrs. S. Ay, when God,
That knows, comes down to choose, He'll take the best.
Mrs. T. But I'm right glad you came, it pleases them.
My son, that loves his book, 'Mother,' said he,
'Go to the Reading when you have a chance,
For there you get a change, and you see life.'
But Reading or no Reading, I am slow
To learn. When parson after comes his rounds,
'Did it,' to ask with a persuading smile,
'Open your mind?' the woman doth not live
Feels more a fool.
Mrs. J. I always tell him 'Yes,' For he means well. Ay, and I like the songs. Have you heard say what they shall read to-night?
Mrs. S.. Neighbour, I hear 'tis something of the East. But what, I ask you, is the East to us, And where d'ye think it lies?
Mrs. J. The children know, At least they say they do; there's nothing deep Nor nothing strange but they get hold on it.
Enter Schoolmaster and a dozen children.
S. Now ladies, ladies, you must please to sit
More close; the room fills fast, and all these lads
And maidens either have to sing before
The Reading, or else after. By your leave
I'll have them in the front, I want them here.
[The women make room.
Enter ploughmen, villagers, servants, and children.
And mark me, boys, if I hear cracking o' nuts,
Or see you flicking acorns and what not
While folks from other parishes observe,
You'll hear on it when you don't look to. Tom
And Jemmy and Roger, sing as loud's ye can,
Sing as the maidens do, are they afraid?
And now I'm stationed handy facing you,
Friends all, I'll drop a word by your good leave.
Young ploughman. Do, master, do, we like your words a vast. Though there be nought to back 'em up, ye see, As when we were smaller.
S. Mark me, then, my lads.
When Lady Laura sang, 'I don't think much,'
Says her fine coachman, 'of your manners here.
We drove eleven miles in the dark, it rained,
And ruts in your cross roads are deep. We're here,
My lady sings, they sit all open-mouthed,
And when she's done they never give one cheer.'
Old man. Be folks to clap if they don't like the song?
S. Certain, for manners.
Enter VICAR, wife, various friends with violins and a flute. They come to a piano, and one begins softly to tune his violin, while the Vicar speaks.
V. Friends, since there is a place where you must hear
When I stand up to speak, I would not now
If there were any other found to bid
You welcome. Welcome, then; these with me ask
No better than to please, and in good sooth
I ever find you willing to be pleased.
When I demand not more, but when we fain
Would lead you to some knowledge fresh, and ask
Your careful heed, I hear that some of you
Have said, 'What good to know, what good to us?
He puts us all to school, and our school days
Should be at end. Nay, if they needs must teach,
Then let them teach us what shall mend our lot;
The laws are strict on us, the world is hard.'
You friends and neighbours, may I dare to speak?
I know the laws are strict, and the world hard,
For ever will the world help that man up
That is already coming up, and still
And ever help him down that's going down.
Yet say, 'I will take the words out of thy mouth,
O world, being yet more strict with mine own life.
Thou law, to gaze shall not be worth thy while
On whom beyond thy power doth rule himself.'
Yet seek to know, for whoso seek to know
They seek to rise, and best they mend their lot.
Methinks, if Adam and Eve in their garden days
Had scorned the serpent, and obediently
Continued God's good children, He Himself
Had led them to the Tree of Knowledge soon
And bid them eat the fruit thereof, and yet
Not find it apples of death.
Vicar's wife (aside). Now, dearest John, We're ready. Lucky too! you always go Above the people's heads.
Young farmer stands forward. Vicar presenting him.