SCENE I.
A Garret meanly furnished; several pairs of old shoes, a coat, hat, bonnet, and shawl hanging against the Wall. Dick is seated on a low stool in front. He works, and sings.
As she lay on that day
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Now that's what I call a good song; but my wife, she can't abear them blusteration songs, she says; she likes something tender and genteel, full of fine words. (Sings in a mincing voice.)
Vake, dearest, vake, and again united
Ve'll vander by the sea-he-he-e.
Hang me, if I can understand a word of it! but when my wife sings it out with her pretty little mouth, it does one's heart good to hear her; and I could listen to her for ever: but, for my own part, what I like is a song that comes thundering out with a meaning in it! (Sings, and flourishes his hammer with enthusiasm, beating time upon the shoe.)
March! march! Eskdale and Tiviotdale,
All the blue bonnets are over the border!
MARGERY—(from within.)
Dick! Dick! what a noise you do keep!
DICK.
A noise, eh? Why, Meg, you didn't use to think it a noise: you used to like to hear me sing!
MARGERY—(entering.)
And so I did, and so I do. I loves music with all my heart; but the whole parish will hear you if you go for to bawl out so monstrous loud.
DICK.
And let them! who cares?
[He sings, she laughs.
MARGERY.
Nay, sing away if you like it!
DICK—(stopping suddenly.)
I won't sing another bit if you don't like it, Meg.
MARGERY.
Oh, I do like! Lord bless us! not like it! it sounds so merry! Why, Dick, love, every body said yesterday that you sung as well as Mr. Thingumee at Sadler's Wells, and says they, "Who is that young man as sings like any nightingale?" and I says (drawing herself up), "That's my husband!"
DICK.
Ay! flummery!—But, Meg, I say, how did you like the wedding yesterday?
MARGERY.
Oh, hugeously! such heaps of smart people, as fine as fivepence, I warrant; and such gay gowns and caps! and plenty to eat and drink!—But what I liked best was the walking in the gardens at Bagnigge Wells, and the tea, and the crumpets!
DICK.
And the punch!
MARGERY.
Yes—ha! ha! I could see you thought that good! and then the dancing!
DICK.
Ay, ay; and there wasn't one amongst them that footed it away like my Margery. And folks says to me, "Pray, who is that pretty modest young woman as hops over the ground as light as a feather?" says they; and says I, "Why, that there pretty young woman is my wife, to be sure!"
MARGERY.
Ah, you're at your jokes, Dick!
DICK.
I'll be hanged then!
MARGERY—(leaning on his shoulder.)
Well, to be sure, we were happy yesterday. It's good to make holiday just now and then, but some how I was very glad to come home to our own little room again. O Dick!—did you mind that Mrs. Pinchtoe, that gave herself such grand airs?—she in the fine lavender silk gown—that turned up her nose at me so, and all because she's a master shoemaker's wife! and you are only—only—a cobbler!—(sighs) I wish you were a master shoemaker, Dick.
DICK.
That you might be a master shoemaker's wife, hay! and turn up your nose like Mrs. Pinchtoe?
MARGERY—(laughing.)
No, no; I have more manners.
DICK.
Would you love me better, Meg, if I were a master shoemaker?
MARGERY.
No, I couldn't love you better if you were a king; and that you know, Dick; and, after all, we're happy now, and who knows what might be if he were to change?
DICK.
Ay, indeed! who knows? you might grow into a fine lady like she over the way, who comes home o'nights just as we're getting up in the morning, with the flams flaring, and blazing like any thing; and that puts me in mind——
MARGERY.
Of what, Dick? tell me!
DICK.
Why, cousin Tom's wedding put it all out of my head last night; but yesterday there comes over to me one of those fine bedizened fellows we see lounging about the door there, with a cocked hat, and things like stay laces dangling at his shoulder.
MARGERY.
What could he want, I wonder!
DICK.
O! he comes over to me as I was just standing at the door below, a thinking of nothing at all, and singing Paddy O'Raffety to myself, and says he to me, "You cobbler fellor," says he, "don't you go for to keep such a bawling every morning, awakening people out of their first sleep," says he, "for if you do, my lord will have you put into the stocks," says he.
MARGERY.
The stocks! O goodness gracious me! and what for, pray?
DICK—(with a grin.)
Why, for singing, honey! So says I, "Hark 'ee, Mr. Scrape-trencher, there go words to that bargain: what right have you to go for to speak in that there way to me?" says I; and says he, "We'll have you 'dited for a nuisance, fellor," says he.
MARGERY—(clasping her hands.)
A nuisance! my Dick a nuisance! O Lord a' mercy!
DICK.
Never fear, girl; I'm a free-born Englishman, and I knows the laws well enough: and says I, "No more a fellor than yourself; I'm an honest man, following an honest calling, and I don't care that for you nor your lord neither; and I'll sing when I please, and I'll sing what I please, and I'll sing as loud as I please; I will, by jingo!" and so he lifts me up his cane, and I says quite cool, "This house is my castle; and if you don't take yourself out of that in a jiffey, why, I'll give your laced jacket such a dusting as it never had before in its life—I will."
MARGERY.
O, Dick! you've a spirit of your own, I warrant. Well, and then?
DICK.
Oh, I promise you he was off in the twinkling of a bed-post, and I've heard no more of him; but I was determined to wake you this morning with a thundering song; just to show 'em I didn't care for 'em—ha! ha! ha!
MARGERY.
Oh, ho! that was the reason, then, that you bawled so in my ear, and frightened me out of my sleep—was it? Oh, well, I forgive you; but bless me! I stand chattering here, and it's twelve o'clock, as I live! I must go to market—(putting on her shawl and bonnet.) What would you like to have for dinner, Dick, love? a nice rasher of bacon, by way of a relish?
DICK—(smacking his lips.)
Just the very thing, honey.
MARGERY.
Well, give me the shilling, then.
DICK—(scratching his head.)
What shilling?
MARGERY.
Why, the shilling you had yesterday.
DICK—(feeling in his pockets.)
A shilling!
MARGERY.
Yes, a shilling. (Gaily.) To have meat, one must have money; and folks must eat as well as sing, Dick, love. Come, out with it!
DICK.
But suppose I haven't got it?
MARGERY.
How! what! you don't mean for to say that the last shilling that you put in your pocket, just to make a show, is gone?
DICK—(with a sigh.)
But I do, though—it's gone.
MARGERY.
What shall we do?
DICK.
I don't know. (A pause. They look at each other.) Stay, that's lucky. Here's a pair of dancing pumps as belongs to old Mrs. Crusty, the baker's wife at the corner—
MARGERY—(gaily.)
We can't eat them for dinner, I guess.
DICK.
No, no; but I'm just at the last stitch.
MARGERY.
Yes—
DICK—(speaking and working in a hurry.)
And so you'll take them home—
MARGERY.
Yes—
DICK.
And tell her I must have seven-pence halfpenny for them. (Gives them.)
MARGERY—(examining the shoes.)
But, Dick, isn't that some'at extortionate, as a body may say? seven-pence halfpenny!
DICK.
Why, here's heel-pieces, and a patch upon each toe; one must live, Meg!
MARGERY.
Yes, Dick, love; but so must other folks. Now I think seven-pence would be enough in all conscience—what do you say?
DICK.
Well, settle it as you like; only get a bit of dinner for us, for I'm as hungry as a hunter, I know.
MARGERY.
I'm going. Good bye, Dick!
DICK.
Take care of theeself—and don't spend the change in caps and ribbons, Meg.
MARGERY.
Caps and ribbons out of seven-pence! Lord help the man! ha, ha, ha! (She goes out.)
DICK—(calling after her.)
And come back soon, d'ye hear? There she goes—hop, skip, and jump, down the stairs. Somehow, I can't abear to have her out of my sight a minute. Well, if ever there was a man could say he had a good wife, why, that's me myself—tho'f I say it—the cheerfullest, sweetest temperedst, cleanliest, lovingest woman in the whole parish, that never gives one an ill word from year's end to year's end, and deserves at least that a man should work hard for her—it's all I can do—and we must think for to-morrow as well as to-day. (He works with great energy, and sings at the same time with equal enthusiasm.)
Cannot ye do as I do?
Cannot ye do as I do ?
Spend your money, and work for more;
That's the way that I do!
Tol de rol lol.
Re-enter Margery in haste.
MARG.—(out of breath.)
Oh, Dick, husband! Dick, I say!
DICK.
Hay! what's the matter now?
MARGERY.
Here be one of those fine powdered laced fellows from over the way comed after you again.
DICK—(rising.)
An impudent jackanapes! I'll give him as good as he brings.
MARGERY.
Oh, no, no! he's monstrous civil now; for he chucked me under the chin, and says he, "My pretty girl!"
DICK.
Ho! monstrous civil indeed, with a vengeance!
MARGERY.
And says he, "Do you belong to this here house?" "Yes, sir," says I, making a curtsy, for I couldn't do no less when he spoke so civil; and says he, "Is there an honest cobbler as lives here?" "Yes, sir," says I, "my husband that is." "Then, my dear," says he, "just tell him to step over the way, for my Lady Amaranthe wishes to speak to him immediately."
DICK.
A lady? O Lord!
MARGERY.
Yes, so you must go directly. Here, take off your apron, and let me comb your hair a bit.
DICK.
What the mischief can a lady want with me? I've nothing to do with ladies, as I knows of.
MARGERY.
Why, she won't eat you up, I reckon.
DICK.
And yet I—I—I be afeard, Meg!
MARGERY.
Afeard of a lady! that's a good one!
DICK.
Ay, just—if it were a man, I shouldn't care a fig.
MARGERY.
But we've never done no harm to nobody in our whole lives, so what is there to be afraid of?
DICK.
Nay, that's true.
MARGERY.
Now let me help you on with your best coat. Pooh! what is the man about?—Why, you're putting the back to the front, and the front to the back, like Paddy from Cork, with his coat buttoned behind!
DICK.
My head do turn round, just for all the world like a peg-top.—A lady! what can a lady have to say to me, I wonder?
MARGERY.
May be, she's a customer.
DICK.
No, no, great gentlefolks like she never wears patched toes nor heel-pieces, I reckon.
MARGERY.
Here's your hat. Now let me see how you can make a bow. (He bows awkwardly.) Hold up your head—turn out your toes. That will do capital! (She walks round him with admiration.) How nice you look! there's ne'er a gentleman of them all can come up to my Dick.
DICK—(hesitating.)
But—a—a—Meg, you'll come with me, won't you, and just see me safe in at the door, eh?
MARGERY.
Yes, to be sure; walk on before, and let me look at you. Hold up your head—there, that's it!
DICK—(marching.)
Come along. Hang it, who's afraid?
[They go out.
Scene changes to a Drawing-room in the House of Lady Amaranthe.
Enter Lady Amaranthe, leaning upon her maid, Mademoiselle Justine.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Avancez un fauteuil, ma chère! arrangez les coussins. (Justine settles the chair, and places a footstool. Lady Amaranthe, sinking into the arm-chair with a languid air.) Justine, I shall die, I shall certainly die! I never can survive this!
JUSTINE.
Mon Dieu! madame, ne parlez pas comme çà! c'est m'enfoncer un poignard dans le cœur!
LADY AMARANTHE—(despairingly.)
No rest—no possibility of sleeping—
JUSTINE.
Et le medecin de madame, qui a ordonné la plus grande tranquillité—qui a mème voulu que je me taisais—moi, par exemple!
LADY AMARANTHE.
After fatiguing myself to death with playing the agreeable to disagreeable people, and talking common-place to common-place acquaintance, I return home, to lay my aching head upon my pillow, and just as my eyes are closing, I start—I wake,—a voice that would rouse the dead out of their graves echoes in my ears! In vain I bury my head in the pillow—in vain draw the curtains close—multiply defences against my window—change from room to room—it haunts me! Ah! I think I hear it still! (covering her ears) it will certainly drive me distracted!
[During this speech, Justine has made sundry exclamations and gestures expressive of horror, sympathy, and commiseration.]
JUSTINE.
Vraiment, c'est affreux.
LADY AMARANTHE.
In any more civilized country it never could have been endured—I should have had him removed at once; but here the vulgar people talk of laws!
JUSTINE.
Ah, oui, madame, mais il faut avouer que c'est ici un pays bien barbare, où tout le monde parle loi et métaphysique, et où l'on ne fait point de différence entre les riches et les pauvres.
LADY AMARANTHE.
But what provokes me more than all the rest is this unheard-of insolence! (rises and walks about the room,)—a cobbler too—a cobbler who presumes to sing, and to sing when all the rest of the world is asleep! This is the march of intellect with a vengeance!
JUSTINE.
C'est vrai, il ne chante que des marches et de gros chansons à boire—s'il chantait bien doucement quelque joli roman par exemple—(She sings)—dormez, dormez, mes chers amours!
LADY AMARANTHE.
Justine, did you send the butler over to request civilly that he would not disturb me in the morning?
JUSTINE.
Oui, miladi, dat is, I have send John; de butler he was went out.
LADY AMARANTHE.
And his answer was, that he would sing in spite of me, and louder than ever?
JUSTINE.
Oui, miladi, le monstre! il dit comme çà, dat he will sing more louder den ever.
LADY AMARANTHE—(sinking again into her chair.)
Ah! the horrid man!
JUSTINE.
Ah! dere is no politesse, no more den dere is police in dis country.
LADY AMARANTHE.
If Lord Amaranthe were not two hundred miles off—but, as it is, I must find some remedy—let me think—bribery, I suppose. Have they sent for him? I dread to see the wretch. What noise is that? allez voir, ma chère!
JUSTINE—(goes and returns.)
Madame, c'est justement notre homme, voulez-vous qu'il entre?
LADY AMARANTHE.
Oui, faites entrer.
[She leans back in her chair.
JUSTINE—(at the door.)
Entrez, entrez toujours, dat is, come in, good mister.
Enter Dick. He bows; and, squeezing his hat in his hands, looks round him with considerable embarrassment.
JUSTINE—(to Lady Amaranthe.)
Bah! comme il sent le cuir, n'est-ce pas, madame?
LADY AMARANTHE.
Faugh! mes sels—ma vinaigrette, Justine—non, l'eau de Cologne, qui est là sur la table. (Justine brings her some eau de Cologne; she pours some upon her handkerchief, and applies it to her temples and to her nose, as if overcome; then, raising her eye-glass, she examines Dick from head to foot.) Good man—a—pray, what is your name?
DICK—(with a profound bow.)
Dick, please your ladyship.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Hum—a—a—pray, Mr. Dick—
DICK.
Folks just call me plain Dick, my lady. I'm a poor honest cobbler, and no mister.
LADY AMARANTHE—(pettishly.)
Well, sir, it is of no consequence. You live in the small house over the way, I think?
DICK.
Yes, ma'am, my lady, I does; I rents the attics.
LADY AMARANTHE.
You appear a good civil sort of man enough. (He bows.) I sent my servant over to request that you would not disturb me in the night—or the morning, as you call it. I have very weak health—am quite an invalid—your loud singing in the morning just opposite to my windows——
DICK—(eagerly.)
Ma'am, I—I'm very sorry; I ax your ladyship's pardon; I'll never sing no more above my breath, if you please.
JUSTINE.
Comment! c'est honnête, par exemple.
LADY AMARANTHE—(surprised.)
Then you did not tell my servant that you would sing louder than ever, in spite of me?
DICK.
Me, my Lady? I never said no such thing.
LADY AMARANTHE.
This is strange; or is there some mistake? Perhaps you are not the same Mr. Dick?
DICK.
Why, yes, my lady, for that matter, I be the same Dick. (Approaching a few steps, and speaking confidentially.) I'll just tell your ladyship the whole truth, and not a bit of a lie. There comes an impudent fellow to me, and he tells me, just out of his own head, I'll be bound, that if I sung o' mornings, he would have me put in the stocks.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Good heavens!
JUSTINE—(in the same tone.)
Grands dieux!
DICK—(with a grin.)
Now the stocks is for a rogue, as the saying is. As for my singing, that's neither here nor there; but no jackanapes shall threaten me. I will sing if I please, (sturdily,) and I won't sing if I don't please; and (lowering his tone) I don't please, if it disturbs your ladyship. (Retreating) I wish your ladyship a good day, and better health.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Stay; you are not then the rude uncivil person I was told of?
DICK.
I hopes I knows better than to do an uncivil thing by a lady.
[Bows and retreats towards the door.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Stay, sir—a—a—one word.
DICK.
Oh, as many as you please, ma'am; I'm in no hurry.
LADY AMARANTHE—(graciously.)
Are you married?
DICK—(rubbing his hands with glee.)
Yes, ma'am, I be; and to as tight a bit of a wife as any in the parish.
JUSTINE.
Ah! il parait que ce monsieur Dick aime sa femme! Est-il amusant!
LADY AMARANTHE.
You love her then?
DICK.
Oh, then I do! I love her with all my heart! who could help it?
LADY AMARANTHE.
Indeed! and how do you live?
DICK.
Why, bless you, ma'am, sometimes well, sometimes ill, according as I have luck and work. When we can get a bit of dinner, we eat it, and when we can't, why, we go without: or, may be, a kind neighbour helps us.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Poor creatures!
DICK.
Oh, not so poor neither, my lady; many folks is worser off. I'm always merry, night and day; and my Meg is the good temperedst, best wife in the world. We've never had nothing from the parish, and never will, please God, while I have health and hands.
LADY AMARANTHE.
And you are happy?
DICK.
As happy as the day is long.
LADY AMARANTHE—(aside.)
This is a lesson to me. Eh bien, Justine! voilà donc notre sauvage!
JUSTINE.
Il est gentil ce monsieur Dick, et à present que je le regarde—vraiment il a une assez jolie tournure.
LADY AMARANTHE—(with increasing interest.)
Have you any children?
DICK—(with a sigh.)
No, ma'am; and that's the only thing as frets us.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Good heavens! you do not mean to say you wish for them, and have scarce enough for yourselves? how would you feed them?
DICK.
Oh, I should leave Meg to feed them; I should have nothing to do but to work for them. Providence would take care of us while they were little; and, when they were big, they would help us.
LADY AMARANTHE—(aside.)
I could not have conceived this. (She whispers Justine, who goes out.) (To Dick.) Can I do any thing to serve you?
DICK.
Only, if your ladyship could recommend me any custom; I mend shoes as cheap as e'er a cobbler in London, though I say it.
LADY AMARANTHE.
I shall certainly desire that all my people employ you whenever there is occasion.
Re-enter Justine, holding a purse in her hand.
DICK—(bowing.)
Much obliged, my lady; I hopes to give satisfaction, but (looking with admiration at Lady Amaranthe's foot as it rests on the footstool) such a pretty, little, delicate, beautiful foot as yon, I never fitted in all my born days. It can't cost your ladyship much in shoe leather, I guess?
LADY AMARANTHE—(smiling complacently.)
Rather more than you would imagine, I fancy, my good friend.
JUSTINE.
Comment donc—ce Monsieur Dick, fait aussi des complimens à Madame? Il ne manque pas de goût,—(aside) et il sait ce qu'il fait, apparemment.
LADY AMARANTHE—(glancing at her foot.)
C'est à dire—il a du bon sens, et ne parle pas mal. (She takes the purse.) As you so civilly obliged me, you must allow me to make you some return.
DICK—(putting his hand behind him.)
Me, ma'am! I'm sure I don't want to be paid for being civil.
LADY AMARANTHE.
But as I have deprived you of a pleasure, my good friend, some amends surely—
DICK.
Oh, ma'am, pray don't mention it; my wife's a little tired and sleepy sometimes of a morning, and if I didn't sing her out of bed, I do think she would, by chance, snooze away till six o'clock, like any duchess; but a pinch or a shake or a kiss will do as well, may be: and (earnestly) she's, for all that, the best woman in the world.
LADY AMARANTHE—(smiling.)
I can believe it, though she does sleep till six o'clock like a duchess. Well, my good friend, there are five guineas in this purse; the purse is my own work; and I request you will present it to your wife from me, with many thanks for your civility.
DICK—(confused.)
Much obliged, much obliged, but I can't, I can't indeed, my lady. Five guineas! O Lord! I should never know what to do with such a power of money.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Your wife will not say the same, depend upon it; she will find some use for it.
DICK.
My Meg, poor woman! she never had so much money in all her life.
LADY AMARANTHE.
I must insist upon it; you will offend me.
JUSTINE—(taking the purse out of her lady's hand, and forcing it upon Dick.)
Dieux! est-il bête!—you no understand?—It is de gold and de silver money (laughing.) Comme il a l'air ébahi!
DICK—(putting up the money.)
Many thanks, and I pray God bless your ladyship!
LADY AMARANTHE—(gaily.)
Good morning, Mr. Dick. Remember me to your wife.
DICK.
I will, my lady. I wish your ladyship, and you, miss, a good morning. (To himself.) Five guineas!—what will Meg say?—Now I'll be a master shoemaker. (Going out in an ecstasy, he knocks his head against the wall.)
LADY AMARANTHE.
Take care, friend. Montrez-lui la porte, Justine!
JUSTINE.
Mais venez donc, Monsieur Dick—par ici—et n'allez pas donner le nez contre la porte!
[Dick follows Justine out of the door, after making several bows.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Poor man!—well, he's silenced—he does not look as if he would sing, morning or night, for the next twelve months.
Re-enter Justine.
JUSTINE.
Voici Madame Mincetaille, qui vient pour essayer la robe-de-bal de madame.
LADY AMARANTHE.
Ah! allons donc.
[They go out.
The SCENE changes to the Cobbler's Garret.
Enter Margery, in haste; a basket in her hand. She looks about her.
MARGERY.
Not come back yet! what can keep him, I wonder! (Takes off her bonnet and shawl.) Well, I must get the dinner ready. (Pauses, and looks anxious.) But, somehow, I feel not easy in my mind. What could they want with him?—Hark! (Goes to the door) No—what a time he is! But suppose they should 'dite him for a nuisance—O me! or send him to the watchhouse—O my poor dear Dick! I must go and see after him! I must go this very instant moment! (Snatches up her bonnet.) Oh, I hear him now; but how slowly he comes up!
[Runs to the door, and leads him in.
Enter Dick.
MARGERY.
Oh, my dear, dear Dick, I am so glad you are come at last! But how pale you look! all I don't know how! What's the matter? why don't you speak to me, Dick, love?
DICK—(fanning himself with his hat.)
Let me breathe, wife.
MARGERY.
But what's the matter? where have you been? who did you see? what did they say to you? Come, tell me quick.
DICK.
Why, Meg, how your tongue does gallop! as if a man could answer twenty questions in a breath.
MARGERY.
Did you see the lady herself? Tell me that.
DICK—(looking round the room auspiciously.)
Shut the door first.
MARGERY.
There.
[Shuts it.
DICK.
Shut the other.
MARGERY.
The other?—There.
[Shuts it.
DICK.
Lock it fast, I say.
MARGERY.
There's no lock; and that you know.
DICK—(frightened.)
No lock;—then we shall all be robbed!
MARGERY.
Robbed of what? Sure, there's nothing here for any one to rob! You never took such a thing into your head before.
[Dick goes to the door, and tries to fasten it.
MARGERY—(aside.)
For sartain, he's bewitched—or have they given him something to drink?—or, perhaps, he's ill. (Very affectionately, and laying her hand on his shoulder.) Are you not well, Dick, love? Will you go to bed, sweetheart?
DICK—(gruffly.)
No. Go to bed in the broad day!—the woman's cracked.
MARGERY—(whimpering.)
Oh, Dick, what in the world has come to you?
DICK.
Nothing—nothing but good, you fool. There—there—don't cry, I tell you.
MARGERY—(wiping her eyes.)
And did you see the lady?
DICK.
Ay, I seed her; and a most beautiful lady she is, and she sends her sarvice to you?
MARGERY.
Indeed! lauk-a-daisy! I'm sure I'm much obliged—but what did she say to you?
DICK.
Oh, she said this, and that, and t'other—a great deal.
MARGERY.
But what, Dick?
DICK.
Why, she said—she said as how I sung so fine, she couldn't sleep o' mornings.
MARGERY.
Sleep o' mornings! that's a good joke! Let people sleep o' nights, I say.
DICK—(solemnly.)
But she can't, poor soul, she's very ill; she has pains here, and pains there, and everywhere.
MARGERY.
Indeed! poor lady! then you mustn't disturb her no more, Dick, that's a sure thing.
DICK.
Ay, so I said; and so she gave me this.
[Takes out the purse, and holds it up.
MARGERY—(clapping her hands.)
O goodness! what a fine purse!—Is there any thing in it?
DICK—(chinks the money.)
Do ye hear that? Guess now.
MARGERY—(timidly.)
Five shillings, perhaps, eh?
DICK.
Five shillings!—five guineas, girl.
MARGERY—(with a scream.)
Five guineas! five guineas! (skips about) tal, lal, la! five guineas! (Runs and embraces her husband.) Oh, Dick! we'll be so rich and so happy. I want a power of things. I'll have a new gown—lavender, shall it be?—Yes, it shall be lavender; and a dimity petticoat; and a lace cap, like Mrs. Pinchtoe's, with pink ribbons—how she will stare! and I'll have two silver spoons, and a nutmeg-grater, and——
DICK.
Ho, ho, ho! what a jabber! din, din, din! You'll have this, and you'll have that! First, I'll have a good stock of neat's leather.
MARGERY.
Well, well, give me the purse; I'll take care of it.
[Snatches at it.
DICK.
No, thankee, I'll take care of it.
MARGERY—(coaxing.)
You know I always keep the money, Dick!
DICK.
Ay, Meg, but I'll keep this, do ye mind?
MARGERY.
What! keep it all to yourself?—No, you won't; an't I your wife, and haven't I a right? I ax you that.
DICK.
Pooh! don't be bothering me.
MARGERY.
Come, give it me at once, there's a dear Dick!
DICK.
What, to waste it all in woman's nonsense and frippery? Don't be a fool! we're rich, and we'll keep it safe.
MARGERY.
Why, where's the use of money but to spend? Come, come, I will have it.
DICK.
Hey-day! you will?—You shan't; who's the master here, I say?
MARGERY—(passionately.)
Why, if you come to that, who's the mistress here, I say?
DICK.
Now, Meg, don't you go for to provoke me.
MARGERY.
Pooh! I defy you.
DICK—(doubling his fist.)
Don't you put me in a passion, Meg!
MARGERY.
Get along; I don't care that for you! (snaps her fingers.) You used to be my own dear Dick, and now you're a cross, miserly curmudgeon—
DICK—(quite furious.)
You will have it then! Why, then, take it, with a mischief; take that, and that, and that!
[He beats her; she screams.
MARGERY.
Oh! oh! oh!—pray don't—pray—(Breaks from him, and throws herself into a chair.) O Dick! to go for to strike me! O that I should ever see the day!—you cruel, unkind——Oh! oh!
[Covers her face with her apron, sobs, and cries; and he stands looking at her sheepishly. A long pause.
DICK—(in great agitation.)
Eh, why! women be made of eggshells, I do think. Why, Meg, I didn't hurt you, did I? why don't you speak? Now, don't you be sulky, come; it wasn't much. A man is but flesh and blood, after all; come, I say—I'll never get into a passion with you again to my dying day—I won't—come, don't cry; (tries to remove the apron,) come, kiss, and be friends. Won't you forgive your own dear Dick, won't you? (ready to cry) She won't!—Here, here's the money, and the purse and all—take it, do what you like with it. (She shakes her head.) What, you won't then? why, then, there—(throws it on the ground.) Deuce fetch me if ever I touch it again! and I wish my fingers had been burnt before ever I took it,—so I do! (with feeling.) We were so happy this morning, when we hadn't a penny to bless ourselves with, nor even a bit to eat; and now, since all this money has come to us of a suddent, why, it's all as one as if old Nick himself were in the purse. I'll tell you what, Meg, eh! shall I? Shall I take it back to the lady, and give our duty to her, and tell her we don't want her guineas, shall I, Meg? shall I, dear heart?
[During the last few words Margery lets the apron fall from her face, looks up at him, and smiles.
DICK.
Oh, that's right, and we'll be happy again, and never quarrel more.
MARGERY.
No, never! (They embrace.) Take it away, for I can't bear the sight of it.
DICK.
Take it you then, for you know, Meg, I said I would never touch it again; and what I says, I says—and what I says, I sticks to.
[Pushes it towards her with his foot.
MARGERY.
And so do I: and I vowed to myself that I wouldn't touch it, and I won't.
[Kicks it back to him.
DICK.
How shall we manage then? Oh, I have it. Fetch me the tongs here. (Takes up the purse in the tongs, and holds it at arm's length.) Now I'm going. So, Meg, if you repent, now's the time. Speak—or for ever hold your tongue.
MARGERY.
Me repent? No, my dear Dick! I feel, somehow, quite light, as if a great weight were gone away from here. (Laying her hands on her bosom.) Money may be a good thing when it comes little by little, and we gain it honestly by our own hard work; but when it comes this way, in a lump—one doesn't know how or why—it's quite too surprising, as one may say;—it gets into one's head, like—the punch, Dick!
DICK.
Aye, and worser—turns it all the wrong way; but I've done with both:—I'll have no more to say to drinking, and fine ladies, and purses o' money;—we'll go and live in the stall round the corner, and I'll take to my work and my singing again—eh, Meg?
MARGERY.
Bless you, my dear, dear Dick! (kisses him.)
DICK.
Ay, that's as it should be:—so now come along. We never should have believed this, if we hadn't tried; but it's just what my old mother used to say—Much coin, much care.[ 28]