Burgum. Impossible!
Chatterton. Then let them nose among their dusty tomes
To solve the riddles.
Burgum. [Indignantly.] 'Tis an outrage, sir!
I am a lineal descendant from—
Chatterton. [Laughing.] I copied that, and know it all by rote.
Your ancestor, in reign of Henry Sixth,
Obtained a royal patent to transmute
All the inferior metals into gold;
And now, while George the Fat squats on the throne,
You, by that charter, deal in pewter, sir.
From gold to pewter—'tis a fearful fall;
And yet you glory in it. O for shame!
Burgum. Remember that my daughter's here.
Chatterton. Forgive me.
If I could aid you, I do vow I would,
But 'tis beyond my power. [Aside.] I do regret,
For her sweet sake, I played the prank.
Burgum. Well, well;
I fear your going would not further me.
Chatterton. [Aside.] You'll learn that soon enough.
Burgum. [Taking coin from purse.] Here is a shilling;
Your landlady asserts you are in need.
Chatterton. [In anger.] 'Tis false!—a lie.