| Policeman |
| What do you feed him? Ashes? |
| |
| Ashman |
No, I don't!
I feed him Harps. Come over here, you boob,
And let him bite your face, he's hungry! |
| |
| Policeman |
Aw!
You're nothing but a Harp yourself, you poor
Old God-forsaken ashman; Or a wop,
Or some fool kind of foreigner. |
| |
| Ashman |
O Hell!
You make me sick, you big fat pie-faced mutt!
Get out, you spoil my horse's appetite! |
| |
| Policeman |
I'd hate to be your horse, but then I guess
I'd rather be your horse than you. (Exit.) |
| |
(A Little Girl in Green appears from behind
the wagon.) |
| |
| Little Girl |
| Hello! |
| |
| Ashman |
| Hello there, kiddo! Where did you come from? |
(Climbs to his seat on the wagon, takes out a tin
pail, and begins to eat his lunch.) |
| |
| Little Girl |
| I think I'd like some bread and butter, please! |
| |
| Ashman |
| All right, old girl, just take a bite of that. |
| (Tosses his half loaf down to her.) |
| |
| Little Girl |
| There isn't any butter on it. |
| |
| Ashman |
No.
I haven't got no butter. But it's good,
It's first-rate bread, all right. |
| |
Little Girl (tossing back the loaf, from which she
has taken a bite) |
| Thanks very much! Thanks, Captain Thunder! |
| |
| Ashman |
Huh?
You're a queer kid, all right, and hungry, too,
To eat dry bread. (Eats some of the bread.) Why damn
my eyes! God's wounds!
Here's scurvy provender. (Throws the bread
down.) And scurvy mirth!
What, Kate! Dear Kate o' the Green, well met, well met.
Slip up and sit beside me, lass! It's not
The first time you have been upon this seat. |
| |
| Little Girl (climbing up beside him) |
No, Captain, I should know the Royal Mail,
But when did you take up the coaching trade?
I had as soon expect to see old Dick
Throw leg across your Monmouth's gleaming back,
Thrust pistols in his belt, and gallop off
To make his fortune in the light o' the moon,
As to find you, the Master of the Heath,
The Devil's Treasurer, the Velvet Mask,
The Silver Pistoleer, the Wingèd Thief,
Sitting with down-cast Sabbath-keeping eyes,
Sad lips, and nose all fixed for droning psalms,
In old Dick's place upon the Royal Mail.
A proper driver for a coach and four! |
| |
| Ashman |
Ha' done! God's mercy on us! Let me speak,
And I will tell you such a waggery
Will make you laugh and split your pretty sides:
I stole the Royal Mail! |
| |
| Little Girl |
| You stole the Mail? |
| |
| Ashman |
Aye, prigged it, Kate! Why, here it is, you see,
Box, boot and wheels, four horses and a whip,
And on the door King George's coat of arms.
All mine, good lass, all mine. But for a price,
A bitter price, dear Kate. For Monmouth's dead! |
| |
| Little Girl |
What, Monmouth, best of horses, is he dead?
O Captain Thunder, never tell me that!
Why, all the world holds not another horse
So glossy black, so fleet, so wise, so kind! |
| |
| Ashman |
Yes, Monmouth's dead. Dick shot him through the heart,
And Monmouth dropped without a whinny. But
I paid Dick back. O Monmouth is avenged!
Now, hear me, Kate! I stopped the Royal Mail
Last night at twelve o'clock at Carter's Cross,
Says I, "Stand now! And let me have the bags—
That's all I want to-night! Hand over, there!"
Dick pulls his leaders on their haunches. "Why,"
Says he, "it's Captain Thunder! By my wig!
Just help yourself!" I prigged his pistol belt
And rode around to look inside the coach.
I got the bags. The passengers were three.
My Lord of Bath and Wells— |
| |
| Little Girl |
| A Bishop, what? |
| |
| Ashman |
Aye, that he is; white wig and bands and all.
Yes, he's a Bishop. And there was his wife,
(A big fat monster of a wife) and then
There was a little wizened-looking thing,
A sort of curate. Well, I looked at them
And laughed to see them tremble in their shoes.
"Good e'en, my Lord," says I, and doffed my hat.
"How do you like the Royal Mail?" Says he:
"O good Sir Highwayman, pray let me go,
Our coach broke down at York, and so we took
This public carrier, this dreadful thing,
This Royal Mail. O will you let us pass?
I must get into Hull by dawn, and sleep,
For I confirm an hundred souls at noon."
I listened to him, Kate, and did not see
The old fox slip a pistol up to Dick.
But, bang! Hell's fury! Down fell Monmouth, dead.
And off I stumbled in the ditch! Well, Kate,
Dick aimed for me, you see, and got the horse.
And I got Dick. I got him through the head.
And then I joined the Bishop once again.
"Come out, my Lord, and strip!" says I. "What, strip?"
Says he, and let his jaw fall on his chest.
"Yes, strip!" says I, and pulls his great-coat off:
"Yes, strip!" says I, and throws his wig away:
"Yes, strip!" says I, and pulls his breeches off:
And there he stands and shivers, pink and fat.
"Now, Madame Bishopess," says I, "pray do
Poor Captain Thunder so much courtesy
As to ride by him on the way to town."
She screamed and fought. I took her in my arms
And heaved her up into the seat. "Now strip!"
I shouted to the curate. "Yes," says he,
"I'll strip," and strip he did. "Inside!" says I;
They stumbled headlong in, I cracked my whip
And, whoop! the Mail went rumbling on to Hull!
Well, just at dawn we passed the Southern Gate;
We galloped down the street and made a halt
Beside the Close. "Here's the Cathedral, dame!"
Says I, and helped the lady to the ground.
"Unbar the door, and help his Lordship out
And don't forget the curate!" How I laughed
To see the Bishop and the curate run
Stark naked, screaming, to the Chapter House!
Well, I was off at once and out of Hull
And never stopped to breathe the nags till now. |
| |
| Little Girl |
But, Captain Thunder! Captain! Are you mad?
They'll have the country after you! Be quick!
You can't make cover in a coach and four
As on a horse! |
| |
| Ashman |
Nay, Kate, rest easy now.
Red Will is out, and Davy Doublesword,
And Hieland Jock, and Dan the Drum and Ned,
And twenty gallant gentlemen beside.
And they have sworn to keep the roadway clear
By setting all the lobsters such a chase
Will scatter them till night. And Ned will blow
His bugle when the way is safe. Then, whoop!
I'll rattle off again and fill the coach
With gentlemen of fortune, comrades true,
And own the road from here to London town. |
| |
(A horn is heard and a cry of "Fish, fish, fish,
fine fresh fish!") |
| |
| Little Girl |
| Down, Captain, loose the horses! There's the call! |
(The Ashman gets down, takes off the horse's
nosebag and unhitches the horse from the post.) |
| |
| Ashman (getting back on his seat) |
| Now, Kate, we'll gallop off to Arcady. |
| |
| Policeman (suddenly entering) |
| Hello there, Ashes, who you talking to? |
| |
| Ashman |
| Kate of the Greenwood. |
| |
| Policeman |
Kate? You poor old boob!
You're crazy in the head. There's no one there! |
| |
| Ashman (driving off) |
Make way there, constable. (Cracks his whip and sings.)
Come all ye jolly rovers
As wants to hear a tale
Will make your hearts as merry
As a bellyful of ale.
I'll sing of Captain Thunder,
And his dashing slashing way,
How he kissed the queen and he cuffed the king,
And threw the crown away! |
| (Exit) |
| |
| Policeman |
| Well, I'll be damned! |