Classic Poem

ACT I. SCENE I.

Sir ROGER.

Here, Thomas Filbert , answer to your name,
Dorcas hath sworn to you she owes her shame:
Or wed her strait, or else you're sent afar,
To serve his gracious Majesty in war.

FILBERT.

'Tis false, 'tis false — I scorn thy odious touch,

DORCAS.

When their turn 's serv'd, all men will do as much.

KITTY.

Ah, good your Worships, ease a wretched maid,
To the right father let the child be laid.
Art thou not perjur'd? — mark his harmless look.
How canst thou, Dorcas , kiss the Bible book?
Hast thou no conscience, dost not fear Old Nick?
Sure sure the ground will ope, and take thee quick.

SERGEANT.

Zooks! never wed, 'tis safer much to roam:
For what is war abroad to war at home?
Who wou'd not sooner bravely risque his life;
For what 's a cannon to a scolding wife?

FILBERT.

Well, if I must, I must — I hate the wench,
I'll bear a musquet then against the French .
From door to door I'd sooner whine and beg,
Both arms shot off, and on a wooden leg,
Than marry such a trapes — No, no, I'll not:
— Thou wilt too late repent when I am shot.
But, Kitty , why dost cry? —

GRANDMOTHER.

— — — Stay, Justice, stay
Ah, little did I think to see this day!
Must Grandson Filbert to the wars be prest?
Alack! I knew him when he suck'd the breast,
Taught him his catechism, the fescue held,
And join'd his letters, when the bantling spell'd.
His loving mother left him to my care.
Fine child, as like his Dad as he could stare!
Come Candlemas , nine years ago she dy'd,
And now lies buried by the yew-tree's side.

AUNT.

O tyrant Justices! have you forgot
How my poor brother was in Flanders shot?
You press'd my brother — he shall walk in white,
He shall — and shake your curtains ev'ry night.
What though a paultry hare he rashly kill'd,
That cross'd the furrows while he plough'd the Field?
You sent him o'er the hills and far away;
Lett his old mother to the parish pay,
With whom he shar'd his ten pence ev'ry day.
Wat kill'd a bird, was from his farm turn'd out;
You took the law of Thomas for a trout:
You ruin'd my poor uncle at the sizes,
And made him pay nine pound for Nisiprises .
Now will you press my harmless nephew too?
Ah, what has conscience with the rich to do!
Though in my hand no silver tankard shine,
Nor my dry lip be dy'd with claret wine,
Yet I can sleep in peace —

Sir ROGER.

— — — Woman, forbear.

Sir HUMPHRY.

The man 's within the act — — —

Justice STATUTE.

— — — The law is clear.

SERGEANT.

Haste, let their Worships orders be obey'd.

KITTY.

Behold how low you have reduc'd a maid.
Thus to your Worships on my knees I sue,
(A posture never known but in the pew)
If we can money for our taxes find,
Take that — but ah! our sweethearts leave behind.
To trade so barb'rous he was never bred,
The blood of vermine all the blood he shed:
How should he, harmless youth, how should he then
Who kill'd but poulcats, learn to murder men?

DORCAS.

O Thomas, Thomas! hazard not thy life;
By all that's good, I'll make a loving wife:
I'll prove a true pains-taker day and night,
I'll spin and card, and keep our children tight.
I can knit stockings, you can thatch a barn;
If you earn ten-pence, I my groat can earn.
How shall I weep to hear this infant cry?
He'll have no father — — — and no husband I.

KITTY.

Hold, Thomas , hold, nor hear that shameless witch:
I can sow plain-work, I can darn and stitch;
I can bear sultry days and frosty weather;
Yes, yes, my Thomas , we will go together;
Beyond the seas together will we go,
In camps together, as at harvest, glow.
This arm shall be a boister for thy head,
I'll fetch clean straw to make my soldier's bed;
There, while thou sleep'st, my apron o'er thee hold,
Or with it patch thy tent against the cold.
Pigs in hard rains I've watch'd, and shall I do
That for the pigs, I would not bear for you?

FILBERT.

Oh, Kitty, Kitty , canst thou quit the rake,
And leave these meadows for thy sweetheart's sake?
Canst thou so many gallant soldiers see,
And captains and lieutenants slight for me?
Say, canst thou hear the guns, and never shake,
Nor start at oaths that make a christian quake?
Canst thou bear hunger, canst thou march and toil
A long long way, a thousand thousand mile?
And when thy Tom 's blown up, or shot away,
Then canst thou starve? — they'll cheat thee of my pay.

Sir ROGER.

Take out that wench — — —

Sir HUMPHRY.

— — — But give her pennance meet.

Justice STATUTE.

I'll see her stand — next Sunday — in a sheet.

DORCAS.

Ah! why does nature give us so much cause
To make kind-hearted lasses break the laws?
Why should hard laws kind-hearted lasses bind,
When too soft nature draws us after kind?