Classic Poem

SCENE III.

Peascod , Corporal , S OLDIERS , C OUNTRYMEN , S ERGEANT , F ILBERT , D ORCAS .

DORCAS.

— — — Ah, brother Tim .
Why these close hugs? I owe my shame to him.
He scorns me now, he leaves me in the lurch;
In a white sheet poor I must stand at church.
O marry me — [ To Filbert.] Thy sister is with child.
And he, 'twas he my tender heart beguil'd.

PEASCOD.

Could'st thou do this? could'st thou —

SERGEANT.

— — — Draw out the men:
Quick to the stake; he must be dead by ten.

DORCAS.

Be dead! must Tim be dead! — — —

PEASCOD.

— — — He must — he must.

DORCAS.

Ah! I shall sink downright; my heart will burst.
— Hold, Sergeant, hold — yet ere you sing the Psalms,
Ah! let me ease my conscience of its qualms.
O brother, brother! Filbert still is true.
I fouly wrong'd him — — — do forgive me, do.
The Squire betray'd me; nay, — and what is worse,
Brib'd me with two gold guineas in this purse,
To swear the child to Filbert . — — —

PEASCOD.

— — — What a Jew
My sister is! — — — Do, Tom , forgive her, do.

FILBERT.

But see thy base-born child, thy babe of shame,
Who left by thee, upon our parish came,
Comes for thy blessing. — — —

SCENE IV.

Peascod , Corporal , S OLDIERS , C OUNTRYMEN , S ERGEANT , F ILBERT , D ORCAS , J OYCE .

PEASCOD.

— — — Oh! my sins of youth!
Why on the haycock didst thou tempt me, Ruth ?
O save me, Sergeant: — — — how shall I comply?
I love my daughter so — — — I cannot die.

JOYCE.

Must father die! and I be left forlorn?
A lack a day! that ever Joyce was born!
No grandsire in his arms e'er dandled me,
And no fond mother danc'd me on her knee.
They said, if ever father got his pay,
I should have two-pence ev'ry market-day.

PEASCOD.

Poor child; hang sorrow, and cast care behind thee,
The parish by this badge is bound to find thee.

JOYCE.

The parish finds indeed — — — but our church-wardens
Feast on the silver, and give us the farthings.
Then my school-mistress, like a vixen Turk ,
Maintains her lazy husband by our work:
Many long tedious days I've worsted spun;
She grudg'd me victuals when my task was done.
Heav'n send me a good service! for I now
Am big enough to wash, or milk a cow.

PEASCOD.

O that I had by charity been bred!
I then had been much better — — — taught than fed.
Instead of keeping nets against the law,
I might have learnt accounts, and sung Sol-fa .
Farewell, my child: spin on, and mind thy book,
And send thee store of grace therein to look.
Take warning by thy shameless Aunt; lest thou
Should'st o'er thy bastard weep — — — as I do now.
Mark my last words — — — an honest living get;
Beware of Papishes, and learn to knit.