The children in the wood: an opera, in two acts, as performed at the Royal Theatres of Drury-Lane and the Hay-Market.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE,

- ACT—I.

- SCENE—I. A Room in Sir ROWLAND's Castle, APATHY discover ed at a Table, Books, &c. lying before him.

- SCENE—II. Another Apartment in the Castle, APATHY discoscovered asleep with Books at his feet, the Children playing about the Room.

- SCENE—III. Another Apartment in the Castle.

- SCENE—IV. A WOOD, AND CUT WOOD.

- ACT—II.

- SCENE—I.

- SCENE—II. A WOOD.

- SCENE—III. Another part of the illegible ood.

- SCENE—IV, A ROAD.

- SCENE—V. A WOOD. Moonlight, lamps down, Banks on—and Children discover d, seeming dead, folded in each others arms, on the Bank, with leaves strew'd over them.

- SCENE—VI. Inside of Walter's house, door open.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

FINIS.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD, AN OPERA, IN TWO ACTS.

AS PERFORMED AT THE ROYAL THEATRES OF DRURY-LANE AND THE HAY-MARKET.

LONDON: PRINTED for the Curious, and NOT Sold by the Booksellers in general.

M.DCC.XCIV.

[PRICE SIXPENCE.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE,

MEN.

- Sir Rowland,—Mr, Barrymore.

- Lord Alford,—Mr. Dignum.

- Walter (the Carpenter) Mr. Bannister. jun

- Oliver, (Servant to Sir Rowland) Mr. Caulfield,

- 1st. Russian,—Mr. Burton.

- 2d. Russian,—Mr. Cooke.

- The Boy,—Master Menage.

- Apathy, (the Tutor) Mr. Suet.

- Servant (to lord Alford) Mr. Maddocks.

- And Gabriel,—Mr. Benson.

WOMEN.

- Josephine,—Mrs. Bland.

- Lady Helen,—Miss. De Camp.

- Winefred,—Mrs. Hopkins.

- And The Girl,—Miss Menage.

ACT—I.

SCENE—I. A Room in Sir ROWLAND's Castle, APATHY discovered at a Table, Books, &c. lying before him.

(A Bottle and Glasses.)

APATHY.

WHAT a set of fools are philosophers, who advise to study away life for the benefit of posterity—that is—die while you live, that you may live after you are dead! these (shewing the book) may do well enough to garnish the brains of fools, but this (shewing the bottle) This is the true feast of reason. (Drinks) As tutor of these orphans, I lead a tolerable easy life of it—I teach the children idleness—that's no difficult matter—I pimp for my patron, their uncle—that's no difficult matter—I find Latin enough to puzzle the parson of the parish—that's no difficult matter—I go into the cellar for an hour or two—that's no difficult matter—come out again—that's no—yes, egad that, sometimes is a very difficult matter.

(Drinks)

Enter JOSEPHINE.

JOS.

Oh fye Mr. Apathy! What drinking in a morning?

APA.

Why—my patron bid me plead his passion for you, and so I was just taking a drop to inspire me.

JOS.

I wonder Sir Rowland will continue his importunities. what can he have to say to a poor girl like me?

APA.

So as I—he says, he's unhappy, and how a man that has such a cellar as Sir Rowland has, can be unhappy, is to me something very amazing—but have you no feeling?

JOS.

Feeling indeed—don't you remember when poor Walter, the carpenter's house was burnt down?

APA.

I have a shrewd guess that Walter has drill'd a hole through your heart.

JOS.

Don't you remember, I say? that instead of enquiring after the poor sufferers by the fire—the first question you asked, was, whether the young sucking pigs were safe? was that feeling?

APA.

No;—that was philosophy.

JOS.

Philosophy!

APA.

Yes, my philosophy! and this is the source from whence it springs [shews the bottle.] By eating we arrive at the highest preferments of church and state—how do you arrive at the dignity of Lord Mayor? Why you eat your why to it, and by drinking we appro•h the gods who never walk'd, they slid.—

[gets up staggering.]

JOS. looking out,

Ha! What do I see—my dear Walter!—Mr. Apathy, go to the children—now go.

[pushes him]

APA.

But what shall I say to Sir Rowland?

JOS.

Oh! say any thing—what you please—now go.

[pushes him] Exit Apathy [reeling]

SONG—JOSEPHINE.

WHEN love gets you fast hold in her clutches,

And you sigh for your sweetheart away;

Old Time cannot move without crutches,

Alack! how he hobbles!—well-a-day!

But when Walter my trembling hand touches,

And love's colourings o'er my cheeks stray;

Old Time throws aside both his crutches,

Alack! how he gallops!—well-a-day!

Enter WALTER.

WAL.

My dear Josephine—

JOS.

Well, Walter, how do you do?

WAL.

Very well Josephine, but I say it's devilish hard to be so poor, I, that every body says am such an industrious clever fellow—now a coffin—I'd make a coffin with e'er an undertaker in Norfolk, and at a bed—why the carpenters' wives say, that at a bed I'm the very thing.

Jos.

I should not have thought indeed of your making beds for the carpenter's wives.

WAL.

Ah, Josephine, I'm making a bed for us, my girl.

SONG—WALTER.

There was Dorothy Dump would mutter and mump,

And cry 'my dear ll'alter, heigho!'

But no step she could take, would my constancy shake—

For she had a timber toe.

There was Deborah Rose, with her acquiline nose,

Who cried 'for you. Walter, I die,'

But I langh'd at each glance, she threw at me askance

For she had a gimlet eye.

There was Tabitha Twist, had a mind to be kiss'd,

And made on my heart an attack;

But her love I derided, for she was lopsided,

And cursedly warp'd in the back.

There was Barbara Brian, who always was crying,

'Dear youth. put an end to my woes,'

But to save in her head all the tears that was shed,

Nature gave her a bottle nose.

Josephine came at last, to nail my heart fast,

Fi•• as oak will I prove to my dear:

And when parson Fether has tack'd us together,

Some chips of the block may appear.

I tell you what Josephine, if you don't consent to run away from the castle, I shall believe you listen to Sir Rowland.

Jos.

Lord! Walter, don't be a fool now—when my dear Lady Elinor went away to meet her husband, Lord Alford—Josephine, savs she, "the only comfort I have, is, to know you will take as much care of my dear little innocents as a mother"—and while the poor little orphans are at the castle, I am determined not to leave it.

WAL.

Ah! Heaven rest their souls, we shall never see them again at the castle.—

Enter SIR ROWLAND, and OLIVER, with two RUFFIANS.

SIR ROWLAND.

Ha! Walter here—Walter, what brought you here?

WAL,

Your honor—why—only a job, Sir.

JOS.

Yes—A job, Sir.

SIR ROW.

A job was it—seize that fellow there.

(Ruffians to seize Walter)

WAL.

Oh Lord! here's a pretty job!

(children laugh)—

SIR ROW.

Silence those brats—and prepare them for a visit, they must pay their gossips. [Children again] Silence them I say— [aside] Soon, their silence shall be eternal, my brother being concluded dead, that 'lustrious orb being set in night, shall these pigmy satellites eclipse me—no—that fellow— (pointing to Oliver) I am sure of —from his eye, remorse is banished, and unmask'd murder low'rs upon his brow—he shall dispatch them while on this seeming visit—but to send him alone may breed distrust, were it not good to ply this Walter? —release from present fears—the hopes of Josephine—with with large rewards back'd with tenements and bevy will surely ply the conscience of a hind. [to Oliver]—Oliver I have found you a companion for our purpose, he shall accompany you.

Slave follow to [Walter]

SCENE—II. Another Apartment in the Castle, APATHY discoscovered asleep with Books at his feet, the Children playing about the Room.

Enter JOSEPHINE.

What asleep, Mr. Apathy?

APA. [wakes]

'Egad I've had a very comfortable nap, what o'clock is it?

JOS.

Exactly mid-day—the children are going to visit their godfathers directly.

APA.

Is dinner ready yet?

JOS,

No; it is'nt ordered.

APA.

Not order'd! Oh Lord!—the dinner not ordered —talk to me of the children, and nonsense, and dinner not ordered!—here cook. cook.

Exit.

BOY.

Who goes with us to our godfathers?

JOS.

Oliver, my dear.

BOY.

I won't go with Oliver.

JOS.

Why, my love?

BOY.

Because of what I heard Walter say.

JOS.

What was that?

BOY.

Why, that Oliver was a damn'd black-looking rascal,

JOS.

Heavens! my dear, I shall scould Walter for saying such words before you.

GIRL.

I know you won't, though you say so.

JOS.

Why, my dear?

GIRL.

Because of what I heard you say last night.—

JOS.

I don't recollect it—What was it?

GIRL.

Why, you cried out in the middle of your sleep, Oh Walter how I love you—and I know it's true because you blush so.

JOS.

Oh! you little tell-tale— (to the boy) Have you forgot that song I learnt you the other day!

BOY.

No—I'll try to sing it, if you will help me.

DUET—JOSEPHINE. and BOY.

Josephine.—

Young Simon in his lovely Sue,

Beheld her darling treasure.

BOY.—

Yo•ng Simon in his lovely Sue,

Beheld a darling treasure.

JOS.—

The toilsome day before him flew,

For love makes labour pleasure.

BOY.—

The toilsome day before him slew,

For toil makes love a pleasure.

JOS.—

Oh! fye dear boy, can't you discern,

'Tis love makes labour pleasure.

BOY.—

Oh! yes, dear girl, I soon sha I learn,

That love makes labour pleasure.

JOS.—

Oh fie!

BOY.—

Oh! yes.

JOS.—

Dear Boy.

BOY.—

Dear girl.

JOS.—

Oh! fie, you can't disoern,

BOY.—

Oh! yes, dear girl, I soon shall learn,

That love makes labour pleasure.

But I am loth to sour sweet music's strain,

Shall we begin?

JOS.—

Yes.

BOY.—

We will begin again!

[Repeat over again both together]

GIRL.

Have you finished your song?

BOY.

Yes.

GIRL.

I'm glad of it—an't you my darling. to her doll Time way—

SIR ROWLAND. (without)

〈◊〉

〈…〉 run away 〈…〉 of him dear 〈…〉

〈◊〉

〈1 line〉.

Exeunt.

Enter SIR ROWLAND, sollowea by WALTER.

WAL.

What—your honor?

SIR ROW.

Murder the children—that's my resolve—the reward.—Josephine.

WAL.

Murder innocents—Tempt me in the form of an angel, to do the •ct of a devil. (aside)—Damme, I have a great mind to thiottle him (aside) Eh— stop—suppose I only seemingly consent, and then if I can but save them—the very thought makes me cry for joy.

SIR ROW.

What! whimpering, fool!

WAL.

Consider your honor—I'm not much used to butcher children, its rather out of my line.

SIR ROW.

What's your determination?

WAL.

But then to be scorned—

SIR ROW.

Look through the world—where points scorn his finger at ermin'd guilt?—no, at houseless merit. It is not levelled at the wealthy cheat, but at ragged honesty—be wise—be wise.

WAL.

Why, to be sure, as your honor says—but my honor.—

SIR ROW.

Honor?—that's a tinsel toy—Wise men plate it o'er with gold, that gives the worthless metal currency, and brings wealth to the holder of it— think of that.

WAL.

Why—indeed that's very true again—very true. —Oh! the Devil damn him— [aside] Well then, your honor, I consent, and if I don't,—

SIR ROW.

Hush! take this sword—but first swear.

WAL.

Oh, your honor, I never swear—never swear.

SIR ROW.

No trifling, fool, but swear—when next we meet this sword shall be sheath'd with blood.

WAL. takes the sword.

Well, for once I will swear—By all my hopes of mercy hereafter—it shall be sheathed in blood.

SIR ROW.

Oliver will accompany you.

WAL.

Zounds! that blood-thirsty villain.—You had better let me do it myself, your honor

SIR ROW.

Silence—follow.

Exit Sir Rowland and Walter.

SCENE—III. Another Apartment in the Castle.

Enter JOSEPHINE and the two CHILDREN.

Come, my dears—which of you will have your mama's picture.

BOY.

I will.

GIRL.

I'm sure I ought to have it—I'm a very funny little girl, and ought to be made a pet of.

JOS.

She was an elegant woman.

GIRL.

And every body says I'm very much like her.

JOS. [looking out,]

Ha! Walter in earnest conversation with Sir Rowland!

Enter WALER with a sword on.

WAL.

Oh Josephine!—I've such news to tell you, as will make your hair stand on end—I am in high favor with Sir Rowland—and am to go with the children to their godfathers.

CHILDREN.

I'm glad Walter is to go with us.

WAL.

Aye, and what do you think, Josephine? Oh! do you know that—Oh!—um—

Enter SIR ROWLAND with OLIVER.

SIR ROW.

Well, my little cherubs—what, delighted with your walk?

BOY and GIRL.

Oh! yes, uncle.

(Sir Rowland retires up the stage)

JOS. (Aside to Walter.)

Why, Walter, you have got on your sword.

WAL.

A sword—have I— [confused] Why yes, it is a bit of a kind of a sword, as you say, to be sure— but—

SIR ROWLAND comes down.

Well, take your leave of Josephine.

CHILDREN.

Come kiss us, Josephine—good bye dear Josephine —don't cry—we'll soon come back again— shan't we uncle?

SIR ROW.

Certainly sweetlings—Farewell! and Heaven take you to its care.

WALTER (aside)

(Amen! say I)—come.

Exit Oliver first.

Walter following with the children, one in each hand.

JOS.

I shall be glad when they come back again—I can't bear melancholy.

SIR ROW.

Then, why love to inflict it?

JOS.

Sir, I wonder you can think of a poor girl like me—besides were your passions such as with honor I could listen to, —I could never love you.

SIR ROW.

Mark, Josephine, tho' gratitude is dead in you— fear, I perceive still exists, and what has hitherto been entreaty, shall now be force.

AIR—JOSEPHINE and APATHY.

Enter APATHY, with a Bill of Fare,

Josephine.—

Great sir, consider my honor is steady,

Apathy.—

Great sir, consider the dinner is ready.

Jos.

An humble domestic is not worth your care.

Apa

Dear sir, give me leave to present the bill of fare,

Jos.

Take a lady with honor, if handsome and young.

Dress'd in bodice so fine, and in kirtle so tasty.

But ah! sir, beware of jealousy,

Or else you will prove by your care,

Your love is to hot,

My fume you would blot,

And believe me great sir, to my honor I'm steady,

And believe me great sir the dinner is ready.

Apa.

Here's tongue and mutton,

What a feast for a glutton,

With bittern, and quails, and a venison pasty, and mustard.

A Goose and a bustard,—

The mutton o'er boil'd,

And the pig will be spoil'd.

Believe me, &c.

Exit Sir Rowland, Apathy,

Exit and Josephine.

SCENE—IV. A WOOD, AND CUT WOOD.

Enter OLIVER thro' Cut Wood, he beckons to WALTER, who comes forward with the Children.

BOY to WALTER.

It's a long way, Walter, to our godfather's.

Yes, dreary it is—

[Aside to boy]

OLIV.

I say Walter—this place will do delightfully!

WAL.

Nay! I don't much like this place—let's find some other.

OLIV.

I say this place will do—and shall be the place.

WAL. [Aside]

Shall it, —There, little dears, go and play there—while I talk to Oliver a bit.

(Children go to play at the bock)

I say, Oliver, you have one failing.

OLIV.

Aye!—what is it?

WAL.

Why you are too tender hearted.

OLIV.

Am I?

WAL.

Now I am, you know, such a blood-thirsty rascal; that I could murder for amusement, therefore, I say, Oliver, suppose you leave this job to me.

OLIV

What, you'll dispatch them, will you?

WAL.

Yes, to be sure on't—so my dear fellow—you may go back to the castle—get the reward, and leave them to me—go.

Endeavouring to urge him.

OLIV.

Why, must not you think me a pretty scoundrel?

WAL. Aside

Why—I do for that matter.

OLIV.

To receive money for doing a bit of work and not compleating it.

WAL.

I say, Oliver, suppose—

OLIV.

Suppose, what?

WAL.

Why—suppose—suppose we were just to save 'em, Oliver.

OLIV.

Save 'em, eh!

WAL.

Me save 'em—Eh—what you—you will, —eh? Aye, you wish it—and I consent, how pity becomes you, Oliver? aside how savage he looks!

OLIVER impatiently

Why should we save 'em?

WAL.

Why, to be sure, there are two or three trifling reasons—first, it is'n't very manly to murder innocents —next, we shall be damn'd for it—and—

OLIV.

Why an't you a pretty rascal?

WAL.

Well, Oliver, you must consent to save e'm! look at 'em poor little dears! Ah! I perceive a tear standing in the corner of your eye

[wiping one from his own.]

OLIVER Draws his sword.

I am determined so—

going to cross to the children. Walter stops him—the children frightened, come down and kneel to Walter.

CHILDREN.

Oh! Walter save us!

WAL.

Stop, Oliver; only two words more.

OLIV.

Well.

WAL.

Look at them—have you a heart hard enough to kill 'em?

OLIV.

I have.

WAL.

Why then, have you an arm strong enough to fell me down, you damn'd dog?

(Walter draws his sword directly)

OLIV.

Fell you?

WAL,

Yes, for you must do that before you shall touch a hair of their heads.

OLIV.

Indeed! we'll try that.

They fight, Oliver gains ground upon Walter, and strikes his sword out of his hand—the girl runs and picks up Walter's sword, gives it to him, just as Oliver is aiming to run him through the body—Walter renews the fight, and kills Oliver—off.

Re-enter Walter with his Sword and Hand Bloody.

WAL.

Damme, I did'nt think I had so much pluck in me—there he lies—come forth my little tremblers, I am your champion.

CHILDREN.

Have you kill'd Oliver?

WAL.

Dead as a door nail!

BOY.

Go kill him again—such a rascal as he cannot be too dead.

GIRL.

Walter your hand is all bloody—come I'll kise it, and make it well—

BOY.

Shall we return to our uncle's, Walter?

WAL.

Alas! poor dears, you have no home—let me consider what's best to be done—I'll return to that rascal their uncle, get the reward and Josephine, and steal something from the buttery—then we'll go far enough out of the reach of that villain—I say, dears, I'll go and bring Josephine to you, will stay here till I come back?

BOY.

We'll do any thing that Walter bids us.

WAL.

I'll soon come back—see here's a nice arbour, and here's my cloak to sit down upon—and here are victuals—now don't stir from this spot, I charge you—Good bye, I won't be long.

Exit Walter.

BOY.

Look sister what quantities of blackberries and nuts there are in that bush, let's go, pluck them.

GIRL,

we can soon find the place out again, and they are better than the beef and manchets, Walter le•t us.

DUET— Accompanied by a Flagolet.

SEE brother! see on yonder bough

The robin sits! hark hear it now!

Listen brother to the note,

From pretty Robin red-breast's throat—

Sweetest bird that ever flew,

Whistle Robin, loodle loo!

As the Curtain drops they retire hand in hand up the Stage.

END OF FIRST ACT.

ACT—II.

SCENE—I.

Enter SIR ROWLAND, followed by a Servant.

SIR ROW.

TO speak with me! if its Oliver or Walter! Heaven foresend any ill should come to my children.

SERV.

I never saw this man before, Sir; he says his business is urgent.

SIR ROW.

Admit him. [Exit Servant] who can it be!

Enter GABRIEL, (Drunk)

SIR ROWL

Ha! my brother's servant—should he be alive. [Aside] Gabriel I am glad to see you.

GAB.

The joy is mutual your honor, but your honor looks a little pate, your countenance has'n't that rosy appearance mine has.

SIR ROW.

Grief, Gabriel.

GAB.

True, your honor—grief brings on drinking, and then what is man?—O never drink, your honor—never drink!

SIR ROW.

Now to know my fate— [aside] I shall soon meet my brother, where grief cannot come.

GAB.

True you'll meet very soon.

SIR ROW.

All's safe I find (aside) where are my brother's sad remains?

GAB.

Remains—Oh he remains but a little way off, your honor.

SIR ROW.

This drunken guise, little becomes your mournful errand.

GAB.

Why, you see you honor, I was sent before to get every thing in readiness, but living on salt provisions at Sea, gave me such a confounded thirst, that I was forced to stop every mile, to moisten my mouth with a quart of ale; so on my second day's journey, my master overtakes me—so says he—says he—Gabriel—says he,—

SIR ROW.

Say! who say?—

GAB.

My master, your honor—Gabriel, says he, I discharge you—but my sweet mistress cried, I might stay, for says she, if ever we part with Gabriel, we shall loose the only sober servant we have got—so my master only gave me a kick, and set me forwards again.

SIR ROW.

Idiot!—wretch he's dead.

GAB.

Dead, is he? I could shew you the mark he made with his foot, and if you call that a blow for a dead man to give—why, however, if you won't credit the mark of his soot, here's the mark of his hand.

(Shews a letter, Sir Rowland snatches the letter)

SIR ROW.

Damnation!

GAB.

Damnation—A comical way of expressing joy— your brother arrived says I—damnation says he —but I hope your honor has taken care of the children?

SIR ROW.

Aye, aye—they're taken care of.

GAB.

If that cursed thirst had not seized me, I would have been here yesterday.

SIR ROW.

Oh! had you come but yesterday—begone, leave me, drunkard.

GAB.

Yes, your honor, I'll go to the cellar, for I feel a kind of dryness on my palate—yet your brother and his lady will soon be here your honor—they are not far behind me. I have a notion I did'nt come here quite staight, your honor.

Exit reeling.

SIR ROW.

Confusion! ruin! yet if the hand of Heaven has been stretch'd forth to save the innocent, if the children live.

Enter WALTER with caution, say quick.—

(WALTER draws his Sword and shews it Bloody)

SIR ROW.

It is concluded—where's Oliver?

WAL.

Gone—Heav'n knows whither—I have fulfilled my oath—just mention the reward your honour, the prize of angels, your honor—Josephine your honor—the—

SIR ROW.

Wretch! Murderer! avoid me—take my curses —such ever be the reward of villainy.

WAL.

So say I. [aside] But your honor consider I kill'd—

SIR ROW.

Dare but to name the •ou• act, and by hell thou shalt be rewarded—a •al••r v••lain—go from their haunts of men and devour thy heart in misery and contempt.

WAL.

I should be a devil of a fool to do that, make a companion of my conscience, does your honor find your's so pleasant a one?

SIR ROW.

I cave me fellow—

(putting his hand on his sword.)

WAL.

I go—I'm gone, Sir—Heigo! (putting his hand 〈…〉 h•art) What now he'd give to do this—now to 〈◊〉 something from the buttery—endeavour to find Josephine—and away again to the children —Oh sier and fome—They say vi•ains inflict •••ery on their fellow creatures—but I think they 〈◊〉 make none so miserable as they make themselves.

Exit.

SIR ROW.

Lost beyond hope—how shall I act—How— how! but on—my purpose was, my brother's family should •••t in Heaven, and it shall be acc•••••shed—I'll chaunt my coffers, and to some t•i•••less rascal. throw down the dazzling ore, and while their ternes are risled by the damning dear delation. I'll lead them to destroy this hated brother—Forture continue dull and blind—now for happiness or perdition.

Exit.

SCENE—II. A WOOD.

Inter Children.

BOY supporting the GIRL.

How do you do, sister:

GIRL.

Very 〈◊〉 and very hungry—I could eat some of •he meat Walter left us.

BOY.

BOY.

I w••• we 〈…〉 the place—let us try to 〈…〉.

GIRL

〈…〉 I'm so sleepy—and 〈…〉 brother. 〈…〉 may 〈…〉 picture 〈…〉, and should sleep a long while, I should go where my mamma is—so she••l know us 〈◊〉 the picture

〈◊〉 the picture, and then gives 〈…〉 it in her bosom. 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 app•a• 〈…〉 and ••ing together.

BOY.

Are you frighten'd, sister?

GIRL.

No—not much.

(Trending)

BOY.

Look yonder's a place to hie us—for sure the thunder can't shoot us there.—Come sister.

GIRL.

I can't walk—indeed I can't—I'm so sick— Don't cry, brother.

BOY.

I don't cry. (Thunder) do try to walk a I it— there—see, I'll help you—very well—very well.

(Thunder and rain)

Exit Boy, supporting the Girl.

SCENE—III. Another part of the •ood.

Enter WALTER. with a Basket, Cloak on.

Zounds, what a peppering storm—sweet souls how glad they'll be to see me—The cunning rogues have got under the cloak—and I dare say have got fast aslcep— sets down the basket on the cloak, is alarmed at not seeing them—(runs to the front of the stage) Gone, murder, murder—Oh! they have hid themselves to frighten me. I see you, I see you—you may as well come, I see you— (pauses)—They're gone! I can never sleep more— Ha! the print of a foot—

pursues the step and Exit.

(Re-enters greatly alarmed at not sinding them)

What the devil do I stand here for? I'll roar myself dumb—I'll hollo!—Hollo!

Runs off.

SCENE—IV, A ROAD.

Enter Sir Rowland mask'd. and two Ruffians, arm'd.

SIR ROW.

Look out.

1st. RUFFIAN.

The travelers have gain'd the hills, and are dismounted.

'Tis well—behind that thicket wait their approach —be firm—here's encouragement. (Gives him a purse) This way—this way.

Exit

Enter Lord and Lady ALFORD, with Servant.

LORD ALFORD.

Thou art weary Helen,

LADY.

In truth, most ••dly, but let us on.

LORD,

No—here rest a while, this place is most dear to my r•m•mbrance, when my good falcon urged on his quarty to this forest's ve•ge, reclined beneath this aged oak, I first •aw thee, my Helen.

LADY

Ah! these times my Alford, what were then our hopes and fears, the remembrance is strong within me still.

SONG, LADY ALFORD.

Mark the true test of passion, where a lover is nigh,

It's hue is the rose, its language a sigh;

But where doubts interfere, and no lover is nigh,

When its hue is a •illy, its language a sigh.

But look my lord, this avenue displays your castle's stubborn turrets. The western tower contains our lovely children—Oh how sweetly fancy passing the bounds of vision, picture to me my babes—At great nature's bidding, stretching forth their little hands to clasp their mother—the thought's rapture—On—on—my dear lord, you never saw the youngest—indeed he's most like you, the image of my Alford—pardon these foolish tears, they are a mothers joy.

SERVANT. (looking out.)

Master—defend yourself

Alford puts his lady behind him. [Ruffians rush on him, and his Servant, from one of the Ruffians, with Sir Rowland attack Alford, the other attacks the Servant, and is beat off.

Then enter WALTER, from the Wood.

WAL.

What two to one!—

Attacks Sir Rowland, wounds him, and drives the Ruffian off. Alford retires into the wood with lady. The two Ruffians enter, supporting Sir Rowland.

1st. RUFFIAN.

Are you hurt, Sir?

SIR ROW.

Never heed that—Have you succeeded?

1st. RUFF.

No, sir, the travellers escaped in the wood.

SIR ROW.

Providence, I thank thee!

1st. RUF.

Shall we pursue them?

SIR ROW.

No—on your souls, forbear—convey me to the castle.

1st. RUF.

Shall I fly for assistance?

SIR ROW.

No—I'll none—do as I order'd you.

Exit.

[Ruffians supporting him.]

Enter WALTER.

WAL.

What the devil does all this mean—where are the people l've been fighting for—or where are the people l've been fighting with—I'm pretty sure I've drill'd one of them—Damm•, now my hand's in, I shall be killing a man every day, I suppose— But these poor children—I'm almost mad—night coming on too—Ha!—Another Ruffian—I'll soon do his business.

[Runs off, as if in pursuit.]

SCENE—V. A WOOD.
Moonlight, lamps down, Banks on—and Children discover d, seeming dead, folded in each others arms, on the Bank, with leaves strew'd over them.

Enter Lord and Lady ALFORD. from the top of the Stage. Lord supporting Lady.

LORD.

Courage, my Helen.

HELEN.

I'm wonderous faint.

LORD.

Droop not, my love—we are safe—here we'll remain to-night.

HELEN.

'Twas most strange—spoil was not their aim, but blood—a thousand fears press on me—the vigor'd ruffian had an air me thought of.

LORD.

Dearest love, calm thy troubled mind—rest on that verdant bank. (Helen retires on the bank. My servants, e'er this have gain'd the castle—I'm sure my brother's anxious care will find us e'er the morning.

AIR—LORD ALFORD.

WHEN first to Helen's lute

I sung, as she play'd to me,

How came these then to shoot

A thrilling sense all thro' me?

O! 'twas love, 'twas love!

In my eyes it glisten'd:

'Twould inspire a brute

To sing if Helen listen'd—

O! my love, my love!

Why call I with delight

This ditty's plantive numbers,

To wrap my fair in night.

And sooth my Helen's slumbers?

O! 'tis love, 'tis love;

Lullaby, my dearest

Care from thee take flight,

And peace thy heart be nearest!

O! my love, my love!

She sleeps—I'll forth, and under covert of the friendly shade, de••ry if danger be aloft. (Advances where the children are, starts at seeing them) Heavenly powers, what's here! two infant's! cold e'en to death! poor wretched babes.—poor wretched parents —what pangs must rend their hearts—How shall I thank thee Heaven, for giving mine, a brother's fostering care. [Takes the girl in his arms] Cold and breathless! Hold—life seems newly ebb'd— [put's his hand on her breast, pulls out the picture, comes forward, and looking on it, exclaims! Merciful powers! my own children!

[Helen alarmed, awakes]

HELEN.

My Alford! [Advances and snatches the picture from him, on looking on it, shrieks, falls on the bank and embraces the boy] My child—my child! my darling boy 〈◊〉! [takes him in her arms—Alford takes up the girl.] How is my girl?

LORD.

She will recover.

HELEN

How came they here? but let's away.

LORD.

—At the eastern exremity of this forest, stands an humble cottage—there we'll hasten—thy feeble arms cannot sustain.

HEEN,

Away—away—under my own disasters I might droop—but a mother's fears have amagozonian strength—away, my lord.

SCENE—VI. Inside of Walter's house, door open.

Enter Jofephine, Winifred, and a female Servant. Winifred and Servant being at a Table, on which is placed wooden Trenchers, A roast fowl, knives and forks, &c. Lamps up.

WINIFRED. Speaking as she enters

I thought so—well, and so—

Jos.

And so, goody, a servant came to the castle, and Sir Rowland order'd him to be confined in the dark tower, and do you know old King says it is a servant of Lord Alford.

WIN.

I thought so—well, and s—

Jos.

Why, then Sir Rowland went out disguised with four men—and in the confusion I step'd out— but goody—where's Walter?

WIN.

Oh! Heaven knows whether we shall ever see the dear boy again.

Jos.

Oh dear you frighten the—why goody—

WIN.

Why do you know, I saw a spider crawl up the fide of the chimney, and the horse-shoe was last night taken off the door,

WALTER. without

Hallo!

Enter Walter, at door, and shuts it after him.

JOS.

Here is Walter.

WIN.

I thought so.

Wasted in extreme dejection—pale—and takes a chair— brings it forward—and sits down.

WIN. looking at him.

Why, child, what's the matter?—have you seen a ghost? Sit cross leg'd my dear boy.

WAL.

There—will that please you? [Josephine taps him on the shoulder. he jumps up alarmed] Ah! Josephine is it you?

JOS.

Well, Walter, where did you leave the children?

WAL.

Under a tree, and told them to stay there till I—

JOS.

Under a tree! Oh! in the Gentleman's garden.

WAL.

No. no. (recollecting) Yes, yes, where else should I leave them—For a wood where they might be starv'd?

JOS.

No—that I'm sure you wou'dn't.

WAL.

I never was afraid of Goblins—but to night I though• every tree a ghost—and took old Jowler for the Devil.

WIN.

Ay, ay, old Tab did not scratch under her ear for nothing—a sure sign that somebody will be hang'd.

WAL.

Damn old Tab.

JOS.

Aye, Walter, you have been drinking.

WAL.

My own tears then.

(aside)

WIN.

But come, here's a capon for your supper.

WAL.

Oh, if the dear children had that capon.

JOS.

Lord! Walter why they have plenty.

WAL.

Plenty have they! [〈◊〉 ring] to be sure I know that as well as you, Josephine.

JOS.

Had I known how cros you would have been, I would not have come.

(rought)

WAL.

I beg your pardon. Josephine—don't cry my girl; I'm almost mad

sits down side of the table—knocks over the fall.

WIN. Sitting behind the table.

Oh! he's spilt the salt (throw some over her shoulder) And I see here's a winding sheet in the candle.

WAL.

Damn it mother don't frighten me so—Josephine, my dear girl, sing me a song.

JOS.

I'll sing you what I bought of the old blind pedlar who passed by this morning—Its intitled and call d, the Norfolk tragedy, shewing how the ghost of a murder'd babe.

WAL.

No—do—don't sing that.

WIN.

Yes, yes, sing it, Josephine.

JOSEPHINE—SINGS.

A Yeoman of no mean degree,

For thirst of gain, and lucre, he

A pretty babe did murder strait,

By reason of its large estate.

To vex him to his heart's content,

To him he murder'd 〈…〉 sent;

Full 〈◊〉 appear'd 〈◊〉 c•n•le flame,

And a knocking at 〈◊〉 window came.

His con•erence 〈…〉 him.

And made him tremble every limb;

With that the ghost began to roar,

And strait way but sted ope the door.

End of 2d. verse, a knock without at window. All start up from table greatly alarm'd.

JOS.

Walter—why do you tremble, are you frighten'd?

WAL.

Me frighten'd—bless your soul—nonsense.go on.

JOS. Sings 3d. verse, at the end of which a knocking at the door without. They all start, the door is burst open, Winifred and Josephine retire greatly alarmed. Walter remains near the table, fearing to look towards.

WAL.

Mother, mother, mother; don't leave me.

Enter LORD and LADY AITORD, the and two

Children.

What, alive, Oh Lord! oh lord! oh lord!— children run to Walters, he fal•s on his knees, huggs and kisses them.] What, my honored lord, and lady too! Oh! 'tis to much.—Josephine, come here, down on your knees.

HELEN

My faithful girl, explain these wonders?—

I can't, my lady, —Walter can.

WAL.

The— I know nothing, yes, I know every thing; you see, my lord, —your brother, aye, you little rogue to run away, —and so so my lord, your brother sent, and I—my lord, —I, —I, cannot tell you not—

[kissing the children.]

GIRL.

I'm very hungry.

WAL.

Hungry are you! [then snatches them up, cuts fowl and helps them with great joy]

APATHY with•ut.

Let none pa••

〈◊〉 with constables.]

Seize •hat murdurer of innocents.

[Walter laughs]

Do you laugh, you murderer.

WAL.

Laugh! look there.

(sheaving the children.)

APA.

Eless my soul! there they are at supper; a ca, pon. I declare; vert pretty eating, I could like to pick a bit.—Oh! my lord your brother is dying —he has confess'd he employed Oliver, and Walter, to murder your children.

WAL,

True; I kill'd Oliver.

LORD

My gallant fellow.

APA.

He then plann'd your destruction.

LORD.

A curs'd ambition, wretched brother.

APA.

And went out with armed ruffians to attack you.

HELEN.

But heaven, sent an unknown friend to save us. Walter could'st thou but find him.

WAL.

Why, my lady, I could find him, I believe,

(with modest hesitation)

HELEN

Sure that look, —you protected us.

WAL.

I believe I did.

HELEN

My preserver!

LORD.

My friend!

WAL.

Dear, my lord, sweet dear lady! don't kill me with kindness, I can't •ear it I'm too happy—〈◊〉 ill g•t•en wealth do this?

HELEN

Name some reward.

WAL.

A treasure!

LORD.

If India can produce it, it is yours.

WAL,

My lord, you need not go so far, there's the treasure I want; give, give me, my little Josephine, and I am happy.

HELEN.

My dearest girl—receive from my hand your faithful Walter, and it shall be my study to reward his services.

WAL.

Madam I'll serve you with my latest breath! but I trust the children in the wood will, to night, find better friends than poor Walter the carpenter.

FINALE.

Solo Wal.

Have I sav'd this girl and boy?

Is't so understood, Sirs?

May I hollow, now for joy?

Are we out of the wood, Sirs?

Have I saved, &c.

Solo Apa.

Providence has smiled on me,

Happy I, as may be;

A father here—at either knee,

A rosy dimpl'd baby.

Have we saved, &c.

Solo Helen

Fullest mine of mother's bliss,

Fuller nought can make it;

Since all to-night who witness this.

Seem kindly to partake it.

Solo Jos.

Now my Walter, I shall wed,

Gay my heart, and light, Sirs—

Solo Wal.

And! my girl, have made a bed,

To fit us right and tight, Sirs—

We have saved, &c,

Information about this book

Title statement

The children in the wood: an opera, in two acts, as performed at the Royal Theatres of Drury-Lane and the Hay-Market.

Morton, Thomas, 1764-1838.

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Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5452

ID [isbn10]

1106024516

ID [isbn13]

9781106024510

ID [TCP]

K123155.000

ID [BIBNO]

cw3306501978

ID [ECFA]

1105800100

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The children in the wood: an opera, in two acts, as performed at the Royal Theatres of Drury-Lane and the Hay-Market., Morton, Thomas, 1764-1838.. 36p. ; 12⁰. London :: printed for the curious, and not sold by the booksellers in general,. 1794.. [Anonymous. By Thomas Morton.] [Reproduction of original from the Bodleian Library (Oxford).] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT183980.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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