Part 69 (1/2)

*[In the acting edition the scene closes with a different denouement. Amelia here says, ”Are all unhappy who live with you, and bear the name of Amelia.

”CHARLES. Yes, all--when they think they embrace an angel, and find in their arms--a murderer. Alas, for my Amelia! She is indeed unfortunate.

”AMELIA (with an expression of deep affliction). Oh, I must weep for her.

”CHARLES (grasping her hand, and pointing to the ring). Weep for thyself.

”AMELIA (recognizing the ring). Charles! Charles! O heaven and earth!

(She sinks fainting; the scene closes.)”]

CHARLES. Unhappy, because she loves me! What if I were a murderer?

How, Lady Amelia, if your lover could reckon you up a murder for every one of your kisses? Woe to my Amelia! She is an unhappy maid.

AMELIA (gayly rising). Ha! What a happy maid am I! My only one is a reflection of Deity, and Deity is mercy and compa.s.sion! He could not bear to see a fly suffer. His soul is as far from every thought of blood as the sun is from the moon. (CHARLES suddenly turns away into a thicket, and looks wildly out into the landscape. AMELIA sings, playing the guitar.)

Oh! Hector, wilt thou go forevermore, Where fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained sh.o.r.e, Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave?

Who then thy hapless orphan boy will rear, Teach him to praise the G.o.ds and hurl the spear, When thou art swallowed up in Xanthus' wave?

CHARLES (silently tunes the guitar, and plays).

Beloved wife!--stern duty calls to arms Go, fetch my lance! and cease those vain alarms!

[He flings the guitar away, and rushes off.]

SCENE V.--A neighboring forest. Night. An old ruined castle in the centre of the scene.

The band of ROBBERS encamped on the ground.

The ROBBERS singing.

To rob, to kill, to wench, to fight, Our pastime is, and daily sport; The gibbet claims us morn and night, So let's be jolly, time is short.

A merry life we lead, and free, A life of endless fun; Our couch is 'neath the greenwood tree, Through wind and storm we gain our fee, The moon we make our sun.

Old Mercury is our patron true, And a capital chap for helping us through.

To-day we make the abbot our host, The farmer rich to-morrow; And where we shall get our next day's roast, Gives us nor care nor sorrow.

And, when with Rhenish and rare Moselle Our throats we have been oiling, Our courage burns with a fiercer swell, And we're hand and glove with the Lord of h.e.l.l, Who down in his flames is broiling.

For fathers slain the orphans' cries, The widowed mothers' moan and wail, Of brides bereaved the whimpering sighs, Like music sweet, our ears regale.

Beneath the axe to see them writhe, Bellow like calves, fall dead like flies; Such bonny sights, and sounds so blithe, With rapture fill our eats and eyes.

And when at last our death-knell rings-- The devil take that hour!

Payment in full the hangman brings, And off the stage we scour.

On the road a gla.s.s of good liquor or so, Then hip! hip! hip! and away we go!

SCHWEITZER. The night is far advanced, and the captain has not yet returned.