Mil. There's a song for you! Enter PEGGY. Mil. What wind blew you hither, pray? You have a good share of impudence, or you would be ashamed to set your foot within my house, methinks. Peg. Ashamed I am, indeed; but do not cail me impudent. [Weeps. Dick. Dear father, suspend your anger for the present; that she is here now, is by my direction, and to do me justice. Peg. To do that, is all that is now in my power; for, as to myself, I am ruined past redemption; my character, my virtue, my peace, are gone: I am abandoned by my friends, despised by the world, and exposed to misery and want. King. Pray, let me know the story of your misfortunes: perhaps it may be in my power to do something towards redressing them. Peg. That you may learn from him, whom I have wronged; but as for me, shame will not let me speak, or hear it told. King. She's very pretty. [Exit PEGGY. Dick. O, sir, I once thought her an angel; I loved her dearer than my life, and did believe her passion was the same for me: but a young nobleman of this neighbourhood happening to see her, her youth and blooming beauty presently struck his fancy; a thousand artifices were immediately employed to debauch and ruin her. But all his arts were vain; not even the promise of making her his wife, could prevail upon her: In a little time he found out her love to me, and, imagining this to be the cause of her refusal, he, by forged letters, and feigned stories, contrived to make her believe I was upon the point of marriage with another woman. Possessed with this opinion, she, in a rage, writes me word, never to see her more; and, in revenge, consented to her own undoing. Not contented with this, nor easy while I was so near her, he bribed one of his cast-off mistresses to swear a child to me, which she did; this was the occasion of my leaving my friends, and flying to London. King. And how does she propose to do you justice? King. Those, that can make a jest of what ought to be shocking to humanity, surely deserve not the name of great or noble men. Dick. What do you think of it, sir? If you belong to the court, you, perhaps, may know something of the king's temper. King. Why, if I can judge of his temper at all, I think he would not suffer the greatest nobleman in his court to do an injustice to the meanest subject in his kingdom. But, pray, who is the nobleman that is capable of such actions as these? Dick. Do you know my lord Lurewell? Dick. That's the man. King. Well, I would have you put your design in execution. 'Tis my opinion the king would not only hear your complaint, but redress your injuries. Mil. I wish it may prove so. Enter the Keepers, leading in the courtiers. 1st Keep. Hola! Cockle! Where are ye?Why, man, we have nabbed a pack of rogues here, just in the fact. King. Ha, ha, ha! What, turned highwaymen, my lords, or deer-stealers ? 1st Cour. I am very glad to find your majesty in health and safety. 2d Cour. We have run through a great many perils and dangers to-night: but the joy of finding your majesty so unexpectedly, will make us forget all we have suffered. Mil. What! is this the king! King. I am very glad to see you, my lords, I confess; and particularly you, my lord Lurewell. Lure. Your majesty does me honour. King. Yes, my lord, and I will do you justice, too; your honour has been highly wronged by this young man. Lure. Wronged, my liege! King. I hope so, my lord; for I would fain believe you can't be guilty of baseness and treachery. Lure. I hope your majesty will never find me so. What dares this villain say? Dick. I am not to be frighted, my lord. I dare speak truth at any time, Lure. Whatever stains my honour, must be false. King. I know it must, my lord; yet has this Dick. Why, the king being now in this forest nan, not knowing who I was, presumed to charge a hunting, we design to take some opportunity your lordship, not only with great injustice to of throwing ourselves at his Majesty's feet, and himself, but also with ruining an innocent vircomplaining of the injustice done us by this no-in, whom he loved, and who was to have ble villain. been his wife; which, if true, were base and Mil. Ah, Dick! I expect but little redress treacherous; but I know 'tis false, and, therefrom such an application. Things of this naturefore, leave it to your lordship to say what punishare so common among the great, that I am ment I shall inflict upon him, for the injury done afraid it will only be made a jest of. to your honour. think, you ought, in justice, to marry her you thus have wronged. Peg. Let my tears thank your majesty. But, alas! I am afraid to marry this young lord: that would only give him power to use me worse, and still encrease my misery; I, therefore, beg your majesty will not command him to do it. King. Rise, then, and hear me. My lord, you see how low the greatest nobleman may be reduced by ungenerous actions. Here is, under your own hand, an absolute promise of marriage to this young woman, which, from a thorough knowledge of your unworthiness, she has prudently declined to make you fulfil. I shall, therefore, not insist upon it: but I command you, upon pain of my displeasure, immediately to settle on her three hundred pounds a-year. Peg. May Heaven reward your majesty's goodness. 'Tis too much for me; but if your majesty thinks fit, let it be settled upon this much injured man, to make some satisfaction for the wrongs which have been done him. As to myself, I only sought to clear the innocence of him I loved and wronged, then hide me from the Lure. Hum! I have not seen her these seve-world, and die forgiven. ral months. Dick. This act of generous virtue cancels all past failings; come to my arms, and be as dear as ever. Peg. You cannot, sure, forgive me! Dick. I can, I do, and still will make you mine. Dick. True, my lord; and that is part of your accusation; for, I believe, I have some letters which will prove your lordship once had a more particular acquaintance with her. Here is one of the first his lordship wrote to her, full of the tenderest and most solemn protestations of love and constancy; here is another, which will inform your majesty of the pains he took to ruin her.- Dick. Talk no more of it. Here, let us There is an absolute promise of marriage be-kneel, and thank the goodness which has made fore he could accomplish it. King. What say you, my lord? are these your hands? Lure. I believe, please your majesty, I might have a little affair of gallantry with the girl some time ago. King. It was a little affair, my lord; a mean affair; and what you call gallantry, I call infamy. Do you think, my lord, that greatness gives a sanction to wickedness? Or that it is the prerogative of lords to be unjust and inhuman? You remember the sentence which yourself pronouneed upon this innocent man; you cannot think it hard that it should pass on you who are guilty. Lure. I hope your majesty will consider my rank, and not oblige me to marry her. King. Your rank, my lord! Greatness, that stoops to actions base and low, deserts its rank, and pulis its honours down. What makes your lordship great? Is it your gilded equipage and dress? Then put it on your meanest slave, and he's as great as you. Is it your riches or estate? The villain that should plunder you of all, would then be as great as you. No, my lord; he, that acts greatly, is the true great man. I therefore Peg. O, why did I ever wrong such generous love? us blest. King. May you be happy! Mil. [Kneels.] After I have seen so much of your majesty's goodness, I cannot despair of pardon, even for the rough usage your majesty re→ ceived from me. [The king draws his sword, the Miller is frighted, and rises up, thinking he was going to kill him. What have I done, that I should lose my life? King. Kneel without fear. No, my good host, so far are you from having any thing to pardon, that I am much your debtor. I cannot think but so good and honest a man will make a worthy and honourable knight; so, rise up, sir John Cockle: And to support your state, and in some sort requite the pleasure you have done us, a thousand marks a year shall be your revenue. Mil. Your majesty's bounty I receive with thankfulness; I have been guilty of no meanness to obtain it, and hope I shall not be obliged to keep it upon base conditions; for though 1 am willing to be a faithful subject, I am resolved to be a free, and an honest man. King. I rely upon your being so: And, to gain the friendship of such a one, I shall al ways think an addition to my happiness, though a king. Worth, in whatever state, is sure a prize, Which kings, of all men, ought not to despise; By selfish sycophants so close besieged, 'Tis by mere chance a worthy man's obliged: But hence, to every courtier be it known, Virtuc shall find protection from the throne. [Exeunt omnes. Enter SIR JOHN, Tailor, Barber, and Joɛ. Tay. Tis the fashion, sir, I assure you. Sir John. Fashions are for fools; don't tell me of fashion. Must a man make an ass of himself, because it's the fashion? Tay. But you would be like other folks, sir, would not you? Sir John. No, sir, if this is their likeness, I would not be like other folks. Why, a man might as well be cased up in armour; here's buckram and whalebone enough, to turn a bullet. Joe. Sir, here's the barber has brought you home a new periwig. Sir John. Let him come in. Come, friend! let's see if you're as good at fashions as Mr Buckram here. What the devil's this? Bar. The bag, sir. Sir John. The bag, sir! an what's this bag for, sir? this is not the fashion too, I hope? Bar. It's what is very much wore, sir, indeed. Sir John. Wore, sir! how is it wore? where is it wore? what is it for? .Bar. Sir, it is only for ornament. Sir John. O, 'tis an ornament! I beg your pardon! Now, positively, I should not have taken this for an ornament. My poor grey hairs are, iu my opinion, much more becoming. But, come, put it on! There, now, what do you think I am like? Joe. I cod measter, you're not like the same mon, I'm sure. Bur. Sir, 'tis very genteel, I assure you, Sir John. Genteel! av, that it may be, for aught I know, but I'm sure 'tis very ugly. Bar. They wear nothing else in France, sir. Sir John. In France, sir! what's france to me? I'm an Englishman, sir, and know no right the fools of France have to be my examples. Here, take it again; I'll have none of your new-fangled French topperies; and if you please, I'li miake you a present of this fine, fashionable coat again. Fashion, indeed! [Exeunt Tailor, Barber, and Joe. Re-enter JOE with the French Cook. Joe. Sir, here's a fine gentleman wants to speak with you. Cook. Sir, me have hear dat your honour want one cook. Sir John. Sir, you are very obliging; I suppose you would recommend one to me. But, as I don't know you- Cook No, no, sir! me am one cook myself, and would be proud of de honour to serve you. Sir John. You a cook! and pray, what wages may you expect, to afford such finery as that? Cook. Me will have one hundred guinea a year, no more; and two or three servant under me to do de work. Sir John. Hum! very reasonable truly! And, pray, what extraordinary matters can you do, to deserve such wages? Cook, O! me can make you one hundred dish, de Englis know noting of; me can make you de portable soup to put in your pocket: me can dress you de foul a-la marli, en galentine, a-la montinorancy; de duck en grinadin; de chicken a la chombre; de turkey en botine; de pidgeon en mirliton a l'Italienne, a-la d' Huxelles: en fine, me can give you de essence of five or six ham, and de juice of ten or twelve stone of beef, all in de sauce of one little dish. Sir John. Very fine! At this rate, no wonder the poor are starved, and the butcher unpaid. No, I will have no such cooks, I promise you; it is the luxury and extravagance introduced by such French kickshaw-mongers as you, that has devoured and destroyed old English hospitality! Go! go about your business; I have no mind to be beggared, nor to beggar honest tradesmen. Jue! [Exit Cook. Joe. Sir. King. No, but I have sent for him to attend me this evening and I design, with only you, ny lords, who are now present, to entertain myself a while with his honest freedom. He will be here presently. 2d Cour. He must certainly divert your majesty. 3d Cour. He may be diverting, perhaps; but | if I may speak my mind freely, I think there is something too plain and rough in his behaviour, for your majesty to bear. King. Your lordship, perhaps, may be afraid of plain truth and sincerity, but I am not. Sd Cour. I beg your majesty's pardon; I did not suppose you was; I only think, there is a certain awe and reverence due to your majesty, which I am afraid his want of politeness may make him transgress. King. My lord, whilst I love my subjects, and preserve to them all their rights and liberties, I doubt not of meeting with a proper respect from the roughest of them; bat as for the awe and reverence which your politeness would flatter me with, I love it not. I will, that all my subjects treat me with sincerity. An honest freedom of speech, as it is every honest man's right, so none can be afraid of it, but he that is conscious to himself of ill-deservings. Sound maxims, and right conduct, can never be ridiculed; and, where the contrary prevail, the severest censure is greatest kindness. 3d Cour. I believe your majesty is in the right, and I stand corrected. King. Honest sir John Cockle, you are welcome to London. Sir John. I thank your majesty for the honour you do me, and am glad to find your majesty in good health. King. But pray, sir John, why in the habit of a miller yet? What I gave you was with a design to set you above the mean dependence of a trade for subsistence. Sir John. Your majesty will pardon my freedom. Whilst my trade will support me, I am independent; and I look upon that to be more honourable in an Englishman, than any dependance whatsoever. I am a plain, blunt man, and may, possibly, some time or other, offend your majesty; and where, then, is my subsistence? King. And dare you not trust the honour of a king? |