Lord A. Indeed!

Tyke. Yes, yes-that was pleasant enough; but, unluckily, the jockey lads told me a heap o' lies; for ma horse always came in lag last. Then they told ma to hedge; but it was not the hedging I had been used to, and somehow I got intid ditch like. So what with that, and playing cards at Lamb-skinnings (for, bless you, I could not catch them at Snitchums), I was—

Lord A. Ruined.

Tyke. Yes; as jockey lords said-completely cleaned

out.

Lord A. Did you not return to honest labour?

Tyke. Oh no, I could not !—my hands had got soft and smooth, and I had a ring girt about my finger :-no, I could not tak to work.

Lord A. Go on.

Tyke. Why, as I could stay there no longer, I thought it would not be a bad plan to go away-so I went intid stable, and, would you believe it? the horse that beat mine somehow coaxed and contrived to get me on his back like —and, ecod, galloped off wi' me a matter of an hundred miles. I thought no more about it myself—

Lord A. But they did?

Tyke. Yes, hang them, and were very cross indeed; for they put me intid castle, and tried me at 'sizes.

Lord A. What could you say to avert your fate?

Tyke. Why, I told the judge-says I, my lord, I hope you'll excuse my not being used to this kind of tackleexchange is no robbery, mistakes of this kind will happen; but, I assure you, I've kept the best of company with the jockey lords, and such like as yourself. So they all smiled, as much as to say, he's one of us like--and I thought all was right enough; but the judge puts him on a black cap, and, without saying with your leave, or anything, orders me to be hanged!

Lord A. Poor wretch !

Tyke. Don't you be frightened! they did not hang me, mun-don't believe that: no, bless you, they sent ma to Botany Bay, for fourteen years.

Lord A. Where, I hope, you remained resigned to your

fate.

Tyke Oh! quite resigned, for I could not get away—I dare say I tried a hundred times.

Lord A. Why did not I know it? house

Tyke. I did send to your house.

Lord A. Well!

Had you sent to my

Tyke. Why, they wrote word, I think, that you had been called up to t'other house-but then I did not know where that was-and that you was sent abroad by government. I was sorry to hear that, because I knew what that was by myself like; not that it surprised me, because I heard of your always being at cock-pit, and I guessed what that would end in.

Lord A. Pshaw !

Come hither; tell me- -I dread to

ask it-that boy (what a question for a parent!), does he survive?

Tyke. I don't know.

Lord A. Not know?

Tyke. No.

Lord A. Where did you leave him?

Tyke. Where did I leave him? Why-come, come, talk of something else.

[Seems disturbed.

Lord A. Impossible! Have you to human being ever told from whom you received that child?

Tyke. No.

Lord A. Then my secret's safe.

Tyke. I've said so.

Lord A. Why that frown? What! not even to your father?

Tyke. Who!

[Starts.

Lord A. What agitates you? You had a father.
Tyke. Had a father! Be quiet, be quiet.

[Walks about, greatly agitated. Lord A. By the name of Him, who indignantly looks down upon us, tell me—

Tyke. [Striking his forehead.] Say no more about that, and you shall hear all. Yes, I had a father; and when he heard of my disgrace, the old man walked-wi' heavy heart, I warrant—all the way tid gaol to see me; and he prayed up to heaven for me [pointing, but not daring to look up], just the same as if I had still been the pride of his heart. [Speaks with difficulty, and sighs heavily.

Lord A. Proceed.

Tyke. Presently.

Lord A. Did you entrust the child to his care?
Tyke. I did.

Lord A.-Do not pause-you rack me.

Tyke. Rack you !—well, you shall hear the end on 't. I meant to tell father all about the child; but, when parting came, old man could not speak, and I could not speak— well, they put me on board a ship, and I saw father kneeling on the shore, with the child in his arms

Lord A. Go on.

Tyke. 'Tis soon said. [Collecting his fortitude.] When the signal-gun for sailing was fired, I saw my old father drop down dead—and somebody took up child and carried it away. I felt a kind of dizziness; my eyes flashed fire, the blood gushed out of my mouth-I saw no more—

Lord A. Horrible!

out a tear?

[Sinks exhausted into a chair. What record a father's death with

Tyke. Tear! Do you think a villain, who has a father's death to answer for, can cry? No, no; I feel a pack of dogs worrying my heart, and my eyes on fire-but I can't [A vacant stare of horror. Lord A. And is this desolation my work? O repent! repent!

cry.

Tyke. [Starting up.] For what? Is not father dead?an 't I a thief-cursed-hated-hunted? parched

Lord A. Within is wine.

Tyke. Brandy! brandy!

My mouth's

Lord A. Compose yourself-follow me-you want sleep. Tyke. Sleep! Ha! ha! Under the sod I may.

[Points down, and groans heavily.

MORTON.

ORESTES DELIVERING HIS EMBASSY
TO PYRRHUS.

Orest. Before I speak the message of the Greeks,

Permit me, sir, to glory in the title

Of their ambassador, since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son,
Nor does the son rise short of such a father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy ;
And, by an ill-timed pity, keep alive
The dying embers of a ten years' war.

Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?

The Greeks remember his high-brandished sword,
That filled their states with widows and with orphans;
For which they call for vengeance on his son.

Who knows what he may one day prove? Who knows
But he may brave us in our ports; and, filled
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may yourself live to repent your mercy.
Comply, then, with the Grecians' just demands:
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.

Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more concerned
Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hoped
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son despatched for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renowned in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate

To plot an infant's death? What right has Greece
To ask his life? Must I, must I alone

Of all her sceptred warriors, be denied

To treat my captive as I please? Know, Prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shared the harvest of the war,
Andromache, and this her son, were mine;

Were mine by lot; and who shall wrest them from me?
Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen;

Cassandra was your own great father's prize;

Did I concern myself in what they won?
Did I send embassies to claim their captives?

Orest. But, sir, we fear for you and for ourselves.

Troy may again revive, and a new Hector

Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes

Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise; But tell them Pyrrhus knows not how to form Far fancied ills and dangers out of sight.

Orest. Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd strength of Troy;
Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass,
Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies!

Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all;
Confused in dust; all mixed in one wide ruin;
All but a child, and he in bondage held.

What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy?
If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race,
Why was their vow for twelve long months deferred ?
Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain?

He should have fallen among the slaughter'd heaps
Whelmed under Troy. His death had then been just,
When age and infancy alike in vain

Pleaded their weakness; when the heat of conquest,
And horrors of the fight, roused all our rage,
And blindly hurried us through scenes of death,
My fury then was without bounds; but now,
My wrath appeased, must I be cruel still,
And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity,

Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood—
An infant's blood? No, Prince. Go, bid the Greeks
Mark out some other victim, my revenge

Has had its fill. What has escaped from Troy
Shall not be saved to perish in Epirus.

Orest. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax

Was doomed to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother saved her darling son;

The Greeks do now but urge their former sentence:
Nor is 't the boy, but Hector, they pursue;

The father draws their vengeance on the son ;

The father, who so oft in Grecian blood

Has drenched his sword; the father, whom the Greeks May seek even here. Prevent them, sir, in time.

Pyr. No let them come; since I was born to wage

Eternal wars. Let them now turn their arms

On him who conquered for them : let them come,
And in Epirus seek another Troy.

'Twas thus they recompensed my godlike sire;