On those whom I best loved: I never quelled But C. Hunter. Heaven give thee rest! And penitence restore thee to thyself; My prayers shall be for thee. Man. I need them not, But can endure thy pity. I depart 'Tis time-farewell!—Here's gold, and thanks for thee— No words-it is thy due. Follow me not I know my path-the mountain peril's past: And once again, I charge thee, follow not! BYRON. LORD AVONDALE AND TYKE. THE SCHOOL OF REFORM. Lord A. Come hither. How is this, Robert? When I left England you were a youth, whose example was pointed out as an object of imitation-your morals were pure, your industry exemplary-how is it, then, that I now see you an abandoned outcast? Tyke. Ah, sur, it was all along wi' you. Lord A. Me! Was not my bounty ample? give you independence? Did not I Tyke. Ah! that was it-when you sent me that little child to take care on Lord A.-Hush! Tyke. Well, well;-and that big lump of money! you see, as I had not worked for it, it made me quite fidgety; I always had my hand in my pocket, scrummelling it about like-so, as all Yorkshire lads like galloping horses, I bought one, and took 't to races, up at our country sideand ecod! I pulled stuff into my hat as clean as ninepence. Oh, oh! says I, I'll make short work of this; I'll go to Newmarket, where the lords do bring their cattle, and settle matters in a hurry. So I went, and mighty pleased I was; for the jockey lords called me 'squire, you sce, -and clapping me on the back in this manner, says, mire, your horse will beat everything! 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-—— out. Lord A. Ruined. Tyke. Yes; as jockey lords said-completely cleaned 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. dare say Tyke. Oh! quite resigned, for I could not get away-I 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. [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? 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? My mouth's parched Lord A. Within is wine. Tyke. Brandy! brandy! 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 Orest. Before I speak the message of the Greeks, Permit me, sir, to glory in the title Of their ambassador, since I behold But what your father never would have done, The dying embers of a ten years' war. Who knows Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector? Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more concerned To plot an infant's death? What right has Greece Of all her sceptred warriors, be denied To treat my captive as I please? Know, Prince, Were mine by lot; and who shall wrest them from me? 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 |