walk so well as another man. What is a king? | Is he not wiser than another man? Not without his counsellors, I plainly find. Is he not more powerful? I oft have been told so, indeed; but what now can my power command? Is he not, greater, and more magnificent? When seated on his throne, and surrounded with nobles and flatterers, perhaps he may think so; but when lost in a wood, alas! what is he but a common man? His wisdom knows not which is north, and which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at; and his greatness the beggar would not bow to. And yet, how oft are we puffed up with these false attributes? Well, in losing the monarch, I have found the man. [The report of a gun is heard. Hark! some villain sure is near! What were it best to do? Will my majesty protect me? No. Throw majesty aside, then, and let manhood do it. Enter the MILLER. Mil. I believe, I hear the rogue. there? King. No rogue, I assure you. Mil. Little better, friend, I believe. fired that gun? King. Not I, indeed. Mil. You lie, I believe. [Aside.] Very well, sir, I am glad to hear the king has so good an officer; and since I find you have his authority, I will give you a better account of myself, if you will do me the favour to hear it. Mil. It's more than you deserve, I believe; but, let's hear what you can say for yourself. King. I have the honour to belong to the king, as well as you; and, perhaps, should be as unwilling to see any wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this forest, and, the chase leading us to-day a great way from home, I am benighted in this wood, and have lost my way. Mil. This does not sound well; if you have been a-hunting, pray, where is your horse? King. I have tired my horse, so that he lay down under me, and I was obliged to leave him. Mil. If I thought I might believe this now.— King. I am not used to lie, honest man. Mil. What! do you live at court, and not lie? that's a likely story, indeed! King. Be that as it will, I speak truth now, I Who's assure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it, or give me a night's lodging in your own house, here Who is something to pay you for your trouble, and if that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire. me, King. Lie! lie! how strange it seems to to be talked to in this style. [Aside.] Upon my word, I don't. Mil. Come, come, sirrah, confess; you have shot one of the king's deer, have not you? King. No, indeed; I owe the king more respect. I heard a gun go off, indeed, and was affraid some robbers might have been near. Mil. I'm not bound to believe this, friend. Mil. Name! yes, name. Why you have a name, have not you? Where do you come from? What is your business here? King. These are questions I have not been used to, honest man. Mil. May be so; but they are questions no honest man would be afraid to answer, I think. So, if you can give me no better account of yourself, I shall make bold to take you along with me, if you please. King. With you! what authority have you to Mil. The king's authority, if I must give you an account, sir. I am John Cockle, the miller of Mansfield, one of his majesty's keepers in this forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspected fellow pass this way, that cannot give a better account of himself than you have done, I promise you, King. I must submit to my own authority. Mil. Ay, now, I am convinced, you are a courtier; here is a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both in a breath: here, take it again, and take this along with it.John Cockle is no courtier; he can do what he ought without a bribe. King. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I must own, and I should be glad, methinks, to be farther acquainted with thee. Mil. Thee! and thou! prithee don't thee and thou me: I believe I am as good a man as yourself at least. King. Sir, I beg your pardon. Mil. Nay, I am not angry, friend; only, I don't love to be too familiar with any body, before I know whether they deserve it or not. King. You are in the right. But what am I to do? Mil. You may do what you please. You are twelve miles from Nottingham, and all the way through this thick wood; but, if you are resolved upon going thither to-night, I will put you in the road, and direct you, the best I can; or, if you will accept of such poor entertainment as a miller can give, you shall be welcome to stay all night, and, in the morning, I will go with you myself. King. And cannot you go with me to-night? Mil. I would not go with you to-night, if you were the king. King. Then I must go with you, I think. [Exeunt. SCENE II-Changes to the town of Mansfield. | dam now, in that fine dress), you see, you have DICK alone. Well, dear Mansfield, I am glad to see thy face again. But my heart aches, methinks, for fear this should be only a trick of theirs, to get me into their power. Yet, the letter seems to be wrote with an air of sincerity, I confess; and the girl was never used to lie, till she kept a lord's company. Let me see, I'll read it once more. 'Dear Richard—I am at last (though much too 'late for me) convinced of the injury done to us 'both, by that base man, who made me think you false. He contrived these letters, which I 'send you, to make me think you just upon the point of being married to another, a thought I 'could not bear with patience; so, aiming at re'venge on you, consented to my own undoing. But, for your own sake, I beg you to return 'hither, for I have some hopes of being able to 'do you justice, which is the only comfort of 'your most distressed, but ever affectionate, Phabe. Pray, madam, make yourself easy. Peg. Ah, Phoebe! she that has lost her virtue, has, with it, lost her ease, and all her happiness. Believing, cheated fool! to think him false. Phabe. Be patient, madam; I hope, you will shortly be revenged on that deceitful lord. Peg. I hope I shall, for that were just revenge! But, will revenge make me happy? Will it excuse my falsehood? Will it restore me to the heart of my much injured love? Ah, no! That blooming innocence he used to praise, and call the greatest beauty of our sex, is gone! I have no charm left, that might renew that flame, I took such pains to quench. [Knocking at the door. See who's there. O heavens! 'tis he! Alas! that ever I should be ashamed to see the man I love! Enter RICHARD, who stands looking on her at a distance, she weeping. brought me back; is it to triumph in your falsehood? or, am I to receive the slighted leavings of your fine lord? Peg. O Richard! after the injury I have done you, I cannot look on you without confusion: But do not think so hardly of me: I stayed not to be slighted by him; for, the moment I discovered his vile plot on you, I fled his sight; nor could he ever prevail to see me since. Dick. Ah, Peggy! you were too hasty in believing; and much I fear, the vengeance aimed at me, had other charms to recommend it to you; such bravery as that [Pointing to her clothes.] I had not to bestow; but, if a tender, honest heart could please, you had it all; and, if I wished for more, 'twas for your sake. Peg. O Richard! when you consider the wickcd stratagem he contrived, to make me think you base and deceitful, I hope you will, at least, pity my folly, and, in some measure, excuse my falsehood; that you will forgive me, I dare not hope. Dick. To be forced to fly from my friends and country, for a crime that I was innocent of, is an injury that I cannot easily forgive, to be sure: But, if you are less guilty of it than I thought, I shall be very glad; and, if your design be really, as you say, to clear me, and to expose the baseness of him that betrayed and ruined you, I will join with you, with all my heart. But how do you propose to do this? Peg. The king is now in this forest a-hunting, and our young lord is every day with him: Now, I think, if we could take some opportunity of throwing ourselves at his majesty's feet, and complaining of the injustice of one of his courtiers, it might, perhaps, have some effect upon bim. Dick. If we were suffered to make him sensible of it, perhaps it might; but the complaints of such little folks as we, seldom reach the ears of majesty. Peg. We can but try. Dick. Well, if you will go with me to my father's, and stay there, till such an opportunity happens, I shall believe you in carnest, and will join with you in your design. Peg. I will do any thing to convince you of my sincerity, and to make satisfaction for the injuries which have been done you. Dick. Will you go now? Peg. I'll be with you in less than an hour. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.—Changes to the mill. MARGERY and KATE knitting. Kate. O dear! I would not see a spirit for all the world! but I love dearly to hear stories of Dick. Well, Peggy (but I suppose you're ma- then. Well, and what then? Mar. And so at last, in a dismal hollow tone, it cried [d knocking at the door frights them both; they scream out, and throw down their knitting. Mar, and Kate. Lord bless us! What's that? Kate. O dear mother! it's some judgment upus, I am afraid! They say, talk of the devil, and he'll appear. Mar. Kate, go and see who's at the door. Kate. Now, don't speak as if you was afraid! Mar. No, I won't, if I can help it. Who's there? Dick. [without] What! won't you let me in? Kate. O gemini! it's like our Dick, I think : He's certainly dead! and it's his spirit. Mar. Heav'n forbid! I think in my heart, it's he himself. Open the door, Kate. Kate. Nay! do you. Mar. Come, we'll both open it. [They open the door. Enter DICK. Dick. Dear mother! how do you do? I thought you would not have let me in! Mar. Dear child! I'm overjoyed to see thee; but I was so frighted, I did not know what to do. Kate. Dear brother, I am glad to see you! how have you done this long while? Dick. Very well, Kate. But where's my father? Mar. He heard a gun go off, just now, and he's gone to see who 'tis. Dick. What, they love venison at Mansfield as well as ever, I suppose? Kate. Ay; and they will have it, too. Mil. Without.]-Hoa! Madge! Kate! bring a light here! Mar. Yonder he is. Kate. Has he catched the rogue, I wonder? Enter the KING and the MILLER. Mar. Who have you got? Mil. I have brought thee a stranger, Madge; thou must give him a supper, and a lodging, if thou can'st. Mar. You have got a better stranger of your own, I can tell you: Dick's come. Mil. Dick! Where is he? Why, Dick! How is't, my lad? Dick. Very well, I thank you, father. King. A little more, and you had pushed me down. Mil. Faith, sir, you must excuse me; I was overjoyed to see my boy. He has been at London, and I have not seen him these four years. King. Well, I shall once in my life have the happiness of being treated as a common man; and of seeing human nature without disguise. [Aside. Mil. What has brought thee home so unexpected? Dick. You will know that presently. Mil. Of that, by-and-by, then. We have got the king down in the forest a hunting, this season; and this honest gentleman, who came down with his majesty from London, has been with them to-day, it seems, and has lost his way.Come, Madge, see what thou can'st get for supper. Kill a couple of the best fowls: and go you, Kate, and draw a pitcher of ale. We are famous, sir, at Mansfield, for good ale; and for honest fellows, that know how to drink it. King. Good ale will be acceptable at present, for I am very dry. But, pray, how came your son to leave you, and go to London? Mil. Why, that's a story which Dick, perhaps, won't like to have told. King. Then I don't desire to hear it. last. Mil. Zoons! Do the courtiers think their dependents can eat promises? Dick. No, no; they never trouble their heads to think whether we eat at all or not. I have now dangled after his lordship several years, tanta'ized with hopes and expectations; this year promised one place, the next another, and the third, in sure and certain hope of a disappointment. One falls, and it was promised before; another, and I am just half an hour too late; a third, and it stops the mouth of a creditor; a fourth, and it pays the hire of a flatterer; a fifth, and it bribes a vote: and, the sixth, I am promised still. But having thus slept away some years, I awoke from my dream: my lord, I found, was so far from having it in his power to get a place for me, that he had been all this while seeking after one for himself. Mil. Poor Dick! And is plain honesty, then, a recommendation to no place at court? ed. But come, I want a description of London; thou hast told us nothing thou hast seen yet. Dick. O! 'Tis a fine place! I have seen large houses with small hospitality; great men do little actions; and fine ladies do nothing at all. [ have seen the honest lawyers of Westminsterhall, and the virtuous inhabitants of Change-Altey; the politic madmen of coffee-houses, and Dick. It may recommend you to be a foot- the wise statesmen of Bedlam. I have seen merman, perhaps, but nothing further; nothing furry tragedies, and sad comedies; devotion at an ther, indeed. If you look higher, you must fur-opera, and mirth at a sermon; I have seen fine nish yourself with other qualifications: you mus: clothes at St James's, and long bills at Ludgatelearn to say ay, or no; to run, or stand; to hill. I have seen poor grandeur, and rich poverfetch, or carry, or leap over a stick, at the word ty; high honours, and low flattery; great pride, of command. You must he master of the arts and no merit. In short, I have seen a fool with of flattery, insinuation, dissimulation, application, a title, a knave with a pension, and an honest man and [Pointing to his palm.]—right application, with a thread-bare coat. Pray, how do you like too, if you hope to succeed. London? best description thou King. You don't consider I am a courtier, methinks. Dick. Not I, indeed; 'tis no concern of mine what you are. If, in general, my character of the court is true, 'tis not my fault if it's disagreeable to your worship. There are particular exceptions, I own, and I hope you may be one King. Nay, I don't want to be flattered; so let that pass. Here's better success to you the next time you come to London"! Dick. I thank ye; but I don't design to see it again in haste. Mil. No, no, Dick; instead of depending upon lords' promises, depend upon the labour of thine own hands; expect nothing but what thou can'st earn, and then thou wilt not be disappoint SCENE I.-Changes to the wood. Enter several keepers. Mil. And is this the King. Why, Richard, you are a satirist, I find. Dick. I love to speak truth, sir; if that happens to be satire, I can't help it. Mil. Well! If this is London, give me my country cottage; which, though it is not a great house, nor a fine house, is my own house; and I can shew a receipt for the building on't. But come, sir, our supper, I believe, is ready for us by this time; and to such as I have, you're welcome as a prince. [Exeunt. King. I thank you. ACT II. 1st Keep. THE report of a gun was somewhere this way, I'm sure. 2d Keep. Yes; but I can never believe that any body would come a deer-stealing so dark a night as this. 3d Keep. Where did the deer harbour to-day? 4th Keep. There was a herd lay upon Hamilton-hill; another, just by Robin Hood's chair; and a third here, in Mansfield wood. 1st Keep. Ay; those they have been amongst! 2d Keep. But we shall never be able to find them to-night, 'tis so dark. 3d Keep. No, no; let's go back again. 1st Keep. Zoons! You're afraid of a broken head, I suppose, if we should find them; and so had rather slink back again. Hark! stand close; I hear them coming this way. Enter the Courtiers. now? Faith, I begin to be afraid we shall meet with some misfortune to-night. 2d Cour. Why, if any body should take what we have got, we have made a fine business of it. 3d Cour. Let them take it, if they will; I am so tired, I shall make but small resistance. [The keepers rush upon them. 2d Keep. Ay; rogues, rascals, and villains! You have got it, have you? 2d Cour. Indeed we've got but very little: : but what we have, you're welcome to, if you will but use us civilly. 1st Keep. O yes! very civilly; you deserve to be used civilly, to be sure. 4th Cour. Why, what have we done that we may not be civilly used? 1st Keep. Come, come, don't trifle; surren1st Cour. I have but three half-crowns about der! 1st Cour. Did not you hear somebody just at all. VOL. III. 1st Keep. Zoons! Ye dogs, do ye think to banter us? I tell ve, you have this night shot one of the king's deer; did not we hear the gun go off? Did not we hear you say, you was afraid it should be taken from you? 2d Cour. We were afraid our money should be taken from us. 1st Keep. Come, come, no more shuffling: I tell ye, you're all rogues, and we'll have you hanged you may depend on't. Come, let's take them to old Cockle's; we're not far off; we'll keep them there all night, and to-morrow morning we'll away with them before the justice. 4th Cour. A very pretty adventure! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Changes to the mill. KING, MILLER, MARGERY, and DICK, at supper. Mil. Come, sir, you must mend a bad supper with a glass of good ale; here's king Harry's health! King. With all my heart. Come, Richard, here's king Harry's health; I hope you are courtier enough to pledge me, are not you? Dick. Yes, yes, sir; I'll drink the king's health with all my heart. Mar. Come, sir, my humble service to you, and much good may do ye with your poor supper: I wish it had been better. King. You need make no apologies. Mar. We are obliged to your goodness in excusing our rudeness. Mil. Prithee, Margery, don't trouble the gentleman with compliments. Mar. Lord, husband, if one had no more manners than you, the gentleman would take us all for hogs. Mil. Now, I think, the more compliments the Jess manners. King. I think so too. Compliments in dis course, I believe, are like ceremonies in religion; the one has destroyed all true piety, and the other all sincerity and plain-dealing. Mil. Then a fig for all ceremony, and compliments, too: give us thy hand; and let us drink and be merry. King. Right, honest miller; let us drink and be merry. Come, have you got e'er a good song? Mil. Ah! my singing days are over; but my man Joe has got an excellent one; and if you have a mind to hear it, I'll cali hun in. King. With all my heart. Mil. Joe! What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks, He cribs, without scruple, from other men's sacks; In this of right noble examples he brags, Or should he endeavour to heap an estate, He eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he's dry, And down when he's weary coutented does lie; Then rises up chearful to work and to sing: If so happy a miller, then who'd be a king? |