What dost thou here?-art like a cursed sprite I was he! Strang. You are the man I seek! Thos. What is 't you want? I can bestow no favours, give no giftsI have not even a stiver for myself! Strang. Nothing I ask; I seek but to confer. Now listen to my words, my noble friend! = I knew a man whose case was like your own; And call himself ill names and beat his breast? Strang. That vow he did not make; Because I know not if his heart had loved. But you may make that vow. Thos. I'll do as thou hast said! give me thy hand! Thou hast performed a friend's part, though a stranger; Witness my vow-witness, thou ancient earth, And thou, more ancient heaven, oh, witness it! All that was mine I will win back to me All I have lost I will again possess― Silver or gold, or love more precious still! All that gave joy and beauty to my life, Shall gladden and adorn it ere its close! Hunger and thirst, and cold, and weariness Shall not oppose me!-through the day I'll toil, And through the night I will lay ceaseless schemes! Here, in the face of my ancestral home, I make this solemn vow!-So help me God! Strang. You have done well. The oath is goodnow keep it! But I must part from you- my road lies hence. Thos. My road lies any way. I'll go with you. Strang. [going forward.] The ground was goodand now the seed is sown Which will produce a harvest for my reaping! [Thomas remains, looking into the valley for a few moments, and then follows him. "Tis bright and warm! These dry pine logs burn cheerily enough; Hissing and crackling, blazing merrily, They are good company and better still, They cost me nothing - do not call for wine, Sauces and dainty meats, and savoury dishes— They live without rich doublets - do not need Gold-hilted swords, nor rings, nor laced cravats, A fire's a good, companionable friend, A comfortable friend, who meets your face With pleasant welcome, makes the poorest shed As cheerful as a palace! Are you cold? He warms you weary? he refreshes you Hungry? he doth prepare your viands for you— Are you in darkness? he gives light to youIn a strange land, his face is that of one Familiar from your childhood - are you poor? What matters it to him? he knows no difference Between an emperor and the poorest beggar! Where is the friend that bears the name of man Will do as much for you? When I was rich, I could have counted out a hundred men, And said, All these would serve me, were there need!" - And any one, or all, had sworn they would; Curse on them! I had my liveried servants in those days; All sorts of meats, and rare elaborate dishes Go to thou hast not lost much by the change! SCENE III. A fine moonlight night.— A lonely field in the extremity of the valley of Torres. Enter Thomas with an ass, he takes off the bridle and turns it lo graze. Thomas. There, thou poor, half-starved, patient There's grass, rare, green grass for thee! eat thy fill, Ah, I remember well- Where wild-briar roses, and lithe honeysuckle Had'st friends, at least thy riches made them for thee-Made a thick bower; 'twas here I used to come, Look at thy sordid frame― look at thy garb — Thomas [A rap is heard at his door. wall Trav. [without.] For God's sake, worthy Christian, give me shelter. Thos. Who are you—and what brings you to this door? Trav. A weary traveller who hath lost his way; I've neither chair nor table, bread nor wine. Thos. A little further on a village lieth; Thos. [carefully opening his door.] First you must Then cross yon woody ridge; the hamlet lies Trav. star, To read sweet books of witching poetry! I will not think this man was once that boy; [He advances into the hollow, "Tis even as then! this bower hath little changed, But hearts have changed since then-and thoughts have changed, And the great purpose of a life hath changed! O'er the old tower; you cannot miss the way. Am I to lodge all weary travellers? If he got shelter, he'd be asking food. [He puts out his fire, and then throws [He stoops to pick it Heavens, it is gold! up. And here is more! bright, shining, glorious gold! out a small bag of gold coin. Let me into the moonlight-gold, gold, gold! Ha! some one comes! [A step is heard approaching. I might have groaned for that poor wretch's groan [He takes off his belt, and then securely fixing Thou shalt be my true breast-plate, [He shrinks into the shade, and lies close But hence! this is no land of safety for me. Man. Now, by your leave, good friend, Who may you be? Thos. A poor night traveller, Who takes up his cheap quarters 'neath the hedges. I have a little liking for your pillow, May'st please you take the farther side o' the bed! Thos. First come, first served-it is a well known adage. Man. Come, come, my friend, these are my ancient quarters; I have a foolish liking for this spot All are alike to you Thos. And will maintain it! I have possession, Man. It shall then be tried! SCENE V. [He goes out. Several years afterwards.—A dark night in a distant country. A field of battle covered with dead. · Enter Thomas of Torres with a small lantern in his hand. Thos. Rings; dagger-sheaths; gold chains and spurs; massy gold embroidery-this is all clear gain -no deduction for agents-no plaguy discount-all net profit! [he gropes among the bodies.] But ha!thou art worth looking after! Come, my young gentleman, I'll be your valet!-Let go your sword. Poor wretch! that was a strong death-grasp! Now [He lays hold on Thomas, and they off with your rings!-one, two, three! I'll lay my struggle together. Ha ha, you thief, then you have got the bag! Thos. I have! Man. You villain! you marauding thief! Man. [within the thicket.] I am a dead man, help! Christ help me! I am murdered! Thos. [rushing out.] He is not! no! Cuffs do not murder men! SCENE IV. life thou wast a coxcomb-a fine blade, with wit as keen as thy sword's edge. [he tears open the pockets.] Empty, empty! I'd be sworn he expended his gold on his outside-I've known such in my day! [He goes forward;—a groan is heard. Thos. Here's life among the dead!-mercy! that sound In this unearthly silence chills my blood. A faint Voice. For the dear love of Christ, be't friend or foe, [He runs off. Make short my death! And thou, bright Isabel! it was for thee I made the solemn vow, which I am keeping; [He gathers up his spoil, and goes slowly off. SCENE VI. A foreign city-A miserable den-like room, surrounded with iron chests, secured with heavy padlocks — the door and windows grated and barred.-Thomas of Torres sitting at a desk, with pen and ink before him. Enter A FINE GENTLEMAN. Gent. Good morrow, most excellent sir! Thos. Humph! Gent. I have the misfortune, sir, to need a thousand gold pieces, and knowing your unimpeachable honour, I have pleasure in asking the loan from you. Thos. Humph! ? [The Gentleman, in great agitation, lays down a bundle of parchments before him. Thos. Well, what of these? Give me the further sum Of twenty thousand pieces on these landsThos. Thirty per cent. for spendthrift heirs, and These parchments will be surety for the whole! Gent. Your rate of interest, sir, is Thos. The jackanapes! Enter A GRIM-LOOKING MAN. Man. He cannot pay, sir; he declares it impossible, and prays you to have patience; -and in the meantime leaves in your hand this casket. Thos. [opening it.] Baubles!-Can't pay!-impossible! I say I will be paid! Man. His ship was lost in the squall- he must sell the furniture of his house to cover your demand, and he prays you to have mercy on his wife and children! Thos. Wife and children! talk not to me of wives and children!-I'll have my money! Man. I tell you, sir, it is impossible, without you seize his goods. Thos. Then take the city bailiff, and get them appraised. Man. I cannot do it, sir!-You shall see him yourself. [aside.] The nether mill-stone is running water compared to his heart! [He goes out. Thos. Twenty thousand gold pieces, and seven months' interest-and give that up because a man has wife and children. Ha! ha! ha! [He resumes his pen, and calculates interest. Enter A GENTLEMAN, with a depressed countenance. Gent. Sir, my misfortunes are unparalleled— My ship was stranded in the squall last week, And now my wife is at the point of death! Thos. [glancing over them.] The lands of Torres ! ha! ha! ha!-and you're —— ? Gent. The lord of Torres. How shall I be sure Of the validity of these same deeds? If so, the signatures of its late lords, No, no, sir; Then pay down Lord of T. "T would be unjust To give away my children's patrimony! Thos. Sir, take your choice. - Resign this petty lordship, Of Torres were a miserable price- Lord of T. So did the last possessor leave it, sir- Lord of T. Forty-one thousand pieces, and five hundred Tis a poor price for the rich lands of Torres ! Thos. I'll give you not an hour!-not e'en a minute! [he stamps on the floor with his foot. Lady. Are these, good sir, the best accommodations? Master. Unless you pay the price of what are better. Lady. [throwing back her veil, and showing a fair but sad countenance] Sir, I have told you more of our distress But for my youngest child, my dying daughter- And 't would have seemed ungracious to refuse her. SCENE VIII. A small chamber in the house of Torres.-Thomas as the lord of Torres, with money-bags on his table. Lord of T. I am the Lord of Torres! that one thought Is with me night and day. The lord of Torres ! [A low rap is heard, and a poor widow enters timidly. Widow. Pardon, my lord: I am an aged widow, Whose children's children's bread depends upon me. I hold a little field, which we have held, The field, to us, is as the staff of life; In my dead husband's time, for forty years. Good tenants have we been, and regular, Never have missed our rent on quarter-day; But now your wealthy neighbour, John o'Nokes, Desires to have the field to add to his - He will be here anon to make his offer; To make a worthy offering to my lord - [She lays a few small silver coins before him, and a gold ring. Lord of T. You shall not be disturbed in your possession! Ten thousand blessings on your noble lordship! [She goes out. Lord of T [testing the ring and coins] They're sterling gold and silver, though the weight Wid. Is small; but every little addeth to the whole. John [bowing very low.] There is a little fielda worthless field, My noble lord, which brings you little profit field. John. My lord, its worth is small to your estate; [He supports the young lady out, and To mine 't is otherwise and she who rents it Is poor, and hath no management of land. the others follow. Thos. Why, yonder is the lady of the pearls - I was a fool to think I e'er should marry- 'Tis well they're gone ;-if they had seen me here, She might have asked for help in her distress, |