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THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD, AN OPERA, IN TWO ACTS.

AS PERFORMED AT THE ROYAL THEATRES OF DRURY-LANE AND THE HAY-MARKET.

LONDON: PRINTED for the Curious, and NOT Sold by the Bookſellers in general.

M.DCC.XCIV.

[PRICE SIXPENCE.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE,

[]
MEN.
  • Sir Rowland,—Mr, Barrymore.
  • Lord Alford,—Mr. Dignum.
  • Walter (the Carpenter) Mr. Banniſter. jun
  • Oliver, (Servant to Sir Rowland) Mr. Caulfield,
  • 1ſt. Ruſſian,—Mr. Burton.
  • 2d. Ruſſian,—Mr. Cooke.
  • The Boy,—Maſter Menage.
  • Apathy, (the Tutor) Mr. Suet.
  • Servant (to lord Alford) Mr. Maddocks.
  • And Gabriel,—Mr. Benſon.
WOMEN.
  • Joſephine,—Mrs. Bland.
  • Lady Helen,—Miſs. De Camp.
  • Winefred,—Mrs. Hopkins.
  • And The Girl,—Miſs Menage.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

[]

ACT—I.

SCENE—I. A Room in Sir ROWLAND's Caſtle, APATHY diſcovered at a Table, Books, &c. lying before him.

(A Bottle and Glaſſes.)
APATHY.

WHAT a ſet of fools are philoſophers, who adviſe to ſtudy away life for the benefit of poſterity—that is—die while you live, that you may live after you are dead! theſe (ſhewing the book) may do well enough to garniſh the brains of fools, but this (ſhewing the bottle) This is the true feaſt of reaſon.

(Drinks)

As tutor of theſe orphans, I lead a tolerable eaſy life of it—I teach the children idleneſs—that's no difficult matter—I pimp for my patron, their uncle—that's no difficult matter—I find Latin enough to puzzle the parſon of the pariſh—that's no difficult matter—I go into the cellar for an hour or two—that's no difficult matter—come out again—that's no—yes, egad that, ſometimes is a very difficult matter.

(Drinks)
Enter JOSEPHINE.
JOS.

Oh fye Mr. Apathy! What drinking in a morning?

APA.
[4]

Why—my patron bid me plead his paſſion for you, and ſo I was juſt taking a drop to inſpire me.

JOS.

I wonder Sir Rowland will continue his importunities. what can he have to ſay to a poor girl like me?

APA.

So as I—he ſays, he's unhappy, and how a man that has ſuch a cellar as Sir Rowland has, can be unhappy, is to me ſomething very amazing—but have you no feeling?

JOS.

Feeling indeed—don't you remember when poor Walter, the carpenter's houſe was burnt down?

APA.

I have a ſhrewd gueſs that Walter has drill'd a hole through your heart.

JOS.

Don't you remember, I ſay? that inſtead of enquiring after the poor ſufferers by the fire—the firſt queſtion you aſked, was, whether the young ſucking pigs were ſafe? was that feeling?

APA.

No;—that was philoſophy.

JOS.

Philoſophy!

APA.

Yes, my philoſophy! and this is the ſource from whence it ſprings

[ſhews the bottle.]

By eating we arrive at the higheſt preferments of church and ſtate—how do you arrive at the dignity of Lord [5]Mayor? Why you eat your why to it, and by drinking we appro [...]h the gods who never walk'd, they ſlid.—

[gets up ſtaggering.]
JOS.
looking out,

Ha! What do I ſee—my dear Walter!—Mr. Apathy, go to the children—now go.

[puſhes him]
APA.

But what ſhall I ſay to Sir Rowland?

JOS.

Oh! ſay any thing—what you pleaſe—now go.

[puſhes him]
Exit Apathy [reeling]
SONG—JOSEPHINE.
WHEN love gets you faſt hold in her clutches,
And you ſigh for your ſweetheart away;
Old Time cannot move without crutches,
Alack! how he hobbles!—well-a-day!
But when Walter my trembling hand touches,
And love's colourings o'er my cheeks ſtray;
Old Time throws aſide both his crutches,
Alack! how he gallops!—well-a-day!
Enter WALTER.
WAL.

My dear Joſephine—

JOS.

Well, Walter, how do you do?

WAL.

Very well Joſephine, but I ſay it's deviliſh hard to be ſo poor, I, that every body ſays am ſuch an induſtrious clever fellow—now a coffin—I'd make [6]a coffin with e'er an undertaker in Norfolk, and at a bed—why the carpenters' wives ſay, that at a bed I'm the very thing.

Jos.

I ſhould not have thought indeed of your making beds for the carpenter's wives.

WAL.

Ah, Joſephine, I'm making a bed for us, my girl.

SONG—WALTER.
There was Dorothy Dump would mutter and mump,
And cry 'my dear ll'alter, heigho!'
But no ſtep ſhe could take, would my conſtancy ſhake—
For ſhe had a timber toe.
There was Deborah Roſe, with her acquiline noſe,
Who cried 'for you. Walter, I die,'
But I langh'd at each glance, ſhe threw at me aſkance
For ſhe had a gimlet eye.
There was Tabitha Twiſt, had a mind to be kiſs'd,
And made on my heart an attack;
But her love I derided, for ſhe was lopſided,
And curſedly warp'd in the back.
There was Barbara Brian, who always was crying,
'Dear youth. put an end to my woes,'
But to ſave in her head all the tears that was ſhed,
Nature gave her a bottle noſe.
Joſephine came at laſt, to nail my heart faſt,
Fi [...] as oak will I prove to my dear:
And when parſon Fether has tack'd us together,
Some chips of the block may appear.

I tell you what Joſephine, if you don't conſent to run away from the caſtle, I ſhall believe you liſten to Sir Rowland.

Jos.
[7]

Lord! Walter, don't be a fool now—when my dear Lady Elinor went away to meet her huſband, Lord Alford—Joſephine, ſavs ſhe, "the only comfort I have, is, to know you will take as much care of my dear little innocents as a mother"—and while the poor little orphans are at the caſtle, I am determined not to leave it.

WAL.

Ah! Heaven reſt their ſouls, we ſhall never ſee them again at the caſtle.—

Enter SIR ROWLAND, and OLIVER, with two RUFFIANS.
SIR ROWLAND.

Ha! Walter here—Walter, what brought you here?

WAL,

Your honor—why—only a job, Sir.

JOS.

Yes—A job, Sir.

SIR ROW.

A job was it—ſeize that fellow there.

(Ruffians to ſeize Walter)
WAL.

Oh Lord! here's a pretty job!

(children laugh)
SIR ROW.

Silence thoſe brats—and prepare them for a viſit, they muſt pay their goſſips.

[Children again]

Silence them I ſay—

[aside]

Soon, their ſilence ſhall be eternal, my brother being concluded dead, that 'luſtrious orb being ſet in night, ſhall theſe pigmy ſatellites eclipſe me—no—that fellow—

(pointing to Oliver)

I am ſure of —from his eye, remorſe is baniſhed, and unmaſk'd murder low'rs [8]upon his brow—he ſhall diſpatch them while on this ſeeming viſit—but to ſend him alone may breed diſtruſt, were it not good to ply this Walter? —releaſe from preſent fears—the hopes of Joſephine—with with large rewards back'd with tenements and bevy will ſurely ply the conſcience of a hind.

[to Oliver]

—Oliver I have found you a companion for our purpoſe, he ſhall accompany you.

Slave follow to [Walter]

SCENE—II. Another Apartment in the Caſtle, APATHY diſcoſcovered aſleep with Books at his feet, the Children playing about the Room.

Enter JOSEPHINE.

What aſleep, Mr. Apathy?

APA.
[wakes]

'Egad I've had a very comfortable nap, what o'clock is it?

JOS.

Exactly mid-day—the children are going to viſit their godfathers directly.

APA.

Is dinner ready yet?

JOS,

No; it is'nt ordered.

APA.

Not order'd! Oh Lord!—the dinner not ordered —talk to me of the children, and nonſenſe, and dinner not ordered!—here cook. cook.

Exit.
BOY.

Who goes with us to our godfathers?

JOS.
[9]

Oliver, my dear.

BOY.

I won't go with Oliver.

JOS.

Why, my love?

BOY.

Becauſe of what I heard Walter ſay.

JOS.

What was that?

BOY.

Why, that Oliver was a damn'd black-looking raſcal,

JOS.

Heavens! my dear, I ſhall ſcould Walter for ſaying ſuch words before you.

GIRL.

I know you won't, though you ſay ſo.

JOS.

Why, my dear?

GIRL.

Becauſe of what I heard you ſay laſt night.—

JOS.

I don't recollect it—What was it?

GIRL.

Why, you cried out in the middle of your ſleep, Oh Walter how I love you—and I know it's true becauſe you bluſh ſo.

JOS.

Oh! you little tell-tale—

(to the boy)

Have you forgot that ſong I learnt you the other day!

BOY.
[10]

No—I'll try to ſing it, if you will help me.

DUET—JOSEPHINE. and BOY.
Joſephine.—
Young Simon in his lovely Sue,
Beheld her darling treaſure.
BOY.—
Yo [...]ng Simon in his lovely Sue,
Beheld a darling treaſure.
JOS.—
The toilſome day before him flew,
For love makes labour pleaſure.
BOY.—
The toilſome day before him ſlew,
For toil makes love a pleaſure.
JOS.—
Oh! fye dear boy, can't you diſcern,
'Tis love makes labour pleaſure.
BOY.—
Oh! yes, dear girl, I ſoon ſha I learn,
That love makes labour pleaſure.
JOS.—
Oh fie!
BOY.—
Oh! yes.
JOS.—
Dear Boy.
BOY.—
Dear girl.
JOS.—
Oh! fie, you can't diſoern,
BOY.—
Oh! yes, dear girl, I ſoon ſhall learn,
That love makes labour pleaſure.
But I am loth to ſour ſweet muſic's ſtrain,
Shall we begin?
JOS.—
Yes.
BOY.—
We will begin again!
[Repeat over again both together]
GIRL.

Have you finiſhed your ſong?

BOY.

Yes.

GIRL.
[11]

I'm glad of it—an't you my darling.

to her doll

Time way—

SIR ROWLAND. (without)
[...]

[...] run away [...] of him dear [...]

[...]

[...].

Exeunt.
Enter SIR ROWLAND, ſollowea by WALTER.
WAL.

What—your honor?

SIR ROW.

Murder the children—that's my reſolve—the reward.—Joſephine.

WAL.

Murder innocents—Tempt me in the form of an angel, to do the [...]ct of a devil.

(aside)

—Damme, I have a great mind to thiottle him

(aside)

Eh— ſtop—ſuppoſe I only ſeemingly conſent, and then if I can but ſave them—the very thought makes me cry for joy.

SIR ROW.

What! whimpering, fool!

WAL.

Conſider your honor—I'm not much uſed to butcher children, its rather out of my line.

SIR ROW.

What's your determination?

WAL.
[12]

But then to be ſcorned—

SIR ROW.

Look through the world—where points ſcorn his finger at ermin'd guilt?—no, at houſeleſs merit. It is not levelled at the wealthy cheat, but at ragged honeſty—be wiſe—be wiſe.

WAL.

Why, to be ſure, as your honor ſays—but my honor.—

SIR ROW.

Honor?—that's a tinſel toy—Wiſe men plate it o'er with gold, that gives the worthleſs metal currency, and brings wealth to the holder of it— think of that.

WAL.

Why—indeed that's very true again—very true. —Oh! the Devil damn him—

[aside]

Well then, your honor, I conſent, and if I don't,—

SIR ROW.

Huſh! take this ſword—but firſt ſwear.

WAL.

Oh, your honor, I never ſwear—never ſwear.

SIR ROW.

No trifling, fool, but ſwear—when next we meet this ſword ſhall be ſheath'd with blood.

WAL.
takes the ſword.

Well, for once I will ſwear—By all my hopes of mercy hereafter—it ſhall be ſheathed in blood.

SIR ROW.

Oliver will accompany you.

WAL.

Zounds! that blood-thirſty villain.—You had better let me do it myſelf, your honor

SIR ROW.
[13]

Silence—follow.

Exit Sir Rowland and Walter.

SCENE—III. Another Apartment in the Castle.

Enter JOSEPHINE and the two CHILDREN.

Come, my dears—which of you will have your mama's picture.

BOY.

I will.

GIRL.

I'm ſure I ought to have it—I'm a very funny little girl, and ought to be made a pet of.

JOS.

She was an elegant woman.

GIRL.

And every body ſays I'm very much like her.

JOS.
[looking out,]

Ha! Walter in earneſt converſation with Sir Rowland!

Enter WALER with a ſword on.
WAL.

Oh Joſephine!—I've ſuch news to tell you, as will make your hair ſtand on end—I am in high favor with Sir Rowland—and am to go with the children to their godfathers.

CHILDREN.
[14]

I'm glad Walter is to go with us.

WAL.

Aye, and what do you think, Joſephine? Oh! do you know that—Oh!—um—

Enter SIR ROWLAND with OLIVER.
SIR ROW.

Well, my little cherubs—what, delighted with your walk?

BOY and GIRL.

Oh! yes, uncle.

(Sir Rowland retires up the ſtage)
JOS.
(Aside to Walter.)

Why, Walter, you have got on your ſword.

WAL.

A ſword—have I—

[confuſed]

Why yes, it is a bit of a kind of a ſword, as you ſay, to be ſure— but—

SIR ROWLAND
comes down.

Well, take your leave of Joſephine.

CHILDREN.

Come kiſs us, Joſephine—good bye dear Joſephine —don't cry—we'll ſoon come back again— ſhan't we uncle?

SIR ROW.
[15]

Certainly ſweetlings—Farewell! and Heaven take you to its care.

WALTER
(aside)

(Amen! ſay I)—come.

Exit Oliver firſt.

Walter following with the children, one in each hand.

JOS.

I ſhall be glad when they come back again—I can't bear melancholy.

SIR ROW.

Then, why love to inflict it?

JOS.

Sir, I wonder you can think of a poor girl like me—beſides were your paſſions ſuch as with honor I could liſten to, —I could never love you.

SIR ROW.

Mark, Joſephine, tho' gratitude is dead in you— fear, I perceive ſtill exiſts, and what has hitherto been entreaty, ſhall now be force.

AIR—JOSEPHINE and APATHY.
Enter APATHY, with a Bill of Fare,
Joſephine.—
Great ſir, conſider my honor is ſteady,
Apathy.—
Great ſir, conſider the dinner is ready.
Joſ.
[16]
An humble domeſtic is not worth your care.
Apa
Dear ſir, give me leave to preſent the bill of fare,
Joſ.
Take a lady with honor, if handſome and young.
Dreſs'd in bodice ſo fine, and in kirtle ſo taſty.
But ah! ſir, beware of jealouſy,
Or elſe you will prove by your care,
Your love is to hot,
My fume you would blot,
And believe me great ſir, to my honor I'm ſteady,
And believe me great ſir the dinner is ready.
Apa.
Here's tongue and mutton,
What a feaſt for a glutton,
With bittern, and quails, and a veniſon paſty, and muſtard.
A Gooſe and a buſtard,—
The mutton o'er boil'd,
And the pig will be ſpoil'd.
Believe me, &c.
Exit Sir Rowland, Apathy,
Exit and Joſephine.

SCENE—IV. A WOOD, AND CUT WOOD.

Enter OLIVER thro' Cut Wood, he beckons to WALTER, who comes forward with the Children.
BOY to WALTER.
It's a long way, Walter, to our godfather's.
Yes, dreary it is—
[Aside to boy]
OLIV.

I ſay Walter—this place will do delightfully!

WAL.
[17]

Nay! I don't much like this place—let's find ſome other.

OLIV.

I ſay this place will do—and ſhall be the place.

WAL.
[Aside]

Shall it, —There, little dears, go and play there—while I talk to Oliver a bit.

(Children go to play at the bock)

I ſay, Oliver, you have one failing.

OLIV.

Aye!—what is it?

WAL.

Why you are too tender hearted.

OLIV.

Am I?

WAL.

Now I am, you know, ſuch a blood-thirſty raſcal; that I could murder for amuſement, therefore, I ſay, Oliver, ſuppoſe you leave this job to me.

OLIV

What, you'll diſpatch them, will you?

WAL.
[18]

Yes, to be ſure on't—ſo my dear fellow—you may go back to the caſtle—get the reward, and leave them to me—go.

Endeavouring to urge him.
OLIV.

Why, muſt not you think me a pretty ſcoundrel?

WAL.
Aſide

Why—I do for that matter.

OLIV.

To receive money for doing a bit of work and not compleating it.

WAL.

I ſay, Oliver, ſuppoſe—

OLIV.

Suppoſe, what?

WAL.

Why—ſuppoſe—ſuppoſe we were juſt to ſave 'em, Oliver.

OLIV.

Save 'em, eh!

WAL.
[19]

Me ſave 'em—Eh—what you—you will, —eh? Aye, you wiſh it—and I conſent, how pity becomes you, Oliver?

aside

how ſavage he looks!

OLIVER
impatiently

Why ſhould we ſave 'em?

WAL.

Why, to be ſure, there are two or three trifling reaſons—firſt, it is'n't very manly to murder innocents —next, we ſhall be damn'd for it—and—

OLIV.

Why an't you a pretty raſcal?

WAL.

Well, Oliver, you muſt conſent to ſave e'm! look at 'em poor little dears! Ah! I perceive a tear ſtanding in the corner of your eye

[wiping one from his own.]
OLIVER
Draws his ſword.

I am determined ſo—

going to croſs to the children. Walter ſtops him—the children frightened, come down and kneel to Walter.
CHILDREN.

Oh! Walter ſave us!

WAL.

Stop, Oliver; only two words more.

OLIV.

Well.

WAL.
[20]

Look at them—have you a heart hard enough to kill 'em?

OLIV.

I have.

WAL.

Why then, have you an arm ſtrong enough to fell me down, you damn'd dog?

(Walter draws his ſword directly)
OLIV.

Fell you?

WAL,

Yes, for you muſt do that before you ſhall touch a hair of their heads.

OLIV.

Indeed! we'll try that.

They fight, Oliver gains ground upon Walter, and ſtrikes his ſword out of his hand—the girl runs and picks up Walter's ſword, gives it to him, juſt as Oliver is aiming to run him through the body—Walter renews the fight, and kills Oliver—off.
Re-enter Walter with his Sword and Hand Bloody.
WAL.

Damme, I did'nt think I had ſo much pluck in me—there he lies—come forth my little tremblers, I am your champion.

CHILDREN.
[21]

Have you kill'd Oliver?

WAL.

Dead as a door nail!

BOY.

Go kill him again—ſuch a raſcal as he cannot be too dead.

GIRL.

Walter your hand is all bloody—come I'll kiſe it, and make it well—

BOY.

Shall we return to our uncle's, Walter?

WAL.

Alas! poor dears, you have no home—let me conſider what's beſt to be done—I'll return to that raſcal their uncle, get the reward and Joſephine, and ſteal ſomething from the buttery—then we'll go far enough out of the reach of that villain—I ſay, dears, I'll go and bring Joſephine to you, will ſtay here till I come back?

BOY.

We'll do any thing that Walter bids us.

WAL.

I'll ſoon come back—ſee here's a nice arbour, and here's my cloak to ſit down upon—and here are victuals—now don't ſtir from this ſpot, I charge you—Good bye, I won't be long.

Exit Walter.
BOY.
[22]

Look ſiſter what quantities of blackberries and nuts there are in that buſh, let's go, pluck them.

GIRL,

we can ſoon find the place out again, and they are better than the beef and manchets, Walter le [...]t us.

DUET— Accompanied by a Flagolet.
SEE brother! ſee on yonder bough
The robin ſits! hark hear it now!
Liſten brother to the note,
From pretty Robin red-breaſt's throat—
Sweeteſt bird that ever flew,
Whiſtle Robin, loodle loo!
As the Curtain drops they retire hand in hand up the Stage.
END OF FIRST ACT.

ACT—II.

SCENE—I.

Enter SIR ROWLAND, followed by a Servant.
SIR ROW.

TO ſpeak with me! if its Oliver or Walter! Heaven foreſend any ill ſhould come to my children.

SERV.

I never ſaw this man before, Sir; he ſays his buſineſs is urgent.

SIR ROW.
[23]

Admit him.

[Exit Servant]

who can it be!

Enter GABRIEL, (Drunk)
SIR ROWL

Ha! my brother's ſervant—ſhould he be alive.

[Aside]

Gabriel I am glad to ſee you.

GAB.

The joy is mutual your honor, but your honor looks a little pate, your countenance has'n't that roſy appearance mine has.

SIR ROW.

Grief, Gabriel.

GAB.

True, your honor—grief brings on drinking, and then what is man?—O never drink, your honor—never drink!

SIR ROW.

Now to know my fate—

[aſide]

I ſhall ſoon meet my brother, where grief cannot come.

GAB.

True you'll meet very ſoon.

SIR ROW.

All's ſafe I find

(aside)

where are my brother's ſad remains?

GAB.

Remains—Oh he remains but a little way off, your honor.

SIR ROW.
[24]

This drunken guiſe, little becomes your mournful errand.

GAB.

Why, you ſee you honor, I was ſent before to get every thing in readineſs, but living on ſalt proviſions at Sea, gave me ſuch a confounded thirſt, that I was forced to ſtop every mile, to moiſten my mouth with a quart of ale; ſo on my ſecond day's journey, my maſter overtakes me—ſo ſays he—ſays he—Gabriel—ſays he,—

SIR ROW.

Say! who ſay?—

GAB.

My maſter, your honor—Gabriel, ſays he, I diſcharge you—but my ſweet miſtreſs cried, I might ſtay, for ſays ſhe, if ever we part with Gabriel, we ſhall looſe the only ſober ſervant we have got—ſo my maſter only gave me a kick, and ſet me forwards again.

SIR ROW.

Idiot!—wretch he's dead.

GAB.

Dead, is he? I could ſhew you the mark he made with his foot, and if you call that a blow for a dead man to give—why, however, if you won't credit the mark of his ſoot, here's the mark of his hand.

(Shews a letter, Sir Rowland ſnatches the letter)
SIR ROW.

Damnation!

GAB.
[25]

Damnation—A comical way of expreſſing joy— your brother arrived ſays I—damnation ſays he —but I hope your honor has taken care of the children?

SIR ROW.

Aye, aye—they're taken care of.

GAB.

If that curſed thirſt had not ſeized me, I would have been here yeſterday.

SIR ROW.

Oh! had you come but yeſterday—begone, leave me, drunkard.

GAB.

Yes, your honor, I'll go to the cellar, for I feel a kind of dryneſs on my palate—yet your brother and his lady will ſoon be here your honor—they are not far behind me. I have a notion I did'nt come here quite ſtaight, your honor.

Exit reeling.
SIR ROW.

Confuſion! ruin! yet if the hand of Heaven has been ſtretch'd forth to ſave the innocent, if the children live.

Enter WALTER with caution, ſay quick.—
(WALTER draws his Sword and ſhews it Bloody)
SIR ROW.

It is concluded—where's Oliver?

WAL.

Gone—Heav'n knows whither—I have fulfilled my oath—juſt mention the reward your honour, the prize of angels, your honor—Joſephine your honor—the—

SIR ROW.

Wretch! Murderer! avoid me—take my curſes —ſuch ever be the reward of villainy.

WAL.

So ſay I.

[aside]

But your honor conſider I kill'd—

SIR ROW.

Dare but to name the [...]ou [...] act, and by hell thou ſhalt be rewarded—a [...]al [...]r v [...]lain—go from their [26]haunts of men and devour thy heart in miſery and contempt.

WAL.

I ſhould be a devil of a fool to do that, make a companion of my conſcience, does your honor find your's ſo pleaſant a one?

SIR ROW.

I cave me fellow—

(putting his hand on his ſword.)
WAL.

I go—I'm gone, Sir—Heigo!

(putting his hand [...] h [...]art)

What now he'd give to do this—now to [...] ſomething from the buttery—endeavour to find Joſephine—and away again to the children —Oh ſier and fome—They ſay vi [...]ains inflict [...]ery on their fellow creatures—but I think they [...] make none ſo miſerable as they make themſelves.

Exit.
SIR ROW.

Loſt beyond hope—how ſhall I act—How— how! but on—my purpoſe was, my brother's family ſhould [...]t in Heaven, and it ſhall be acc [...]ſhed—I'll chaunt my coffers, and to ſome t [...]i [...]leſs raſcal. throw down the dazzling ore, and while their ternes are riſled by the damning dear delation. I'll lead them to deſtroy this hated brother—Forture continue dull and blind—now for happineſs or perdition.

Exit.

SCENE—II. A WOOD.

Inter Children.
BOY
ſupporting the GIRL.

How do you do, ſiſter:

GIRL.

Very [...] and very hungry—I could eat ſome of [...]he meat Walter left us.

BOY.
BOY.

I w [...] we [...] the place—let us try to [...].

GIRL

[...] I'm ſo ſleepy—and [...] brother. [...] may [...] picture [...], and [27]ſhould ſleep a long while, I ſhould go where my mamma is—ſo ſhe [...]l know us [...] the picture

[...] the picture, and then gives [...] it in her boſom. [...]. [...] app [...]a [...] [...] and [...]ing together.
BOY.

Are you frighten'd, ſiſter?

GIRL.

No—not much.

(Trending)
BOY.

Look yonder's a place to hie us—for ſure the thunder can't ſhoot us there.—Come ſiſter.

GIRL.

I can't walk—indeed I can't—I'm ſo ſick— Don't cry, brother.

BOY.

I don't cry.

(Thunder)

do try to walk a I it— there—ſee, I'll help you—very well—very well.

(Thunder and rain)
Exit Boy, ſupporting the Girl.

SCENE—III. Another part of the [...]ood.

Enter WALTER. with a Baſket, Cloak on.

Zounds, what a peppering ſtorm—ſweet ſouls how glad they'll be to ſee me—The cunning rogues have got under the cloak—and I dare ſay have got faſt aſlcep—

sets down the baſket on the cloak, is alarmed at not ſeeing them—(runs to the front of the ſtage)

Gone, murder, murder—Oh! they have hid themſelves to frighten me. I ſee you, I ſee you—you may as well come, I ſee you—

(pauſes)

—They're gone! I can never ſleep more— Ha! the print of a foot—

purſues the ſtep and Exit.
(Re-enters greatly alarmed at not ſinding them)

What the devil do I ſtand here for? I'll roar myſelf dumb—I'll hollo!—Hollo!

Runs off.

SCENE—IV, A ROAD.

Enter Sir Rowland maſk'd. and two Ruffians, arm'd.
SIR ROW.

Look out.

1ſt. RUFFIAN.

The travelers have gain'd the hills, and are diſmounted.

'Tis well—behind that thicket wait their approach —be firm—here's encouragement.

(Gives him a purſe)

This way—this way.

Exit
[28] Enter Lord and Lady ALFORD, with Servant.
LORD ALFORD.

Thou art weary Helen,

LADY.

In truth, moſt [...]dly, but let us on.

LORD,

No—here reſt a while, this place is moſt dear to my r [...]m [...]mbrance, when my good falcon urged on his quarty to this foreſt's ve [...]ge, reclined beneath this aged oak, I first [...]aw thee, my Helen.

LADY

Ah! theſe times my Alford, what were then our hopes and fears, the remembrance is ſtrong within me ſtill.

SONG, LADY ALFORD.
Mark the true teſt of paſſion, where a lover is nigh,
It's hue is the roſe, its language a ſigh;
But where doubts interfere, and no lover is nigh,
When its hue is a [...]illy, its language a ſigh.

But look my lord, this avenue diſplays your caſtle's ſtubborn turrets. The weſtern tower contains our lovely children—Oh how ſweetly fancy paſſing the bounds of viſion, picture to me my babes—At great nature's bidding, ſtretching forth their little hands to claſp their mother—the thought's rapture—On—on—my dear lord, you never ſaw the youngeſt—indeed he's moſt like you, the image of my Alford—pardon theſe fooliſh tears, they are a mothers joy.

SERVANT.
(looking out.)

Maſter—defend yourſelf

Alford puts his lady behind him. [Ruffians ruſh on him, and his Servant, from one of the Ruffians, with Sir Rowland attack Alford, the other attacks the Servant, and is beat off.
Then enter WALTER, from the Wood.
WAL.

What two to one!—

Attacks Sir Rowland, wounds him, and drives the Ruffian off. Alford retires into the wood with lady. The two Ruffians enter, ſupporting Sir Rowland.
1ſt. RUFFIAN.

Are you hurt, Sir?

SIR ROW.
[29]

Never heed that—Have you ſucceeded?

1ſt. RUFF.

No, ſir, the travellers eſcaped in the wood.

SIR ROW.

Providence, I thank thee!

1ſt. RUF.

Shall we purſue them?

SIR ROW.

No—on your ſouls, forbear—convey me to the caſtle.

1ſt. RUF.

Shall I fly for aſſiſtance?

SIR ROW.

No—I'll none—do as I order'd you.

Exit.
[Ruffians ſupporting him.]
Enter WALTER.
WAL.

What the devil does all this mean—where are the people l've been fighting for—or where are the people l've been fighting with—I'm pretty ſure I've drill'd one of them—Damm [...], now my hand's in, I ſhall be killing a man every day, I ſuppoſe— But theſe poor children—I'm almoſt mad—night coming on too—Ha!—Another Ruffian—I'll ſoon do his buſineſs.

[Runs off, as if in purſuit.]

SCENE—V. A WOOD.
Moonlight, lamps down, Banks on—and Children diſcover d, ſeeming dead, folded in each others arms, on the Bank, with leaves ſtrew'd over them.

Enter Lord and Lady ALFORD. from the top of the Stage. Lord ſupporting Lady.
LORD.

Courage, my Helen.

HELEN.

I'm wonderous faint.

LORD.

Droop not, my love—we are ſafe—here we'll remain to-night.

HELEN.

'Twas moſt ſtrange—ſpoil was not their aim, but blood—a thouſand fears preſs on me—the vigor'd ruffian had an air me thought of.

LORD.
[30]

Deareſt love, calm thy troubled mind—reſt on that verdant bank.

(Helen retires on the bank.

My ſervants, e'er this have gain'd the caſtle—I'm ſure my brother's anxious care will find us e'er the morning.

AIR—LORD ALFORD.
WHEN firſt to Helen's lute
I ſung, as ſhe play'd to me,
How came theſe then to ſhoot
A thrilling ſenſe all thro' me?
O! 'twas love, 'twas love!
In my eyes it gliſten'd:
'Twould inſpire a brute
To ſing if Helen liſten'd—
O! my love, my love!
Why call I with delight
This ditty's plantive numbers,
To wrap my fair in night.
And ſooth my Helen's ſlumbers?
O! 'tis love, 'tis love;
Lullaby, my deareſt
Care from thee take flight,
And peace thy heart be neareſt!
O! my love, my love!

She ſleeps—I'll forth, and under covert of the friendly ſhade, de [...]ry if danger be aloft.

(Advances where the children are, ſtarts at ſeeing them)

Heavenly powers, what's here! two infant's! cold e'en to death! poor wretched babes.—poor wretched parents —what pangs muſt rend their hearts—How ſhall I thank thee Heaven, for giving mine, a brother's foſtering care.

[Takes the girl in his arms]

Cold and breathleſs!

Hold—life ſeems newly ebb'd— [put's his hand on her breaſt, pulls out the picture, comes forward, and looking on it, exclaims!

Merciful powers! my own children!

[Helen alarmed, awakes]
HELEN.

My Alford!

[Advances and ſnatches the picture from him, on looking on it, ſhrieks, falls on the bank and embraces the boy]

My child—my child! my darling boy [...]!

[takes him in her arms—Alford takes up the girl.]

How is my girl?

LORD.
[31]

She will recover.

HELEN

How came they here? but let's away.

LORD.

—At the eaſtern exremity of this foreſt, ſtands an humble cottage—there we'll haſten—thy feeble arms cannot ſuſtain.

HEEN,

Away—away—under my own diſaſters I might droop—but a mother's fears have amagozonian ſtrength—away, my lord.

SCENE—VI. Inſide of Walter's houſe, door open.

Enter Jofephine, Winifred, and a female Servant. Winifred and Servant being at a Table, on which is placed wooden Trenchers, A roaſt fowl, knives and forks, &c. Lamps up.
WINIFRED.
Speaking as ſhe enters

I thought ſo—well, and ſo—

Jos.

And ſo, goody, a ſervant came to the caſtle, and Sir Rowland order'd him to be confined in the dark tower, and do you know old King ſays it is a ſervant of Lord Alford.

WIN.

I thought ſo—well, and ſ—

Jos.

Why, then Sir Rowland went out diſguiſed with four men—and in the confuſion I ſtep'd out— but goody—where's Walter?

WIN.

Oh! Heaven knows whether we ſhall ever ſee the dear boy again.

Jos.

Oh dear you frighten the—why goody—

WIN.

Why do you know, I ſaw a ſpider crawl up the fide of the chimney, and the horſe-ſhoe was laſt night taken off the door,

WALTER.
without

Hallo!

[32] Enter Walter, at door, and ſhuts it after him.
JOS.

Here is Walter.

WIN.

I thought ſo.

Waſted in extreme dejection—pale—and takes a chair— brings it forward—and ſits down.
WIN.
looking at him.

Why, child, what's the matter?—have you ſeen a ghoſt? Sit croſs leg'd my dear boy.

WAL.

There—will that pleaſe you?

[Joſephine taps him on the ſhoulder. he jumps up alarmed]

Ah! Joſephine is it you?

JOS.

Well, Walter, where did you leave the children?

WAL.

Under a tree, and told them to ſtay there till I—

JOS.

Under a tree! Oh! in the Gentleman's garden.

WAL.

No. no.

(recollecting)

Yes, yes, where elſe ſhould I leave them—For a wood where they might be ſtarv'd?

JOS.

No—that I'm ſure you wou'dn't.

WAL.

I never was afraid of Goblins—but to night I though [...] every tree a ghoſt—and took old Jowler for the Devil.

WIN.

Ay, ay, old Tab did not ſcratch under her ear for nothing—a ſure ſign that ſomebody will be hang'd.

WAL.

Damn old Tab.

JOS.

Aye, Walter, you have been drinking.

WAL.

My own tears then.

(aside)
WIN.
[33]

But come, here's a capon for your ſupper.

WAL.

Oh, if the dear children had that capon.

JOS.

Lord! Walter why they have plenty.

WAL.

Plenty have they!

[ [...] ring]

to be ſure I know that as well as you, Joſephine.

JOS.

Had I known how cros you would have been, I would not have come.

(rought)
WAL.

I beg your pardon. Joſephine—don't cry my girl; I'm almoſt mad

sits down side of the table—knocks over the fall.
WIN.
Sitting behind the table.

Oh! he's ſpilt the ſalt

(throw ſome over her ſhoulder)

And I ſee here's a winding ſheet in the candle.

WAL.

Damn it mother don't frighten me ſo—Joſephine, my dear girl, ſing me a ſong.

JOS.

I'll ſing you what I bought of the old blind pedlar who paſſed by this morning—Its intitled and call d, the Norfolk tragedy, ſhewing how the ghoſt of a murder'd babe.

WAL.

No—do—don't ſing that.

WIN.

Yes, yes, ſing it, Joſephine.

JOSEPHINE—SINGS.
A Yeoman of no mean degree,
For thirſt of gain, and lucre, he
A pretty babe did murder ſtrait,
By reaſon of its large eſtate.
[34]To vex him to his heart's content,
To him he murder'd [...] ſent;
Full [...] appear'd [...] c [...]n [...]le flame,
And a knocking at [...] window came.
His con [...]erence [...] him.
And made him tremble every limb;
With that the ghoſt began to roar,
And ſtrait way but ſted ope the door.
End of 2d. verſe, a knock without at window. All start up from table greatly alarm'd.
JOS.

Walter—why do you tremble, are you frighten'd?

WAL.

Me frighten'd—bleſs your ſoul—nonſenſe.go on.

JOS. Sings 3d. verſe, at the end of which a knocking at the door without. They all start, the door is burst open, Winifred and Joſephine retire greatly alarmed. Walter remains near the table, fearing to look towards.
WAL.

Mother, mother, mother; don't leave me.

Enter LORD and LADY AITORD, the and two
Children.

What, alive, Oh Lord! oh lord! oh lord!—

children run to Walters, he fal [...]s on his knees, huggs and kiſſes them.]

What, my honored lord, and lady too! Oh! 'tis to much.—Joſephine, come here, down on your knees.

HELEN
My faithful girl, explain theſe wonders?—
I can't, my lady, —Walter can.
WAL.

The— I know nothing, yes, I know every thing; you ſee, my lord, —your brother, aye, you little rogue to run away, —and ſo ſo my lord, your brother ſent, and I—my lord, —I, —I, cannot tell you not—

[kiſſing the children.]
GIRL.

I'm very hungry.

WAL.

Hungry are you!

[then ſnatches them up, cuts fowl and helps them with great joy]
APATHY
[35]
with [...]ut.
Let none pa [...]
[...] with conſtables.]
Seize [...]hat murdurer of innocents.
[Walter laughs]
Do you laugh, you murderer.
WAL.

Laugh! look there.

(ſheaving the children.)
APA.

Eleſs my ſoul! there they are at ſupper; a ca, pon. I declare; vert pretty eating, I could like to pick a bit.—Oh! my lord your brother is dying —he has confeſs'd he employed Oliver, and Walter, to murder your children.

WAL,

True; I kill'd Oliver.

LORD

My gallant fellow.

APA.

He then plann'd your deſtruction.

LORD.

A curs'd ambition, wretched brother.

APA.

And went out with armed ruffians to attack you.

HELEN.

But heaven, ſent an unknown friend to ſave us. Walter could'ſt thou but find him.

WAL.

Why, my lady, I could find him, I believe,

(with modest hesitation)
HELEN

Sure that look, —you protected us.

WAL.

I believe I did.

HELEN

My preſerver!

LORD.

My friend!

WAL.

Dear, my lord, ſweet dear lady! don't kill me with kindneſs, I can't [...]ear it I'm too happy— [...] ill g [...]t [...]en wealth do this?

HELEN
[36]

Name ſome reward.

WAL.

A treaſure!

LORD.

If India can produce it, it is yours.

WAL,

My lord, you need not go ſo far, there's the treaſure I want; give, give me, my little Joſephine, and I am happy.

HELEN.

My deareſt girl—receive from my hand your faithful Walter, and it ſhall be my ſtudy to reward his ſervices.

WAL.

Madam I'll ſerve you with my lateſt breath! but I truſt the children in the wood will, to night, find better friends than poor Walter the carpenter.

FINALE.
Solo Wal.
Have I ſav'd this girl and boy?
Is't ſo underſtood, Sirs?
May I hollow, now for joy?
Are we out of the wood, Sirs?
Have I ſaved, &c.
Solo Apa.
Providence has ſmiled on me,
Happy I, as may be;
A father here—at either knee,
A roſy dimpl'd baby.
Have we ſaved, &c.
Solo Helen
Fulleſt mine of mother's bliſs,
Fuller nought can make it;
Since all to-night who witneſs this.
Seem kindly to partake it.
Solo Jos.
Now my Walter, I ſhall wed,
Gay my heart, and light, Sirs—
Solo Wal.
And! my girl, have made a bed,
To fit us right and tight, Sirs—
We have ſaved, &c,
FINIS.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5452 The children in the wood an opera in two acts as performed at the Royal Theatres of Drury Lane and the Hay Market. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5FDB-4