No More Learning

You have a boy, good Host,
And he must lead me back.


OSWALD You are most lucky;
I have been waiting in the wood hard by
For a companion--here he comes; our journey
[Enter MARMADUKE]
Lies on your way; accept us as your Guides.


HERBERT Alas! I creep so slowly.


OSWALD Never fear;
We'll not complain of that.


HERBERT My limbs are stiff
And need repose. Could you but wait an hour?


OSWALD Most willingly! --Come, let me lead you in,
And, while you take your rest, think not of us;
We'll stroll into the wood; lean on my arm.


[Conducts HERBERT into the house. Exit MARMADUKE. ]

[Enter Villagers]


OSWALD (to himself, coming out of the Hostel)
I have prepared a most apt Instrument--
The Vagrant must, no doubt, be loitering somewhere
About this ground; she hath a tongue well skilled,
By mingling natural matter of her own
With all the daring fictions I have taught her,
To win belief, such as my plot requires.


[Exit OSWALD. ]

[Enter more Villagers, a Musician among them]


HOST (to them)
Into the court, my Friend, and perch yourself
Aloft upon the elm-tree. Pretty Maids,
Garlands and flowers, and cakes and merry thoughts,
Are here, to send the sun into the west
More speedily than you belike would wish.
SCENE changes to the Wood adjoining the Hostel--

[MARMADUKE and OSWALD entering]


MARMADUKE I would fain hope that we deceive ourselves:
When first I saw him sitting there, alone,
It struck upon my heart I know not how.


OSWALD To-day will clear up all. --You marked a Cottage,
That ragged Dwelling, close beneath a rock
By the brook-side: it is the abode of One,
A Maiden innocent till ensnared by Clifford,
Who soon grew weary of her; but, alas!
What she had seen and suffered turned her brain.
Cast off by her Betrayer, she dwells alone,
Nor moves her hands to any needful work:
She eats her food which every day the peasants
Bring to her hut; and so the Wretch has lived
Ten years; and no one ever heard her voice;
But every night at the first stroke of twelve
She quits her house, and, in the neighbouring Churchyard
Upon the self-same spot, in rain or storm,
She paces out the hour 'twixt twelve and one--
She paces round and round an Infant's grave,
And in the Churchyard sod her feet have worn
A hollow ring; they say it is knee-deep--
Ah! [1] what is here?


[A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as if in sleep--a Child in
her arms. ]


BEGGAR O Gentlemen, I thank you;
I've had the saddest dream that ever troubled
The heart of living creature. --My poor Babe
Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread
When I had none to give him; whereupon,
I put a slip of foxglove in his hand,
Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at once:
When, into one of those same spotted bells
A bee came darting, which the Child with joy
Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear,
And suddenly grew black, as he would die.


MARMADUKE We have no time for this, my babbling Gossip;
Here's what will comfort you.
[Gives her money. ]


BEGGAR The Saints reward you
For this good deed! --Well, Sirs, this passed away;
And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog,
Trotting alone along the beaten road,
Came to my child as by my side he slept
And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden
Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head:
But here he is,
[kissing the Child]
it must have been a dream.


OSWALD When next inclined to sleep, take my advice,
And put your head, good Woman, under cover.


BEGGAR Oh, Sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew
What life is this of ours, how sleep will master
The weary-worn. --You gentlefolk have got
Warm chambers to your wish.