_Eust._ Why, how now, ho!--nothing but noise and babble!

Whither away so fast? Stand, rogues, and speak!

_3 Cit._ Whither away? Marry! we would away from famine: we are for the Governor's, to force the keys of the town.

_Eust._ There roar'd the wrathful mouse! You squeaking braggart, Whom hunger has made vent'rous, who would thrust Your starveling nose out to the cat's fell gripe, That watches round the cranny you lie snug in, Nibble your sc.r.a.ps; be thankful, and keep quiet.

Thou rail on hunger! why, 'twas hunger bore thee; 'Twas hunger rear'd thee; fixing, in thy cradle, Her meagre stamp upon thy weazel visage; And, from a child, that half starved face of thine Has given full meals the lie. When thou dost eat, Thou dost digest consumption: thou'rt of those kine Thou wouldst e'en swallow up thy brethren, here, And still look lean. What! fellow citizens, Trust you this thing? Can skin and bones mislead you?

If we must suffer, suffer patiently.

Did I e'er grumble, mongrels? What am I?

_3 Cit._ You! why, Eustache de St. Pierre you are; one of the sourest old crabs of all the citizens of Calais; and, if reviling your neighbours be a sign of ill will to one's country, and ill will to one's country a sign of good will to strangers, why a man might go near to think you are a friend to the English.

_Eust._ I honour them.

They are our enemy--a gallant enemy; A biting, but a blunt, straight-forward foe: Who, when we weave our subtle webs of state, And spin fine stratagems to entangle them, Come to our doors, and pull the work to pieces; Dispute it fist to fist, and score their arguments Upon our politic pates. Remember Cressy!-- We've reason to remember it--they thump'd us, And soundly, there:--'tis but some few months, back;-- There, in the bowels of our land--at Cressy-- They so bechopp'd us with their English logic.

That our French heads ached sorely for it:--thence, Marching through Picardy, to Calais here, They have engirded us; fix'd the dull tourniquet Of war upon our town; constraining, thus, The life blood of our commerce, with fair France, Of whom we are a limb; and all this openly:-- And, therefore, as an open foe, who think And strike in the same breath, I do esteem Their valour, and their plainness.

I view them with a most respectful hatred.

Much may be learnt from these same Englishmen.

_4 Cit._ Ay, pr'ythee, what? Hunger and hard blows seem all we are like to get from them.

_Eust._ Courage; which you may have--'twas never tried tho'; Patience, to bear the buffets of the times.

Ye cannot wait till Fortune turns her wheel: You'll to the Governor's, and get the keys!

And what would your wise worships do with them?

Eat them, mayhap, for ye have ostrich stomachs; Ye dare not use them otherwise.--Home! home!

And pray for better luck.

[_The CITIZENS exeunt severally. An OLD MAN, alone, remains in the Back of the Scene._

Fie, I am faint With railing on the cormorants. Three days, And not break bread--'tis somewhat. There's not one Among these trencher-sc.r.a.ping knaves, that yet Has kept a twenty hours' lent;--I know it; Yet how they crave! I've here, by strong entreaty, And a round sum, (entreaty's weak without it,) E'en just enough to make dame Nature wrestle Another round with famine. Out, provision!

[_Takes off his Wallet._

_Old Man._ [_Coming forward._] O, Heaven!

_Eust._ Who bid thee bless the meat?--How now old grey beard!

What cause hast thou----

_Old Man._ I have a daughter--

_Eust._ Hungry, I warrant.

_Old Man._ Dying!

The blessing of my age:--I could bear all;-- But for my child;--my dear, dear child!--to lose her To lose her thus!--to see disease so wear her!-- And when a little nourishment----She's starving!

_Eust._ Go on;--no tears;--I hate them.

_Old Man._ She has had no nourishment these four days.

_Eust._ [_Affected._] Death! and--well?

_Old Man._ I care not for myself;--I should soon go, In nature's course;--but my poor darling child!

Who fifteen years has been my prop--to see her Thus wrested from me! then, to hear her bless me; And see her wasting!----

_Eust._ Peace! peace!

I have not ate, old man, since--Pshaw! the wind Affects my eyes--but yet I--'Sdeath! what ails me?

I have no appet.i.te.--Here, take this trash, and--

[_The OLD MAN takes the Wallet, falls upon his Knees, and attempts to speak._

Pr'ythee away, old soul;--nay, nay, no thanks;-- Get home, and do not talk--I cannot.-- [_Exit OLD MAN._ Out on't!

I do belie my manhood; and if misery, With gentle hand, touches my bosom's key, I bellow straight, as if my tough old lungs Were made of organ-pipes.

[_Huzza without._ Hey! how sits the wind now?

_Enter CITIZENS, crying_ Huzza! _and_ Succour! _LA GLOIRE, in the midst of them, loaded with Casks of Provision, &c._

_La Gloire._ Here, neighbours! here, here I am dropt in among you, like a lump of manna. Here have I, following my master, the n.o.ble Count Ribaumont, brought wherewithal to check the grumbling in your gizzards.

Here's meat, neighbours, meat!--fine, raw, red meat!--to turn the tide of tears from your eyes, and make your mouths water.

_All._ Huzza!

_2 Cit._ Ah! mon Dieu! que je suis gai!--meat and sun too!--tal lal lall la!

_La Gloire._ Silence! or I'll stop your windpipe with a mutton cutlet.

_All._ Huzza!

_Eust._ Peace, ho! I say; can ye be men, and roar thus?

Blush at this clamour! it proclaims you cowards, And tells what your despair has been. Peace, hen hearts!

Slink home, and eat.

_La Gloire._ Ods my life! cry you mercy, father; I saw you not;--my honest, hungry neighbours, here, so pressed about me. Marry, I think they are ready to eat me. Stand aside, friends, and patience, till my father has said grace over me. Father, your blessing.

[_Kneels._

_Eust._ Boy, thou hast acted bravely, and thou follow'st A n.o.ble gentleman. What succour brings he?

_La Gloire._ A snack! a bare snack, father; no more. We scudded round the point of land, under the coast, unperceived by the enemy's fleet, and freighted with a good three days' provender: but the sea, that seems ruled by the English--marry, I think they'll always be masters of it, for my part--stuck the point of a rock through the bottom of our vessel, almost filled it with water, and, after tugging hard for our lives, we found the provision so spoiled, and pickled, that our larder is reduced to a luncheon. Every man may have a meal, and there's an end;--to-morrow comes famine again.

_2 Cit._ N'importe; we are happy to-day; c'est a.s.sez pour un Francois.

_La Gloire._ [_Aside, to EUSTACHE._] But, father, cheer up! Mum! If, after the distribution, an odd sly barrel of mine--you take me--rammed down with good powdered beef, that will stand the working of half a dozen pair of jaws for a month, should be found in an odd corner of my father's house, why--hum!

_Eust._ Base cur! insult me!--But I pardon thee; Thou dost mean kindly. Know thy father better.

Though these be sorry knaves, I scorn to wrong them I love my country, boy. Ungraced by fortune, I dare aspire to the proud name of patriot.

If any bear that t.i.tle to misuse it,-- Decking their devilships in angel seeming, To glut their own particular appet.i.tes;-- If any, 'midst a people's misery, Feed fat, by filching from the public good, Which they profess is nearest to their hearts; The curses of their country; or, what's sharper, The curse of guilty conscience follow them!

The suffering's general; general be the benefit.

We'll share alike. You'll find me, boy, at home.

[_Exit._

_La Gloire._ There he goes! full of sour goodness, like a fine lemon.