_La Gloire._ Stay, father, stay! I can hold it no longer. I love Madelon too well to keep her waking o'nights, with blubbering over her for the loss of my father, and my captain:--another neck is wanting to make up the half dozen; so I'll e'en along, father, as the sixth.

_Eust._ [_After a Pause._] I know not what to answer.--Thou hast shaken My manhood to the centre.--Follow, boy!

Thy aim is honour; but the dreary road to't, Which thou must tread, does stir the father in me.

'Tis such a nice and tickle point, between The patriot and the parent, that, Heaven knows, I need a counsellor.--I'll to thy captain.

With him, anon, you'll find me.

[_Exit._

_La Gloire._ So! how many a lad, with a fair beginning of life, comes to an untimely conclusion!--My poor Madelon, too! she little thinks that----

_MADELON peeping in._

_Madelon._ Hist! hist! La Gloire!

_La Gloire._ Eh?

_Madelon._ Why, where hast thou been, La Gloire? I have been seeking you all over the town. I feared you would get into danger. Finding the Governor's gate thrown open, and all the city in confusion, I e'en ventured in to look for you. Where hast thou been, La Gloire?

_La Gloire._ Been? no where--but I am going----

_Madelon._ Where, La Gloire?

_La Gloire._ A--a little way with my father. Hast heard the news, Madelon?

_Madelon._ Only in part. I hear the town has surrendered: and that six poor men are to be executed; and march from the town gates. But we shall then be in safety, La Gloire. Poor fellows! I would not see them go forth for the world!

_La Gloire._ Poor fellows!--a hem!--Ay, poor fellows! True, Madelon; I would not have thee shocked with the sight, I confess.

_Madelon._ But, pr'ythee, La Gloire, keep at home now with me. You are ever gadding. You soldiers are so wild and turbulent--How can you, La Gloire? You must be present, now, at this horrid ceremony?

_La Gloire._ Why, truly, I----I must be present;--but it will be for the last time, Madelon. I take little pleasure, in it, believe me.

_Madelon._ I would thou wouldst home with me! I have provided, out of thy bounty, a repast for us this evening. My father, who has ne'er stirred out these three weeks, is filled with joy for thy return;--he will sit at our table, La Gloire; he will give us his blessing, and wish us happy in marriage. Come, you shall not away, this evening, in sooth, now!

_La Gloire._ I must, Madelon; I must. The throng will press, and--and I may lose somewhat of value. 'Tis seldom a soldier's pocket is heavy; but I carry all my worldly goods about me. I would fain not lose it; so e'en be mistress on't till my return. Here is a casket;--with five years' wages from my captain; three quarters' pay from my regiment; and eleven marks, plucked from the boot of a dead English corporal: 'tis my whole fortune; keep it, Madelon, for fear of accidents: and if any cross accident ever should befall me, remember, you are heir apparent to the bulk of my property.

_Madelon._ But why thus particular? I would you would stay quiet with me!

_La Gloire._ But for this once, Madelon; and I shall be quiet ever after.--Kiss me. So;--Adieu!

_Madelon._ Adieu, La Gloire! Remember, now, at night----

_La Gloire._ Adieu!--At night!--Mercy on me!--should I stay three minutes longer, my heart would rescue my neck; for the breaking of one, would save the stretching of the other.

[_Aside._--_Exit._

_Madelon._ How rich my La Gloire has got in the wars! My father, too, has something to throw in at our wedding: and, when we meet, we shall be the happiest couple in Picardy.

SONG.--MADELON.

_I tremble to think, that my soldier's so bold;_ _To see with what danger he gets all his gold;_ _Yet danger all over, 'twill keep out the cold,_ _And we shall be warm when we're married,_

_For riches, 'tis true that I covet them not,_ _Unless 'tis to better my dear soldier's lot;_ _And he shall be master of all I have got,_ _The very first moment we're married._

_My heart how it beats, but to look to the day,_ _In church, when my father will give me away!_ _But that I shall laugh at, I've heard many say,_ _A day or two after we're married._ [Exit.

SCENE IV.

_Calais._

_A Gate, leading out of the Town._

_Enter CITIZENS._

_1 Cit._ Stand back; they are coming.

_3 Cit._ Nay, my masters, they will not forth, this quarter of an hour.

Men seldom move lightly on such a heavy occasion.

_4 Cit._ Who are the two others that have filled up the number?

_3 Cit._ Marry, two more of old Eustache's family. His own son; and the other, as 'tis rumoured, a relation, in the town, that few of us are acquainted withal.

_4 Cit._ That's strange.

_3 Cit._ Why, ay; but when a man chuses a rope for his preferment, few are found envious enough to dispute the t.i.tle with him.--By the rood!

here they come!

_Enter EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE, RIBAUMONT, LA GLOIRE, JOHN D'AIRE, J. WISSANT, P. WISSANT, going to execution: a Procession of SOLDIERS, FRIARS, NUNS, &c. accompanying them.--A solemn March; then, a Halt._

_Ribau._ I pr'ythee, peace, Eustache! I fain would 'scape Observance from the rabble. Hurry o'er This irksome march; and straightway to the camp.

_Eust._ Enough--Set forth! We are engaged, my friends, Upon a business here, which most, I wot, Do think of moment; and we would not waste The time in idle ceremony. On!-- Ere we are usher'd to the English camp, And most of you, I trust, will follow thither,-- We will bestow the little time allow'd us In manly leave-taking. Strike, and set onward!

_Citizens._ Bless our countrymen! Bless our deliverers!

GLEE.--_By the Persons of the Procession._

_Peace to the heroes! peace! who yield their blood,_ _And perish, n.o.bly, for their country's good!_ _Peace to their n.o.ble souls! their bodies die;_ _Their fame shall flourish long in memory;_ _Recorded still, in future years,_ _Green in a nation's grat.i.tude, and tears._

CHORUS.

_Sound! sound in solemn strains, and slow!_ _Dully beat the m.u.f.fled drum!_ _Bid the hollow trumpet blow,_ _In deaden'd tones, clear, firm, and low;--_ _For, see! the patriot heros come!_

[_Towards the End of the Chorus, the Characters proceed on their March out of the Town; and when the last Persons of the Procession are going through the Gates, the Curtain drops._