First performed at the Royal Surrey Theatre,
On Monday, 21th September, 1858.
Exterior of the Wheatshead!
The Lonely Fields and Miller's Copse! Part of Woodlands Dell!
THE FARM HOUSE OF LEONARD LINCOLN IN AUSTRALIA!
Well, Master Lurcher, we'd better be jogging; we've a deal of work afore us,
you know,
Oh, he's in the house—the love-sick donkey— trying to wheedle himself into the good graces of pretty Jessie Grey, the "Wheatsheaf's" daughter.
Bah! she's no mate for him; young Leonard Lincoln's the favourite there.
Of course ! everybody knows that; but, you see, Leonard's away with his
regiment, and that silly fool, Harold, thinks that he'll be able to cut him out.
We must have him out—it's getting late, and the long-tails are waiting for
us.
No, no, come directly, or we'll go without you.
No, no, not another instant; come along, or we'll leave you.
Oh, good evening! good evening!—pleasant walk across the forest—good evening!
Good evening! Confound the forest! what do I care for the forest ? I'm not
afraid of the forest—no, no—
What a hurry you be in, surely; you don't give a body time to turn oneself round.
The money first, if you please?
Come, I say, don't 'ee call names! Harpy yourself —though I don't know what
it means, but I'm sure its something bad, or you wouldn't say it. man to teach
you manners!
Halloa, Joe ! what's the matter ?
Heyday Joe! what's the matter ?
News—news—glorious news! Oh, missus! oh, Miss Jessie! oh, Becky!
Drat the boy, he's betwattled!
What is it, Joe? Any tidings of Leonard?
Yes, Miss Jessie, yes. Oh, such news—such glorious news!
Well, then, Miss Jessie, Leonard's got his discharge from the regiment, and
is coming home. Ain't that glorious news, eh, Becky ?
Yes, Joe, yes ; I don't mind thee singing now.
Oh, my dear aunt, this is, indeed, happiness! But how did you learn it, Joe ?
Why, you see, miss, I went to the post office, over at town, to inquire for
letters—when who should come up, just at the moment, a-horseback, but Leonard's
captain, Sir James— well, he knew me directly, and he sung out— Halloa! you
young shaver, come here.
Of course I took off my hat, and went. You're
Mrs. Grey's boy?
says he. "Yes, Sir James,"
says I, making my best
bow, " I are."
"I thought so,"
says he, a-gunning me all over, from my highlows to my
wide awake.
" Well, and how is Mrs. Grey ?"
says he. Pretty middlingish, Sir
James,
says I, scraping my leg, in my mannerish way, thanking you for
asking—so is Miss Jessie and Becky, and the—
That will do,
says he, cutting me short with a quick nod, and a flick o'
his whip. Certainly, Sir James,
says I. Well,
says he, a-feeling
in his pockets, I've got a letter for your young missus.
Have you, Sir James,
says I— who from ?
What's that to you, you booby ?
says he. No offence, Sir James,
says I. Confound it!
says he, a-fumbling in all his pockets, what
have I done with it ? I'm sure I had it somewhere.
Take your time, Sir James,
says I, I'm in no hurry.
Deuce take it,
says he, I must have left it at home—never mind, tell
Miss Jessie, with my compliments, that I've got Leonard his discharge from the
service, and he's now on his way home.
There, Miss Jessie, is'nt that
glorious news ? and moreover, there's a letter I got from the post to comfort
you till you get the captain's.
Dear Leonard! " My dearest Jessie—my letter—"
Yes, miss, go on—we're all attention—
Well, well, you shall share my happiness.
Thank you, miss—listen, Becky, it's just the sort o' letter that I'd send to thee.
Go along wi' ee, and be a man first.
" My letter by Sir James—"
Which you won't get till to-morrow—because—
Hold thee noise, do!
" Informed you of my good fortune, in obtaining my discharge—
It didn't do nought o' sort, cause you did'nt get it.
If thee opens thy ugly mouth again I'll—Go on miss—
" The necessary forms have been completed sooner than I expected, and with
my heart almost bursting with joy, I write these few lines to inform you that I
shall be with you, dearest Jessie, to-morrow morning, never, never to part
again.
Hurrah! tol lol, lol, de riddle de!
Drat 'ee, if thee does that again I'll make 'ee remember it.
My dear aunt—Oh, I'm so happy !
So am I miss, and so is Becky, and so is everybody—
Once for all I warn 'ee. I don't stand no nonsense from imperent boys.
I must run over to the mill, and tell my dear friend, Ellen, the good news. Fetch me my cloak and bonnet, Becky.
Yes, miss,
And I'll come and keep 'ee company.
No, no dear Jessie, wait till the morning—it's too late to cross the fields alone.
Psha ! it's only a step, and Ellen will be so delighted.
Here be cloak and bonnet, miss,
Drat the boy! I dare say he's upset the mash tub. Oh, you fuile!
Pray don't think of going, Jessie! it's highly dangerous for yon to cross the fields without company.
Don't be too certain of that. There have been some ugly stories flying about lately—of robberies and housebreakings, and all sorts of dreadful things. Don't go, dear Jessie, pray don't.
Psha! you frightened goose! I've left here later than this. Many and many's the moonlit flit I've had across those meadows, and no one has ever met me, nor followed me, nor thought of me. Good bye, dear aunt—I shall soon be back—good bye—good bye!
Silly girl, silly girl! I'm very nervous about those fields—but psha! I'm alarming myself for nothing—there's no danger.
I don't somehow feel easy about that girl's crossing those fields by herself.
I'll send Joe after her.
You must! Get your hat and stick, and come here directly.
I can't! The tap's out of the ale barrel, and I'm stopping it with my thumb!
Silly blockhead! tilt it up, and come here directly.
Well, if the beer's lost, its your fault. Lend me a hand here, Becky. Heave ho—yo, ho—there, it's all right. I'll get my hat.
It's true, he's but a boy ; but anything will be a protection.
Here I be misses. What be I to do?
Run as fast as you can after Jessie, and tell her I've sent you to see her safe home. Run ! there's a good boy!
Like a lapwing, misses. I love Miss Jessie, for she's so civil and kind to
me. I'll see that no harm comes to her. My stick's a man if I'm not,
and
Good boy—good boy ! Now my mind's easy, I'll go and look after the supper.
Dear me! there's a storm coming on—and how dark it is! I almost wish I hadn't
come,
All right, Jem ?
Yes—but I've had a hard job to dodge the keepers —they were down upon me at
my last fire, and I was obliged
Curse 'em! they're always hindering on us. Some of these odd days, I'll have a long shot at some of the varments, and pay off old scores. But what's become of Harold ? He was to have met us here, to settle about the breaking in at the parsonage to-night.
Oh, the cur! he's still at the "Wheatsheaf," I suppose, getting drunker and drunker, wasting his time after that girl; mark my word, Ned, he'll split on us one of these fine mornings, see if he dont!
No he won't, for on the first symptom of his doubling upon us, I'll
Jessie Grey!
How came you here ?
I was crossing the fields to go home, when I heard you whistle, and, being frightened—I—I—thought I would hide in the hedge till you had passed.
Then you've heard all we said.
Yes, but by all that's good, I'll not say a word—you both know me, and when I make a promise it is sacred.
Pie crust!
Well, you know I'm naturally tender hearted, Ned, specially when women's concerned—all right my girl—keep dark, and no harm will come; but mind if you let's out even a feather of what you've seen and heard, you'll repent it; and thank your good character, that your mother has'nt to go into mourning for you. Come, Jem.
Good night, Miss Jessie. I know you'll keep your word, but take a fool's
advice, get home as soon as you can, and don't be out again o' nights; there's
other fellows about that arn't so easy to be choked off as me and my pal;
Oh how frightened I am! I shall never have strength to reach home. Oh, why
did I not take my aunt's advice ? It is dreadful to be alone in this desolate
place.
But I need no protection—I am close at the mill, and
Stay, Jessie; there's no chance of the miller or any of his people coming for
you—I know you are not expected there to-night—so I'm not to be scared that way;
and as to the honesty of the neighbourhood, perhaps you are a little out in your
reckoning there too—but that's another matter. Now I have a few words to say to
you about myself,
Is the desperate resource of a man driven mad by your rejection of his love. Oh, Jessie, Jessie, before I met you I was the most industrious, sober, and prosperous lad in the village—everybody respected me, everybody was my friend. What have you made me? an idler, a drunkard, a penniless, homeless, friendless vagabond—with everybody's heart, everybody's hand—and everybody's door shut against me.
No, no, Harold, you must not blame me—I told you from the first, that my affections were engaged—that Leonard—
shall be mine—I; have perilled my life for this
meeting—there's no help at hand— pledge me your solemn word you will take me for
your husband, or—
Oh? Harold, Harold—do not, I implore you, stay me—I cannot make that promise,
Jessie ! and who's this scoundrel ? Harold! you cowardly miscreant! I've a great mind to save the hangman the trouble of finishing you.
Baffled again! damnation!
Halloa, halloa! What's the matter ?
More villains! Don't cling to me, Jessie, leave my arms free.
Now, Leonard, we'll settle accounts. Help, my lads —drop him, while I seize the girl.
We shall meet again, Leonard—
My dear Leonard, to what lucky chance do I owe this happiness ?:
Anxious to see you, dear Jessie, I could not wait till the morning, so made my journey on foot; on passing the copse yonder, I heard what no man ever heard in vain, a woman's cry for help! to leap the hedge, and hasten to the sound was a natural impulse; little did I think it was Jessie who needed my protection. Dear love, how came you here so late, and with that villain ?
I was going to the mill, to tell my friend Ellen that you were expected—he followed, and waylaid me. Oh, Leonard! dear Leonard! had you not been at hand—
There was another man, who would have supplied his place. Your aunt sent me after you, to take care of you. I was running ready to break my neck, overing the hedges and ditches, when I heard your cry, a cry, as Leonard says, no man ever hears in vain. I put on more steam and got up to the stile just in time to give master Harold a topper—ha, ha, ha ! We astonished the vagabonds above a bit—eh, Leonard ? ha, ha, ha! They won't forget Doctor Twig, or their lobster salad in a hurry.
Good boy, good boy! your courage and fidelity shall be rewarded.
Nay, nay, don't 'ee talk of reward, Miss Jessie, I ha' got it already in seeing you safe. Just stick up this little job against the good you and Mr. Leonard has done for me, often and often, and see on which side's the obligation. Lord bless you! I'd a done it for fun—-just to try my manliness.
Well, well, my good fellow, we'll find a way to show our gratitude. Come,
Jessie, let us get home ; you must need repose after your fright. No fear of
your being waylaid again;
Curses on him—to foil me at such a moment; but I'll have a terrible revenge.
Pooh, pooh! you'll only make matters worse. Why didn't you stick to your poaching and housebreaking like other honest tradesmen, and not waste your time in waylaying girls, and getting yourself and your pals into unnecessary scrapes ? Look at my gun—that's gone—so is Lurcher's; and worse than all, there are three witnesses to swear to us.
Yes, you infernal idiot! all through your cursed poaching on your own account; besides which, the girl overheard us talk about the crack at the parson's to-night, so our little game that way is blown.
What! does she know that I am concerned in that?
Of course ; we let out the whole business before we seed her.
Then we are lost.
No, no; there's no fear of her betraying us. She has given her solemn promise to be silent, and I know that nothing could tempt her to break her word; but the other business is serious—we must bolt at once, or the police will have us.
There is but one way to secure ourselves.
What is that ?
To remove the evidence.
What,
Yes; the "Wheatsheaf" is easily entered—we should catch them asleep—and
A capital thought! I'm ready for one.
But suppose they should wake and resist ?
No fear of that; we'll wait till they are all fast; but if, by any chance, the first attack should fail, their bare hands will stand no chance with our knives.
I don't much mind the man and the boy, but the girl—
Chicken-hearted fool! leave her to me; besides, we can do a little business in our regular line—the old woman's cash box is always well lined, so you see we can kill four birds with one stone.
To be sure ; and perhaps pick up a watch, or a
Come, then, let's get our masks and tools, and a drop of brandy to put determination into us, and to work. Now, Master Leonard, we'll see who'll win this time.
A lucky escape, my child—in the morning I shall set the police to work, and the villains shall be taken and punished.
No, no, dear mother, I'm safe; and Harold will never again attempt.
I don't know that—a man who can act as he has done should not be suffered to be at large—it's my duty to have him apprehended.
Oh, goodness gracious, what a long tail our cat's got, all of a sudden—to hear thee talk one would think thee was the Dooke o' Wellington. Thee collar Harold! thee must eat a good bit more puddin? fust.
Never mind! I've done well enough wi' dumplings. Only let him 'tempt to
towsel thee, that's all—see if I wouldn't smasheate him.
Oh, you ninnyhammer! thee's always doing something stoopid—here let me tie it up for you.
Yes, dear mother!
That's exactly my opinion, missus. The old maids and bachelors, with all their bouncing of the advantages of singleness, must feel very cold and uncomfortable on winter nights— I know I do, for one—I'se froze to death, and looks at a flannel petticoat with veneration.
Oh, thou guise! don't thee talk improper! What does thee know about petticoats ?
Good night, Leonard ! to-morrow's market, so we must start early. Good night,
my love !
Good night, dear Jessie! Oh! three weeks more, and then—
Now, Leonard, are you coming?
Yes, yes—good night! Heaven bless you !
Good night, dear Leonard !
There, Becky, look at those two turtle doves, and take a lesson in building and coodling.
Now all's right—good night!
Good night, miss—mormion, or keep a turnpike gate.
No; I shall sit up a little to get ready for the market to-morrow. Good night—be up early.
Yes, miss—good night!
Jessie! Jessie!
He came to rob—I fired, and—
There! wagon be ready, and I've now nought to do but catch t'old horse, and
we're ready for market,
Joe! what art thou doing there, idling thy time ? make haste and catch the horse, and get up the wagon. Hurry, hurry ; we shall be too late for market.
All right, ducky!
Do what, thou betwattled gaby?
Eh ? oh! nought, ducky—nought!
To be sure—and waiting, this half hour,
Let him worrit—I ain't a going to be druv by nobody. I'se a free-born Hinglishman ; leastways, I war before I was married ; and I means to stick up for my national hindependence, both ways as a man and a husband.
Whoo ! dost thee know what thee looks like when thee ruffles thy feathers,
and struts and bibbety bobbetys thy head to and fro in that zany manner?
I won't be laughed at; and let me tell thee, Becky, that though I does allow thee to wear my hat and coat, I ain't agoing to let thee wear the other things as belong to 'em.
If I choose, thee can't help me.
Oh, yes, I can.
Na, thee can't.
Oh, yes, I can.
Thee can't!
Just try, that's all.
What would'st thee do, eh? thou crinkety crankety guise ?
Do! why, I'd—
What now? thee would'nt ha' the heart to quarrel wi' thy Popsy Whopsy, and
make her miserable would'st thou, darling ducky ?
Coop, coop—I'm cotched!
That's my dear Joe—but don't thee be afraid—I'se content wi' the coat ?
Then come along wi' me and help to catch t'orse. Oh, Becky, Becky! it's a
good thing for t'orses that they are not men, if they was, and they sent a woman
to catch 'em, they'd be haltered at the first—
You're sure you've got everything right, dear Leonard?
Yes dear,
Don't stay away longer than is necessary, dear Leonard. Though I know there is no danger, I'm such a timid goose, I'm always frightened at being left alone in the house.
Why what on earth can there be to harm you ? the wood pigeons and the rabbits are our only visitors.
I know it's silly to be such a coward, but we're so far from any other house,
and
All right, master, butter, eggs, and ducks, and chickens, and calves, and pigs, and Becky, be all packed in comfortable —there only wants you and me to make up the family party;
Good bye, dear Jessie! Keep up your courage—I'll be back very early. Go on Joe.
Good bye!
Goodbye!
Ah!
Don't be alarmed, my pretty linnet; I'm only a poor traveller, in want of a
little food and money,
Gracious powers! Harold!
At your service—what a happy meeting,
Back, Harold, back! if you have one spark of good feeling left, respect my helplessness, and depart.
Good feeling! ha, ha, ha! I have long since bid adieu to everything that is
human—I am a tiger thirsting for blood. Look here—
Oh, Harold, Harold, forgive me—forgive me; I did not mean to harm you—when I fired at you I did not know—
The shot I could forgive, but
There, there, eat, and let me try to excuse myself and Leonard—
Don't mention his name, or
What are you doing there?
The—the brandy.
You don't keep brandy in the bed room,
Oh, Heaven protect me— he is maddened by drink, and lost to all human
feeling. Oh, Leonard ! Leonard !
Holloa! stop! stop! I've not done with you yet. Back! back! or it will be the
worse for you.
Oh, Harold, surely you will not rob us of our hard earned savings!
I would do anything. Don't call me Harold! look;
Oh, I implore you, do not.
No trifling! the key, or—
There.
That's right! there's nothing like doing things with a good grace. Now, do me
the favour
Harold!
I told you not to—
Oh, horror!
Yes, Jessie; I would have done it, but my heart quailed at the sight of that
face I so adored in other days—spite of my oath, and my convict's cruelty, I had
not courage to harm you.
Oh, Harold, mercy—mercy.
Come, come, resistance is vain—soon, soon the broad ocean will be between us and this hated land—I will love you, Jessie, fervently, devotedly—my future life shall atone for my past. Come, come, you must—you shall be mine.
Never! never! sooner take my life.
Then be it so.
Oh, have mercy on me. Harold! Harold! pity my helplessness. Oh, for the love of Heaven, spare me—spare me!
You plead in vain—my heart is stone.
Help, help, help!
Hollo! hollo!
Ah ! help is at hand,
Hollo! we'm a coming! what's the shindy?
Damnation! foiled again.
No, you don't, old flick!