plays [52]
him, should his face change, and
fill with such tenderness, that I could weep to see him? Why,
when he walks in his sleep, as he does almost every night, his
eyes open and beholding nothing, why should he cry so pitifully
on my mother's name? Ah, if you could hear him then, you would
say yourself: here is a man that has loved; here is a man that
will be kind to lovers.
KIT. Is that so? Ay, it's a hard thing to lose your wife; ay,
that must cut the heart indeed. But for all that, my lass, your
father is keen for the doubloons.
ARETHUSA. Right, Kit: and small blame to him. There is only
one way to be honest, and the name of that is thrift.
KIT. Well, and that's my motto. I've left the ship; no more
letter of marque for me. Good-bye to Kit French, privateersman's
mate; and how-d'ye-do to Christopher, the coasting skipper. I've
seen the very boat for me: I've enough to buy her, too; and to
furnish a good house, and keep a shot in the locker for bad luck.
So far, there's nothing to gainsay. So far it's hopeful enough;
but still there's Admiral Guinea, you know - and the plain truth
is that I'm afraid of him.
ARETHUSA. Admiral Guinea? Now Kit, if you are to be true lover
of mine, you shall not use that name. His name is Captain Gaunt.
As for fearing him, Kit French, you're not the man for me, if you
fear anything but sin. He's a stern man because he's in the
right.
KIT. He is a man of God; I am what he calls a child of
perdition. I was a privateersman - serving my country, I say;
but he calls it pirate. He is thrifty and sober; he has a
treasure, they say, and it lies so near his heart that he tumbles
up in his sleep to stand watch over it. What has a harum-scarum
dog like me to expect from a man like him? He won't see I'm
starving for a chance to mend; 'Mend,' he'll say; 'I'll be shot
if you mend at the expense of my daughter;' and the worst of it
is, you see, he'll be right.
ARETHUSA. Kit, if you dare to say that faint-hearted word again,
I'll take my ring off. What are we here for but to grow better
or grow worse? Do you think Arethusa French will be the same as
Arethusa Gaunt?
KIT. I don't want her better.
ARETHUSA. Ah, but she shall be!
KIT. Hark, here he is! By George, it's neck or nothing now.
Stand by to back me up.
SCENE III
TO THESE, GAUNT, C.
KIT (WITH ARETHUSA'S HAND). Captain Gaunt, I have come to ask
you for your daughter.
GAUNT. Hum. (HE SITS IN HIS CHAIR, L.)
KIT. I love her, and she loves me, sir. I've left the
privateering. I've enough to set me up and buy a tidy sloop -
Jack Lee's; you know the boat, Captain; clinker built, not four
years old, eighty tons burthen, steers like a child. I've put my
mother's ring on Arethusa's finger; and if you'll give us your
blessing, I'll engage to turn over a new leaf, and make her a
good husband.
GAUNT. In whose strength, Christopher French?
KIT. In the strength of my good, honest love for her: as you
did for her mother, and my father for mine. And you know,
Captain, a man can't command the wind; but (excuse me, sir) he
can always lie the best course possible, and that's what I'll do,
so God help me.
GAUNT. Arethusa, you at least are the child of many prayers;
your eyes have been unsealed; and to you the world stands naked,
a morning watch for duration, a thing spun of cobwebs for
solidity. In the presence of an angry God, I ask you: have you
heard this man?
ARETHUSA. Father, I know Kit, and I love him.
GAUNT. I say it solemnly, this is no Christian union. To you,
Christopher French, I will speak nothing of eternal truths: I
will speak to you the language of this world. You have been
trained among sinners who gloried in their sin: in your whole
life you never saved one farthing; and now, when your pockets are
full, you think you can begin, poor dupe, in your own strength.
You are a roysterer, a jovial companion; you mean no harm - you
are nobody's enemy but your own. No doubt you tell this girl of
fill with such tenderness, that I could weep to see him? Why,
when he walks in his sleep, as he does almost every night, his
eyes open and beholding nothing, why should he cry so pitifully
on my mother's name? Ah, if you could hear him then, you would
say yourself: here is a man that has loved; here is a man that
will be kind to lovers.
KIT. Is that so? Ay, it's a hard thing to lose your wife; ay,
that must cut the heart indeed. But for all that, my lass, your
father is keen for the doubloons.
ARETHUSA. Right, Kit: and small blame to him. There is only
one way to be honest, and the name of that is thrift.
KIT. Well, and that's my motto. I've left the ship; no more
letter of marque for me. Good-bye to Kit French, privateersman's
mate; and how-d'ye-do to Christopher, the coasting skipper. I've
seen the very boat for me: I've enough to buy her, too; and to
furnish a good house, and keep a shot in the locker for bad luck.
So far, there's nothing to gainsay. So far it's hopeful enough;
but still there's Admiral Guinea, you know - and the plain truth
is that I'm afraid of him.
ARETHUSA. Admiral Guinea? Now Kit, if you are to be true lover
of mine, you shall not use that name. His name is Captain Gaunt.
As for fearing him, Kit French, you're not the man for me, if you
fear anything but sin. He's a stern man because he's in the
right.
KIT. He is a man of God; I am what he calls a child of
perdition. I was a privateersman - serving my country, I say;
but he calls it pirate. He is thrifty and sober; he has a
treasure, they say, and it lies so near his heart that he tumbles
up in his sleep to stand watch over it. What has a harum-scarum
dog like me to expect from a man like him? He won't see I'm
starving for a chance to mend; 'Mend,' he'll say; 'I'll be shot
if you mend at the expense of my daughter;' and the worst of it
is, you see, he'll be right.
ARETHUSA. Kit, if you dare to say that faint-hearted word again,
I'll take my ring off. What are we here for but to grow better
or grow worse? Do you think Arethusa French will be the same as
Arethusa Gaunt?
KIT. I don't want her better.
ARETHUSA. Ah, but she shall be!
KIT. Hark, here he is! By George, it's neck or nothing now.
Stand by to back me up.
SCENE III
TO THESE, GAUNT, C.
KIT (WITH ARETHUSA'S HAND). Captain Gaunt, I have come to ask
you for your daughter.
GAUNT. Hum. (HE SITS IN HIS CHAIR, L.)
KIT. I love her, and she loves me, sir. I've left the
privateering. I've enough to set me up and buy a tidy sloop -
Jack Lee's; you know the boat, Captain; clinker built, not four
years old, eighty tons burthen, steers like a child. I've put my
mother's ring on Arethusa's finger; and if you'll give us your
blessing, I'll engage to turn over a new leaf, and make her a
good husband.
GAUNT. In whose strength, Christopher French?
KIT. In the strength of my good, honest love for her: as you
did for her mother, and my father for mine. And you know,
Captain, a man can't command the wind; but (excuse me, sir) he
can always lie the best course possible, and that's what I'll do,
so God help me.
GAUNT. Arethusa, you at least are the child of many prayers;
your eyes have been unsealed; and to you the world stands naked,
a morning watch for duration, a thing spun of cobwebs for
solidity. In the presence of an angry God, I ask you: have you
heard this man?
ARETHUSA. Father, I know Kit, and I love him.
GAUNT. I say it solemnly, this is no Christian union. To you,
Christopher French, I will speak nothing of eternal truths: I
will speak to you the language of this world. You have been
trained among sinners who gloried in their sin: in your whole
life you never saved one farthing; and now, when your pockets are
full, you think you can begin, poor dupe, in your own strength.
You are a roysterer, a jovial companion; you mean no harm - you
are nobody's enemy but your own. No doubt you tell this girl of