plays [60]
seeing it out with, I'd just go and make a hole in the water, and
be done with it, I would, by George!
MRS. DRAKE. That's like you men. Ah, we know you, we that keeps
a public-house - we know you, good and bad: you go off on a
frolic and forget; and you never think of the women that sit
crying at home.
KIT. Crying? Arethusa cry? Why, dame, she's the
bravest-hearted girl in all broad England! Here, fill the glass!
I'll win her yet. I drink to her; here's to her bright eyes, and
here's to the blessed feet she walks upon!
PEW (LOOKING ROUND THE CORNER OF THE SETTLE). Spoke like a
gallant seaman, every inch. Shipmate, I'm a man as has suffered,
and I'd like to shake your fist, and drink a can of flip with
you.
KIT (COMING DOWN). Hullo, my hearty! who the devil are you?
Who's this, mother?
MRS. DRAKE. Nay, I know nothing about him. (SHE GOES OUT, R.)
PEW. Cap'n, I'm a brother seaman, and my name is Pew, old David
Pew, as you may have heard of in your time, he having sailed
along of 'Awke and glorious Benbow, and a right-'and man to both.
KIT. Benbow? Steady, mate! D'ye mean to say you went to sea
before you were born?
PEW. See now! The sign of this here inn was running in my 'ed,
I reckon. Benbow, says you? no, not likely! Anson, I mean;
Anson and Sir Edward 'Awke: that's the pair: I was their
right-'and man.
KIT. Well, mate, you may be all that, and more; but you're a rum
un to look at, anyhow.
PEW. Right you are, and so I am. But what is looks? It's the
'art that does it: the 'art is the seaman's star; and here's old
David Pew's, a matter of fifty years at sea, but tough and sound
as the British Constitootion.
KIT. You're right there, Pew. Shake hands upon it. And you're
a man they're down upon, just like myself, I see. We're a pair
of plain, good-hearted, jolly tars; and all these 'longshore
fellows cock a lip at us, by George. What cheer, mate?
ARETHUSA (WITHOUT). Mrs. Drake! Mrs. Drake!
PEW. What, a female? hey? a female? Board her board her, mate!
I'm dark. (HE RETIRES AGAIN BEHIND, TO TABLE, R., BEHIND
SETTLE.)
ARETHUSA (WITHOUT). Mrs. Drake!
MRS. DRAKE (RE-ENTERING AND RUNNING TO DOOR). Here I am, my
dear; come in.
SCENE III
TO THESE, ARETHUSA
ARETHUSA. Ah, Kit, I've found you. I thought you would lodge
with Mrs. Drake.
KIT. What? are you looking for your consort? Whistle, I'm your
dog; I'll come to you. I've been toasting you fathom deep, my
beauty; and with every glass I love you dearer.
ARETHUSA. Now Kit, if you want to please my father, this is not
the way. Perhaps he thinks too much of the guineas: well,
gather them - if you think me worth the price. Go you to your
sloop, clinker built, eighty tons burthen - you see I remember,
Skipper Kit! I don't deny I like a man of spirit; but if you
care to please Captain Gaunt, keep out of taverns; and if you
could carry yourself a bit more - more elderly!
[KIT. Can I? Would I? Ah, just couldn't and just won't I,
then!
MRS. DRAKE. I hope, madam, you don't refer to my house; a
publican I may be, but tavern is a word that I don't hold with;
and here there's no bad drink, and no loose company; and as for
my blessedest Kit, I declare I love him like my own.
ARETHUSA. Why, who could help it, Mrs. Drake?]
KIT. Arethusa, you're an angel. Do I want to please Captain
Gaunt? Why, that's as much as ask whether I love you. [I don't
deny that his words cut me; for they did. But as for wanting to
please him, if he was deep as the blue Atlantic, I would beat it
out. And elderly, too? Aha, you witch, you're wise! Elderly?
You've set the course; you leave me alone to steer it.
Matrimony's my port, and love is my cargo.] That's a likely
question, ain't it, Mrs. Drake? Do I want to please him!
Elderly, says you? Why, see here: Fill up my glass, and I'll
drink to Arethusa on my knees.
ARETHUSA. Why, you stupid boy, do you think that would please
him?
KIT. On my knees I'll drink it!