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 Cornell University Library 
 PR 6025.A81T7 1909 
 
 The tragedy of Nan, and other plays. 
 
 3 1924 013 652 809 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013652809 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 AND OTHER PLAYS 
 
THE 
 
 TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 and other plays by 
 John Masefield 
 
 Jleto gorfe 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1916 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 M 
 
Copyright 1909 
 By JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
TO 
 
 W B. VEArS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tbagedv oy Nan i 
 
 The Campden Wondee 73 
 
 Mfis. Hasbison ...... 101 
 
TRAGEDY at its best is a vision of the heart of 
 life. The heart of life can only be laid bare in [ 
 the agony and exultation of dreadful acts. The vision 
 of agony, or spiritual contest, pushed beyond the 
 limits of the dying personality, is exalting and cleans- 
 ing. It is only by such vision that a multitude can be 
 brought to the passionate knowledge of things exulting 
 and eternal. 
 
 Commonplace people dislike tragedy, because they 
 dare not suffer and cannot exult. The truth and 
 rapture of man are holy things, not lightly to be 
 scorned. A carelessness of life and beauty marks the 
 glutton, the idler, and the fool in their deathy path 
 across history. 
 
 The poetic impulse of the Renaissance is now spent. 
 The poetic drama, the fruit of that impulse, is now 
 dead. Until a new poetic impulse gathers, playwrights 
 trying for beauty must try to create new forms in which 
 beauty and the high things of the soul may pass from 
 the stage to the mind. Our playwrights have all the 
 powers except that power of exultation which comes 
 from a delighted brooding on excessive, terrible things. 
 
AUTHOR'S NOTE 
 
 That power is seldom granted to man ; twice or thrice 
 to a race perhaps, not oftener. But it seems to me 
 certain that every effort, however humble, towards the 
 achieving of that power helps the genius of a race to 
 obtain it, though the obtaining may be fifty years after 
 the strivers are dead. 
 
 This country tragedy was written at Greenwich in 
 February, March, and September 1907. Part of it is 
 based upon something which happened (as I am told) 
 in Kent about a century ago. As I am ignorant of 
 Kentish country people I placed the action among a 
 people and in a place well known to me. 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD. 
 
 4/A Airil 191 1. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 PERSONS 
 
 Jenny Pargetter 
 Mrs. Pargetter 
 William Pargetter 
 Nan Hardwick . 
 Dick Gurvil 
 Artie Pearce . 
 Gaffer Pearce . 
 Tommy Arker . 
 Ellen 
 Susan 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Drew 
 Captain Dixon . 
 The Constable . 
 
 PLAYED BY 
 
 . Miss Mary Jerrold 
 
 Mrs. A. B. Tapping 
 
 Mr. Horace Hodges 
 
 Miss Lillah McCarthy 
 
 . Mr. A. E. Anson 
 
 Mr. Percy Gawthom 
 
 Mr. H. R. Hignett 
 
 Mr. Allan Wade 
 
 Miss Marion Nugent 
 
 Miss Bokenham 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gurney 
 
 Mr. H. Athol Forde 
 
 Mr. Christmas Grose 
 
 This flay ivas produced by the Pianeers at the New Royally 
 Theatre, on 24th May, 1908, under the direction of Mr. H. 
 Granville Barker. At its revival as a matinee at the Haymarket 
 Theatre, in June, 1908, the part of the Rev. Mr. Drevu was 
 tiayed by Mr. Cecil Brooking, 
 
ACT I 
 
 SCENE: — A kitchen in the house of a small tenant 
 farmer at Broad Oak, on Severn. 1810. 
 
 {MRS PARGETTER and JENNY rolUng dough 
 and cutting apples) 
 
 {JENNY tahes flour from cupboard.) 
 
 JENNY. It do seem quiet 'ere, Mother, after ser- 
 vice. 
 
 MRS. p. P'raps now I'll 'ave some quiet. 
 
 JENNY. Only think, Mother, the ladles 'ad cups 
 of tea in bed of a morning. 
 
 MRS. p. P'raps now you're come 'ome, I'U 'ave 
 my cup of tea, it's time I'd a little something after 
 all I gone through. 
 
 JENNY. Why, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. What with that girl — Mooning round 
 with 'er great eyes. 
 
 JENNY. Do 'ee mean Cousin Nan, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. Mind your work. I wish them gro- 
 ceries'd come. 
 
 JENNY. Us'U 'ardly 'ave the things ready. Mother. 
 Company be coming at dark. 
 
 MRS. p. Things'U 'ave to be ready. 'Old your 
 tongue. 
 
 JENNY 'Oo be coming. Mother, besides Dick 
 Gurvil? 
 
 7 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NANIacti 
 
 MRS. P. Young Artie Pearce, wold Gaffer Pearce, 
 them girls o' Robertses, and Tommy Arker. 
 
 JENNY. Us shall be quite a pearty, shan't us? 
 
 MRS. p. It won't be much of a pearty to me, with 
 that Nan in the room. She tokens 'er dad too much. 
 
 JENNY. Why, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. Always so prim and well be'aved, thinking 
 'erself so much better than anyone. 
 
 JENNY. Ah I • 
 
 MRS. p. Always 'elping 'er friends as she calls 
 them. 
 
 JENNY. 'Elpin' them, Mother? 
 
 MRS. P. Barthin,' their brats for 'em. 'Oo knows 
 what dirt they've been playing in? Ob mending 
 their linen. Flying in the face of Providence. She 
 might bring us all the fever, (going over to get a 
 chair) 'Ow many more times am I to teU yer I 
 won't 'ave your things left about? Look 'ere at this 
 chair. 
 
 JENNY. What be it, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. Look 'ere at your coat. 'Oo's to get 
 you a new coat when this is wore out? I will 'ave 
 you careful. Every day of my life I'm putting your 
 clothes away. Idle lawkamercy girl — 
 
 JENNY. That ben't mine, Mother. That be 
 Cousin Nan's. 
 
 MRS. p. It's a wonder you couldn't say so at once. 
 Oh! so it's 'ers, is it. Wot's she got in 'er pockets, I 
 'wonder, (looks in pockets) Wot's 'ere. Oh! rib- 
 bons for our white neck, indeed. Wot's 'ere. Ho, 
 indeed, (taking paper) 
 
 JENNY. Wot's that, Mother, a letter? 
 
 MRS. p. So this is wofs up, is it? (she glances 
 at paper) 
 
 JENNY, (peeping) It looks like Dick Gurvil's 
 'and, Mother — 
 S 
 
ACT I] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 MRS. P. "You 'eed your duty, {puts paper in 
 her own pocket) I'll gijje it 'er. 'Ere, out of my way. 
 None of your rags in my way. (flinging coat into 
 a corner) 
 
 JENNY. Oh, Mother, it's gone into the pigwash. 
 
 MRS. p. Wot if it 'as? 
 
 JENNY. She won't be able to wear it again, Mo- 
 ther. Never. . 
 
 'Ves. p. Let 'er go cold. Learn 'er not to leave 
 'ertnings about. Where are you going now? 
 
 jEi^NY. T was just going to hang it out, Mother. 
 
 MRS. p. Don't you dare to touch it. Stand 'ere 
 and do yoinr work. Let that dirty gallus bird do 
 'er own chores. • 
 
 JENNY. Whatever do 'ee mean, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. A gallus bird; that's Jll she is. 
 
 JENNY. Cousin Nan, Mother. Why do 'ee call 
 'er that? 
 
 MRS.^p. Oh, p'raps your Father 'aven't a-told 
 you. 
 
 JENNY. No, Mother. 
 
 MRS. p. Run and see if that be Dick with the 
 groceries. 
 
 JENNY, {goes to window) No, Mother. 
 
 MRS. p. Drat 'im. Well, this mustn't go be- 
 yond yer — it ain't to be known about. 'Er father — 
 your cousin Nan's father — wot married your father's 
 sister — 
 
 JENNY. Yes, Mother. 
 
 MRS. p. Don't .interrup' when . your Mother's 
 talking to yer. 'tr father, as she's so stuckton — 
 'E was 'xmg. 
 
 JENNY. *Ung, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. At Glorster ja-il. 
 
 JENNY. Whatever 'ad 'e gone for to do? 
 
 MRS. p. 'E stole a sheep. That's wot 'e did. 
 
 9 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN Ucti 
 
 JENNY. And so 'e were 'ung. 
 
 MRS. p. There's a thing to 'appen in a family. 
 
 JENNY. Sobe that why Nan come 'ere? 
 
 MRS. P. Thanks to your father. 
 
 JENNY. I didn't think, when I left service I should 
 'sociate with no gallus birds. 
 
 MRS. p. Nor you wouldn't if your father was in 
 'is right mind. The Lord 'ath laid a 'eavy judgmink 
 on your father. Wot 'e wants with 'er I can't 
 think. 
 
 JENNY. Her may remind he of Auntie. 
 
 MRS. p. 'E's no call to be reminded of any woman, 
 'cept 'er the Lord 'ath bound to 'im. Wot I gorn 
 through with that Nan in the 'ouse'd a kill a Zebedee. 
 They do say they be 'aid to kL'\. 
 
 JENNY. 'Ere be Father coming. 
 
 MRS. p. 'E 'as 'is lunch of a mornin' now. Take 
 'is cider off tii? 'ol'. 
 
 JENNY. Where's 'is bread and cheese? {she 
 takes mug off hob, looks about carelessly, and drops 
 and smashes mug on hearth) 
 
 MRS. p. There now. 
 
 JENNY. Oh, Mother, I've broke it. 
 
 MRS. p. What a clumsy 'and you 'ave. 
 
 JENNY. It's Father's fav'rit mug. O Mother, 
 whatever will 'e say. 
 
 MRS. p. 'Ere. Get upstairs. Get into the next room. 
 
 JENNY. Whatever will 'e sayl 'E will be mad. 
 (cries) 
 
 MRS. p. I'll talk 'im round. There! It's all a 
 accident. Quick! before 'e comes now. 
 
 JENNY. 'E will be that mad! A dear, a dear! 
 (goes out) 
 
 MRS. P. (faking out letter) So this is wot it's 
 come to: (declaiming Dick Gurvil to 'is fond 
 beloved: 
 10 
 
AMI] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 "As I was a- walking a lady I did meet 
 
 I knew it for my true love by the roses on 'er 
 
 cheek 
 The roses on 'er cheek so sweetly did grow 
 My 'eart out of my bosom, like a engine did go." 
 I'll watch yer Master Dick. 
 
 {ENTER MR. PARGETTER, walking with a 
 stick. He is an old, shortish thick-set man, still hale) 
 
 mr: p. {advancing towards MRS. P. and gravely 
 saluting) Well, Mother. 
 
 MRS. p. Did you see the fiddler? 
 
 ME. p. I saw the fiddler. 
 
 MRS. p. Is 'e coming to-night? 
 
 MR. p. 'E is coming. Us be going to 'ave great 
 wonders to-night. 'Ot mutton parsty pies. 
 
 MRS. p. You won't eat of no 'ot mutton parsty 
 pies. You know 'ow that sheep died as well as I do. 
 'E was oovy. {pause) A apple parsty's no great 
 wonders. 
 
 MR. p. A fiddler and a apple parsty's wonders. 
 
 MRS. p. It'U fare to be a girt wonder if th' apple 
 parsty be set. The amount of 'elp I get in the 'ouse- 
 work — 
 
 MR. p. At it again. 
 
 MRS. p. Yes, I am at it again, as you call it 
 
 MR. p. What is it, now? 
 
 MRS. p. 'Ow much longer 'ave I got to put up 
 with that Nan in the 'ouse? 
 
 MR. p. My niece Nan'U stay in this 'ouse till — 
 till I go to churchyard. Or — till she marries, (a 
 pause) Now you know my mind. The girl's a 
 good girl, if you'd let up in your naggin' 'er 'ed off. 
 
 MRS. p. Naggin', Will? 
 
 MR. p. 'Ow's any girl to be good with you nag- 
 gin' 'er 'ed off all day long. 
 
 MRS. p. When did I ever nag, as you call it ? 
 
 11 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [acti 
 
 ME. P. When? 'Ave you ever give 'er a kind 
 word since she come 'ere. 
 
 MRS. p. I 'ave my 'eavenly warrant for all I done, 
 Will. Them as the Lor^ afflicts we must coine out 
 from and be ye separate. 
 
 MK. p. I wonder the Lord can let you prosper, 
 talking like that. 
 
 MRS. p. 'E knows 'is own. Will. You mark 
 my words. 
 
 ME. p. I will mark 'em. And you mark mine. 
 You'll treat my niece Nan as you'd treat your daugh- 
 ter Jenny. 
 
 MRS. p. Our daughter Jenny is the child of re- 
 spectable parents. That — that charity girl is the 
 daughter of — 
 
 ME. p. My sister. That's 'oo she's the daughter 
 of. 
 
 MRS. P. And a thief 'oo was 'ung. I've always 
 been respectable; and I've always kep' my girl re- 
 spectable. I win not 'ave to do with the common 
 and the unclean. 
 
 ME. p. You'll 'ave Nan 'ere, and you'll stop your 
 nagging jealous tongue. 
 
 MES. p. Jealous? 
 
 MR. p. Yes, jealous. You make 'er life a burden 
 acos she tokens my sister. You was sweet on 'er 
 dad yourself. That's why you make 'er life a 
 burden. 
 
 MRS. p. Ho, indeed I Ha, ha, ha! Wot notions. 
 
 MR. p. That's the truth though. I know yer. 
 I seen somethink of yer in these twenty years. 
 
 MRS. p. 'Ark you to me, Will Pargetter. Could 
 you look on and see your daughter wronged? 
 
 MR. p. What's that got to do with it. 
 
 MRS. p. I'll tell you. When first we 'ad that 
 charity girl 'ere — 
 12 
 
ACT I] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 MR. P. You call 'er Nan. Wot are you waivin' 
 that bit of paper at me for? 
 
 MRS. p. We 'ad 'opes as our Jenny'd marry 
 Dick Gurvil soon as she come back from service. 
 
 ME. p. That depended on Dick, not on Jenny. 
 
 MRS. p. Oh, but Dick was no difficulty. They 
 kep' company before Jeimy went to service. Dick 
 was sweet on 'er aU right. 
 
 MR. p.- Dick was sweet on twenty girls. 
 
 MRS. p. No. Since that — that idle mooner come 
 'ere — ^Dick's been sweet on 'er. Look 'ere. Look at 
 this, {shews letter) 
 
 MR. p. I don't want no letter. Put it where yer 
 got it. That's the best thing I ever 'eard of Dick. 
 Dick wants a wife with sensg. 
 
 MRS. p. You'll let 'er marry 'im, after 'is canying 
 on along o' Jenny. And break your own daughter's 
 'art. 
 
 MR. p. Jenny's got no 'art. 
 
 MRS. p. Jenny'd resolve 'er 'eavenly crown for 
 Dick Gurvil. 'Ow dare you blacken your own 
 child? 
 
 MR. P. Blacken 'er. She 's a cold 'eartless little 
 baggage, Jenny is. Our Nan's worth a 'imdred 
 of 'er. 
 
 MRS. P. And you expect me to see that great- 
 eyed, ugly, scrawf marrying my daughter's man. 
 
 MR. P. He's not your daughter's man. Dick's 
 everybody's daughter's man. If 'e steps up and 
 marries our Nan — it'll be the making of 'im. Give 
 me my lunch. 
 
 MRS. p. Ah! I was forgetting. You put me out 
 of patience. I'm afraid I spoke 'asty, WiU. I've 
 a 'asty tongue (with sttavity) 
 
 MR. p. Theure, there! Where's my vittles? 
 
 {She puts down bread and cheese) 
 
 1* 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [acti 
 
 {PARGETTER gets up to fetch mug from the hob) 
 
 MR. P. Thank ye, Mother, {he sees the mug 
 broken) Law, Mother. You 'aven't a broke my 
 Toby. 
 
 MRS. P. There, there now, Will, it was a accidenk. 
 
 MR. p. Not my Toby, broken? 
 
 MRS. p. It was a accidenk. (she picks up the 
 pieces) 
 
 MR. p. 'Ooever 'ave a broke my Toby. Why 
 weren't I told to onst? 
 
 MRS. p. She were goin' to tell yer, she said. 
 
 MR. p. Not — not Nan? It wasn't Nan broke 
 it? 
 
 MRS. P. 'Er said 'er'd tell you to onst. It was a 
 accidenk. 
 
 MR. p. But no accidenk could a broke my Toby. 
 
 MRS. p. There, there. Us'U buy another's good 
 as 'er. 
 
 MR. p. But I've a 'ad my zider outen ov 'er this 
 fifty year, like my gran'fer 'ave a-done. I'd a value 
 for that Toby. 
 
 MRS. p. 'Er'll tell 'ee 'ow it was. It was a ac- 
 cidenk. She was in a 'urry, you see. Getting things 
 ready for the pearty. It was quite a accidenk. 
 
 MR. p. 'Ow could it be quite a accidenk? 
 
 MRS. p. 'Er 'ands were wet, you see; she's par- 
 ticular about 'er 'ands — 
 
 MR. p. Clumsy 'anded — 
 
 MRS. p. They was aU soapy from washing. It 
 was quite a accidenk. 
 
 MR. p. And so she let it slip. 
 
 MRS. p. She didn't see where she was going. 
 The sun was in 'er eyes or somethink. She's goin' 
 to tell yer 'ow it was. 
 
 MR. p. My wold Toby jug as Granfer 'ad. 'Er 
 could a broak my 'eart sooner. 'Er could. 'Er 
 14 
 
ACT J] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 could, (he pushes away his bread and cheese) I 
 can't eat my vittles after that. That I can't. Care- 
 less girt gowkl 
 
 (ENTER NAN— OLD PARGETTER stares 
 at her hard all through this scene) 
 
 NAN. You be baci early, Uncle. 
 
 MRS. p. Well? 
 
 NAN. Yes, Aunt. 
 
 MRS. p. "Yes, aunt". 'Ave you looked at your- 
 seK long enough in the glass ? 
 
 NAN. What glass? 
 
 MRS. p. The glass upstairs. 
 
 NAN. The beds are made. I suppose that's what 
 you mean. 
 
 MRS. p. That's not the way to talk before your 
 uncle. 
 
 NAN. May I help you cut them apples. Aunt? 
 
 MRS. p. No, you mayn't 'elp me cut these apples. 
 You get your own work. 
 
 NAN. I've done all my work. Aunt. 
 
 MRS. p. None of your impudence, (very sharply) 
 
 NAN. I have. 
 
 MRS. P. If you 'ave, it's not done properly I know. 
 I've a good mind to make you do it over. A very 
 good mind. 
 
 NAN. Is that the dough for the pasty? 
 
 MRS. P. None o' yer business. 
 
 (NAN picks up a rolling pin) 
 
 Put down that pin when you're told. 
 
 NAN. I wish you'd let me 'elp. Aunt? Comp'ny 
 be coming at dark. 
 
 MRS. p. What's it to do with you ? I know w 'en 
 comp'ny's coming without your dinnin' it into me. 
 
 (NAN goes softly to the dresser) 
 
 Wot are you creepin' about on tiptoe for? One'd 
 think you were a thief, like your father. 
 
 IS 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN Ucxi 
 
 NAN. (meekly) I didn't want to disturve you, 
 Aunt. 
 
 MRS. P. Disturve me! You couldn't disturve 
 me more if you tried. 
 
 NAN. I'm sorry, Aunt. 
 
 MRS. p. You know that perfectly well. 
 
 NAN. I'm sorry, Aunt. 
 
 MRS. p. 'Ere, you give me the fidgets. 
 
 NAN. 'Ave you one of your sick headaches, Aunt ? 
 
 MRS. p. You give me the sick'edache. One would 
 think you might 'ave 'ad a little gratitood. 
 
 NAN. When I was grateful you called me a 'ipo- 
 crit. 
 
 MRS. p. Oh! When was you grateful, as you 
 call it? 
 
 NAN. When I first come 'ere. I did my best, I 
 did. I thought you'd like me if I work' 'ard, and 
 'elped you. 
 " MRS. p. Did yer think! 
 
 NAN. I used to make you tea afore you got up of 
 a morning: I wash up the dinner things, so as you 
 could 'ave your nap of a afternoon. I never let you 
 do, the week's washing, not once, since I come 'ere. 
 
 MRS. p. One 'ud expect a little something. After 
 all that's been done for you. 
 
 NAN. Done for me! What have you ever done 
 for me? 
 
 MRS. p. Given you a 'ome. 
 
 NAN. A home? 
 
 MRS. p. There's not many would 'ave took in a 
 girl 'er dad being 'ung. But I says to your Uncle — 
 
 NAN. I know what you said to Uncle. That the 
 
 Rector 'ad asked you to take me in. That's what 
 
 _you said to Uncle. You was afeared the Rector'd 
 
 let it be known if you refused. You was afeared 
 
 folk'd get to know you for what you are. That's 
 
 16 
 
ACTi] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 why you took me in. (more softly) D'ye think I 
 don't know, Aunt. I feel I do. {pause) And down 
 in the shop they tell me what a friend you've been 
 to me. "Mrs. Pargetter 'ave been kind tiv ee", 
 they say. And Mrs. Drew at the Rectory. She's 
 another. " 'Ow grateful you must feel towards your 
 aunt." That's what she says. And you smile. 
 You take it all in smiling. You lick your lips over 
 all their praise. Or you play the martyr. You play 
 the martyr. D'ye think I haven't heard you? "A 
 lot of return I get," that's what you say. They 
 praise you for being good to me. Good! You! 
 And you make my life here a hell. You lick your 
 lips to make life hell to me. And you tell lies about 
 me. You mean woman. You so holy, you tell 
 lies. 
 
 MR. p. {angrily) Now none of that now. That's 
 enough. You leave the room. 
 
 MRS. p. No, she'll not leave the room. I'll learn 
 'er to be'ave first, {to NAN) I'd 'ave you remem- 
 ber as your daily bread as you're so fond of is give 
 you by me and your Uncle. 
 
 NAN. Given me? 
 
 MRS. p. Per'aps you'll deny as you 'ave your 
 food — God knows you eat enough. 
 
 NAN. And every morsel bitter. Bitter. You 
 make it bum in my throat. 
 
 MRS. p. And a roof over your 'ed, which is more 
 than your merits. 
 
 NAN. So 'as a man in a prison a roof. 
 
 MRS. p. Yes. You're right. 'E 'as till 'e's 'img. 
 And you 'ave yom- clothes. The very clothes on 
 your back. Talking of clothes, that reminds me. 
 Take that dirty coat of yours out of the pig wash 
 where you put it. I suppose you want to poison the 
 pigs next. 
 
 17 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [acti 
 
 NAN. (turning to pig wash trow) Oh! 'Oo've 
 bin and done that? (at the point of tears) I sup- 
 Dose you fhink. it funny to spoil a poor girl's clothes. 
 And now it's spoiled, (she takes ribbon from pocket) 
 And this is spoiled. What I'd saved up for. Now 
 I shan't have any. You put that in the trow. You 
 know you did. 
 
 MRS. p. You say I put your dirty things in the 
 trow and I'll put you in. Talk like that to me, will 
 yer? One of these days I'll give you the cart whip, 
 like what you deserve. 
 
 NAN (turning to hide tears) . You read your Bible, 
 and you go to church, and you do a thing like that. 
 You put a poor girl's coat in the trow and as good 
 as deny it afterwards. 
 
 ME. p. Now come, come, come. 'Ow d'yer 
 expect to be ready for to-night? Let's ave no more 
 catanddoggin' here. 
 
 MRS. p. I'm not talking to you. 'Old yer peace. 
 (furiously at interruption) I'm talking to you (To 
 NAN) You're a black, proud, ungrateful cat. 
 Wot your 'eart'U look like on the Day of Judgemink 
 beats me. 
 
 NAN. Oh! (contemptuously — she opens out the 
 sopping coat) 
 
 MRS. p. I'll give yer 'oh'. 'Ere. Don't go 
 dripping the pig wash all about the place. You 
 drop it. Give it to me 'ere — 'ere. (she snatches at 
 the coat and tries to wrench it from NAN's hands) 
 
 NAN. Don't you dare to touch it. Let go of it. 
 
 MRS. p. Will yer. Leggo now. 
 
 NAN. I won't. No you don't. You'll tear it in 
 another minute. \ I'll kill you if you tear it. 
 
 MRS. p. Wot'll you? 
 
 NAN. I'll kill you. I'll kill you. 
 
 MRS. p. (putting both hands to the coat and wrench- 
 
 18 
 
ACT I] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 ing it free; then slashing it into NAN's face) I'll 
 show you 'go's mistress 'ere, my lady. Now — see. 
 {she tears the collar off and stamps on it) There. 
 You'll do what you're told 'ere, my lady. 
 
 {NAN holds table and glares at her aunt then 
 picks up the cutting knife) 
 
 NAN. {slowly) My dad gave me that coat {a 
 pause) My dad. 
 
 MRS. p. Mind, Will, she's got the knife in 'er 'and. 
 
 PAK. {going to her) Give me thicky knife, {he 
 takes it from her) No temper 'ere. I've got one 
 score against you already. Wot's come to you to- 
 day? 
 
 MRS. p. The devil's come to 'er. She's pret^ 
 near tore my arm off. 
 
 NAN. {slowly) You be careful. 
 
 MRS. p. But I'll teach yer. 
 
 NAN. You be careful. 
 
 PAR. Nan, you go to your room. 
 
 {NAN sullenly picks up the torn coat and then 
 bursts into tears) 
 
 NAN. My dad give me this coat. It's a, dear coat. 
 {she smooths out the torn and crumpled stuff) And 
 now it's all torn. {The PARGETTERS watch her with 
 a sort of hard scorn) I'll never be able to wear en 
 again. Oh, my dad, I wish I was dead. I wish I 
 was dead. 
 
 PAR. No sinful talk like that, now. Iwon't'ave it 
 
 NAN. Uncle! I 'ave tried, I 'ave. Uncle. 
 
 PAR. Don't turn to me, girl. You'd ought to turn 
 to God — giving way to the devH — No — and you've 
 not been straight. If you'd told me at once I'd 
 'ave let it pass. Though I felt it. {a pause, then 
 testily) Come now, be straight. That's above all 
 things. 
 
 (a pause, NAN sobs) 
 
 19 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [acii 
 
 Eh? 
 
 (NAN sobs) 
 
 MR. P. (rising) 'Aven't you something to tell 
 me? 
 
 NAN. No! No! 
 
 PAR. (grimly) I thought you 'ad. (turning) 
 
 NAN. Oh, Uncle! Do 'ec. 
 
 MR. p. (going) I didn't think it of you. 
 
 NAN. Uncle. 
 
 MR. p. I didn't think it. 
 
 (EXIT) 
 
 MRS. P. (going up to her) I'll make your belly 
 bitter, like in the Bible. 
 
 NAN. You! Oh! (turns from her) Oh, Dad, 
 I wish I were with 'ee, I do. 
 
 MRS. p. (bitterly) You'll spoil yer looks for to- 
 night, I shouldn't wonder. You won't ave yer 
 young men neighing after yer. Dirty 'ogs. 
 
 (NAN picks up apples and begins to cut them, 
 still crying) 
 
 MRS. p. I'll . watch you with your young men! 
 I'm not going to 'ave no mothers coming round 
 complaining. 
 
 NAN. (slowly) I 'ope you may never feel wot I 
 feel. 
 
 (ENTER JENNY) 
 
 JENNY. Mawther! 
 
 MRS. p. 'Ush! 
 
 JENNY. There be Dick's trap with the groceries. 
 
 MRS. p. Time too. 'Ere (to NAN) go and get 
 them! 
 
 NAN. Me? 
 
 MRS. p. Yes, you. 'Oo else. Do something for 
 your living for once in a way. 
 
 (EXIT NAN) 
 
 JENNY. Mother, wot 'ave Dad say? 
 
 20 
 
ACT I] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 MRS. P. 'Ush yer tongue. I've made that right. 
 
 JENNY. O mother. I thort 'e'd 'ave my 'ed ofi 
 for it. 
 
 MRS. p. Never you 'eed of that. I've somethiak 
 else to say to you. That girl, Nan — 
 
 JENNY. Wot, Mother? 
 
 MRS. p. (speaking very rapidly) You better 
 watch out she don't tread a thy corns, as well as thy 
 mother's she've a done. 
 
 JENNY. Wot do 'ee mean, mother? 
 
 MRS. p. Dick Gurvil's 'oo I mean. 
 
 JENNY Oh! 
 
 MRS. p. Yes, Dick Gurvil! She've set 'er cap 
 at Dick. 
 
 JENNY. Oh! 
 
 MRS. p. (mimicking) Oh! Oh! Yes, and Dick 
 be sweet on 'er. 
 
 JENNY. I don't care, mother. 
 
 MRS. p. Yes, you do care. 'Ave done o' your 
 foUy. 
 
 JENNY. Dick can please 'isself so far as I'm con- 
 cerned, I'm sure. 
 
 MRS. p. No 'e can't please 'isself, as you call it. 
 'Oo else'd yer get if you lose 'im? You take a man 
 when you can get 'im. There ain't too many, let 
 me tell yer. 
 
 JENNY. I do-an't care, I'm sure. I don't want 
 no men. 
 
 MRS. p. Don't you want. You listen to me. 
 You got ter want. Whether you like or not. I 
 ain't goin' to 'ave you the talk of the town. 
 
 JENNY. Lor, mother! I didn't think of that. 
 
 MRS. p. No, I know you didn't think. 
 
 JENNY. Lor, mother. 
 
 MRS. p. 'Oo 'ad 'er man took by a gallus-bird. 
 
 JENNY' Would they say that, Mother? 
 
 21 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [acti 
 
 URS. P. 'Oo's she to take Dick Gurvi!? If 
 you'd any pride — 
 
 JENNY. Be you sure she be a-trying for Dick? 
 
 MRS. p. Well, you best find out. 
 
 JENNY. I'll watch it, I will. 
 
 MRS. p. {as NAN ENTERS) Ah! you'd a bet- 
 ter! Now I got to see to the 'ouse work. I'U ex- 
 pect you to 'ave everythink ready against I come back. 
 {to NAN) You may think as you're someone. 
 I'll learn you different. None o' your tricks, 'ere. 
 No! Nor none of your mother's carryings on (a 
 pause) with men. That's wot I mean .... Gallus 
 bird. 
 
 {She goes out, NAN draws a chair to the tabic — 
 JENNY is already seated — and begins to cut a f pies. 
 She is cryi7ig. She gathers the torn coat together 
 tenderly) 
 
 JENNY. Never mind Mother, Nan. She don't 
 mean nothin! 
 
 NAN. I don't — 
 
 JENNY. She be only put out by 'avin' comp'ny 
 to-night. 
 
 NAN. It's not! It's not! Oh, she'd ought to 
 leave my father. 
 
 JENNY. There, there now — ^let I get 'ee some warm 
 waiter off the 'ob. Your eyes'll be as red as red. 
 
 NAN. I don't care, I don't care. 
 
 JENNY. Why, come now. Us be going to be girt 
 friends, us be, ben't us? Mother be a 'ard woman 
 to please. But 'er don't mean it. 
 
 NAN. Her do speak so bitter. They be all against 
 me! The 'ole world be against me. 
 
 JENNY, {with bowl of water and a handkerchief) 
 Do 'ee jest mop thy eye?. Or let I. 
 
 NAN. It be kind of you to trouble. What a girt 
 silly I be to cry so! 
 22 
 
ACTi] THETRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 JENNY. Your eyes '11 be as red. Come, come! 
 There be 'andsome young men a-comin'. I wouldn't 
 wonder as they be all sweet on you! I wouldn't 
 wonder as you'd 'ave a sweet'eart some Easter. 
 
 NAN. A sweet'eart! A charity girl! 
 
 JENNY. Don't take it to 'eart. Us be goin' to be 
 friends, ben't us, dear? 
 
 NAN. It be kind of you to speak kind. 
 
 JENNY. And us'U go out of a Sunday. Why, 
 us'll be girt friends. It go to my 'eart to think of 
 thy trouble. 
 
 NAN. Will 'ee be a friend, cousin Jenny? 
 
 JENNY. There, there. Wot pretty eyes you 'ave. 
 Your 'air's thicker than mine. 'Ow you do a set it 
 oS. Us'll 'ave no secrets, will us? 
 
 NAN. 'Ee will be my friend, won't 'ee, Jenny? 
 Do-an't 'ee be agen me — I couldn't bear it if you 
 turned against me. I've sometimes been near kill- 
 ing myself since I came here. Your Mother's been 
 that bitter to me. 
 
 JENNY. Don't 'ee say such things. 
 
 NAN. Jeimy, I'll tell 'ee why I didn't kill 
 myself. 
 
 JENNY. Lord, Nan, doa-n't 'ee. 
 
 NAN. I want 'ee to bear with me, Jenny. I'll 
 tell 'ee why I didn't kill myself. I thought .... 
 there .... it's only nonsense. Did you ever think 
 about men, Jenny? About loving a man? About 
 marriage ? 
 
 JENNY. I've 'oped to 'ave a 'ome of my own. 
 And not to be a burden 'ere and that. 
 
 NAN. Ah! But about 'elping a man? 
 
 JENNY. A man 'as strength. 'E ought to 'elp a 
 woman. 
 
 NAN. I could 'elp a man, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. Wot ideyers you do 'ave! 
 
 23 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN Iacti 
 
 NAN. When a girl's 'eart is breaking, Jenny, 
 she 'as ideyers. 
 
 JENNY. Ah! 
 
 NAN. Jenny! 
 
 JENNY. Yes, Nan? 
 
 NAN. I've never talked to a woman like this afore. 
 I felt I'd die if I couldn't talk to someone. 
 
 JENNY. I know, exackly! 
 
 NAN. When I see you so kind, and you so pretty 
 Jenny, I felt I must speak. 
 
 JENNY. Do you think me pretty, Nan? 
 
 NAN. Yes, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. In service they thought me pretty. All 
 but cook. 
 
 NAN. You are pretty, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. Cook was a unpleasant old thing. She 
 did 'er 'air in papers. No ladies do their 'air in 
 papers! Ow! she was 'orrid of a morning. O! 
 the waste I see go on in that 'ouse. They 'ad pastry 
 every day. And the ladies had milk and biscuits at 
 eleven of a morning. 
 
 NAN. You must tell me all your secrets, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. That I will. And will 'ee tell I all yourn ? 
 
 NAN. If you like, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. And will 'ee tell I when you 'ave a sweet- 
 'eart? 
 
 NAN. Ah! A sweet'eart. You must tell me about 
 yours, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. Ah! I ain't got one yet. 
 
 NAN. 'Aven't you, Jenny ? 
 
 JENNY. Noa. Not one special like. 
 
 NAN. You'll 'ave one soon, Jenny. O Jenny, 
 I hope you'll be very 'appy. 
 
 JENNY. Love be queer, ben't it? The things 
 it makes people do. Could 'ee fancy a man, Nan? 
 
 NAN. Perhaps. 
 24 
 
ACT I] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 JENNY. Ugly girt scxawfs, I think they be. 
 
 NAN. Not all of them. 
 
 JENNY. Perhaps you 'ave a fancy, Nan? 'Ave 
 you, dear. 'Ave you? 'Oo be it, Nan? Tell me, 
 dearie. I wouldn't tell a single soul. Tell me. Nan. 
 You said as you'd 'ave no secrets from me. 
 
 NAN. Ah! 
 
 JB2JNY. Is it anyone I know? 
 
 (NAN goes to her and puts an arm round her and 
 kisses her) 
 
 NAN. Yes, dear. 
 
 JENNY. Be it Artie Pearce? 
 
 NAN. No, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. 'Oo be it. It be a shame not to tell me I 
 
 NAN. Jenny dear? 
 
 JENNY. Yes, Nan. Tell me now. Whisper. 
 
 NAN. It be Dick Gurvil, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. Dick Gurvil? 
 
 NAN. I love him. I love him. 
 
 JENNY. Do you love him very much? 
 
 NAN. It feel like my 'eart was in flower, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. Ah! It must, (a paiise) I 'ope you'll 
 be very 'appy. You and Mr. Gurvil. 
 
 NAN. God bless you, Jenny. 
 
 JENNY. What eyes you have got, cousin Nan. 
 To think of you fancying Dick! It be nice to 'ave 
 you for a friend, cousin Nan. 
 
 NAN. Kiss me, dear. You've never kissed me. 
 
 JENNY. There! Go and bathe thy eyes. Nan. 
 They'll be red if 'ee don't. 'Ee mustn't 'ave them 
 red for Dick to-night. Bathe 'em in cold. 
 
 NAN. I could cry, I could, {she gees slowly out) 
 
 JENNY, {at the other door) Mother, (a pause) 
 (softly) Mother. 
 
 URS. p. (off) Yes! 
 
 JENNY. Come 'ere a momea 
 
 2S 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [acti 
 
 MRS. P. (wiping her hands) What d'yer want 
 now. 
 
 JENNY. About Nan. 
 
 MRS. p. Wot? Wot about 'er? 
 
 JENNY, {giggling) She be soft on Dick, Mother. 
 Her've a-told me. 
 
 MRS. p. Ho! 
 
 JENNY, {giggling) Us'll 'ave to watch it, Mother 
 
 MRS. r. I'll watch it. 
 
 CDRTAIN 
 
 26 
 
ACT II 
 
 SCENE:— The kitchen. NAN tidying up. She 
 places tray, glasses and bottle in inner room 
 NAN. (sings) .... 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winds of winter blow, 
 And cover me with sparklen snow, 
 And tear the branches from the tree, 
 And strew the dead leaves over me. 
 DICK, {coming in) Miss Nan. 
 NAN. Why, Mr. Gurvil! What a start you give 
 me. You be early. 
 DICK. Ah? When'U the others be 'ere? 
 NAN. Not yet. It's not half past yet. 
 DICK. When'll the others — Mrs. Pargetter — ^be 
 down? 
 
 NAN. They won't be down this ten minutes. They 
 be dressing. 
 
 DICK. And 'aven't the fiddler come? 
 
 NAN. No. 
 
 DICK. Per'aps I'd a better go put again. 
 
 NAN. No. Come in and sit down, Mr. Dick. 
 They'U be 'ere direckly. I'll be done. Tell me the 
 news in the great world. What be 'appening? 
 
 DICE. T'hey do say there be a criminal a-broak 
 loose. Out of Glorster jail. 
 
 NAN. Indeed! 
 
 DICK. And come 'idin' 'ere somewhere, they 
 think. 
 
 27 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [act n 
 
 NAN. What makes them think that? 
 
 DICK. I dunno. But there be a Bow Street Run- 
 ner. And there be a gentleman come. They were 
 askin' where Parson live. They must be 'avin' a 
 hue and cry. Hope they'll catch 'im and 'ang 'im. 
 I'd like to sick the dogs at 'em. 
 
 NAN. They be 'uman beings, like us be, Mr. 
 Dick. 
 
 DICK, (undeing his neck-cloth) No, they ben't 
 like us. That be where you women go wrong. 
 Along of your 'earts, that is. I'd like to see all 
 criminals 'anged. Then us honest ones might fare 
 to prosper. {He takes off neck-cloth) 
 
 NAN. What'll you take, Mr. Dick, after your 
 walk? 
 
 DICK. What be going? 
 
 NAN. 'Ave some zider and a cake. They be in 
 the next room, ready. 
 
 DICK. If it ben't troubling you, I ull. 
 
 {NAN fetches mug and plate) 
 
 DICK, {taking a cake) I'd ought to be a-waiting on 
 you, not you a-waiting on me. Only I 'avent any 
 angel-cakes 'ere. None but angel-cakes 'd be fit 
 eating for you. Miss Nan. 
 
 NAN. Oh, now, I wonder how many girls you've 
 made that speech to. 
 
 DICK. None, I never. 
 
 NAN. Well, I hope you like your cake? 
 
 DICK. It be beautiful. A spice-cake, when it fae 
 split and buttered, ^^nd just set to the fire, so as the 
 butter runs. I don't mean to toast it; but just set 
 to the fire, and then just a sprinkle of sugar to give 
 it a taste. No so as to make it sweet, you know. 
 It go down like roses. Like kissing a zweet 'eart at 
 'arvest time. When the girt moon be zhining. 
 
 NAN. If they be all that to you, Mr. Dick, you 
 28 
 
ACT n] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 must 'ave another. Tiy and think the clock be the 
 moon a-zhining. 
 
 {she gets more cakes) 
 
 DICK. It be lovely 'aving cakes and you bringing 
 them to me. {Bites) But there ben't no sugar, not 
 on this one. Miss Nan, will 'ee jest put thy pretty 
 'and on this cake, and then it'U be sugared lovely. 
 
 NAN. I'm not going to do anything so siUy. 'Ere. 
 Take this one. This one be sugared. 
 
 DICK, {eaiing) It 'ud be just 'eaven if you'd 
 'ave 'alf of it. So's I might feel — some'ow — as — 
 
 NAN. No. I won't 'ave any. 'Ave another drop 
 of zider. 
 
 DICK, {tasting) Your zider be too peert. Miss 
 Nan. I like zider to be peert, like I likes my black 
 puddens done, up to a point. But zider's peert's 
 this — I teU you what it • want. It want to 'ave a 
 apple roast therein, and a sod toast therein, and then 
 it want to 'ave a nutmeg grated ever so light, not 
 rough, yer know. And then it be made mdlow, 
 like, like tart of a Sunday. 
 
 NAN. Why, Mr. Dick, you'd ought to have been 
 a cook, I think. 
 
 DICK. My father say to me — "Mind thy innards", 
 he say. I 'ad to do for my father, arter mother died. 
 Very pertiklar about his innards dad were. I learned 
 about innards from 'im. 
 
 NAN. It be wonderful to 'ave a father to do for. 
 To think as he knowed 'ee when you were a little 
 un. To think as perhaps 'e give up lots o' things, 
 so's you might fare to be great in the world. 
 
 DICK. My dad never give up. 'E said 'e try it 
 once, just to try like. It never'd 'ave suit my dad. 
 
 NAN. It be always 'ard for a man to give up, even 
 for a child, they say. But a woman 'as to give up. 
 You don't know. You never think per'aps what a 
 
 29 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NANLabtii 
 
 woman gives up. She gives up 'er beauty and 'er 
 peace. She gives up 'er share of joy in the world. 
 All to bear a little one; as per'aps'll not give 'er bread 
 when 'er be wold. 
 
 DICK. I wonder women ever want to 'ave children. 
 They be so beautiful avore they 'ave children. They 
 'ave their red cheeks, so soft. And sweet lips so 
 red's red. And their eyes bright, like stars a-zhining. 
 And oh, such white soft 'ands. Touch one of 'em, 
 and you 'ave like shoots all down. Beau-ti-vul. 
 Love-lee. 
 
 NAN. It be a proud thing to 'ave a beauty to 
 raise love in a man. 
 
 DICK. And after. I seen the same girls, with 
 their 'ands all rough of washing-day, and their fin- 
 gers aU scarred of stitching. And their cheeks all 
 flaggin', and sunk. And dull as toads' bellies, the 
 colour of 'em. And their eyes be 'eavy, like a foun- 
 dered wold ewe's when 'er time be on 'er. And lips all 
 bit. And there they do go with the backache on 
 'em. Pitiful, I call it. Draggin' their wold raggy 
 skirts. And the baby crying. And little Dick with 
 'is nose all bloody, fallen in the grate. And little 
 Sairey fell in the yard, and 'ad 'er 'air mucked. 
 Ah! Ughl It go to my 'eart. 
 
 NAN. Ah, but that ben't the all of love, Mr. Dick. 
 It be 'ard to see beauty gone, and joy gone, and a 
 light 'eart broke. But it be wonderful for to 'ave 
 little ones. To 'ave brought life into the world. 
 To 'ave 'ad them little live things knocking on your 
 'eart, all them months. And then to feed them. 
 'Elpless like that. 
 
 DICK. They be pretty, little ones be, when they 
 
 be kept clean and that. I likes 'earing them sing 
 
 'imns. I likes watching the little boys zwimming 
 
 in the river. They be so white and swift, washing 
 
 30 
 
ACT n] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 tnemselves. And the splashin' do shine zo. Dia- 
 monds. 'Oo be coming 'ere to-night — 'sides us? 
 
 NAN. Old Gaffer Pearce be a-comra' to fiddle. 
 
 DICK. He'd ought to be in mad'ouse, GafEer 
 did. Dotty owd gape. He ben't wholly stalwart in 
 VDS brains, folk do observe. But — 
 
 NAN. He been a beautiful fiddler. 
 
 DICK. He been a wonder, that old man 'ave. 
 
 NAN. 'E play wonderful still, when 'e gets think- 
 ing of old times, and of 'is girl as 'e calls 'er. Why, 
 she've been dead fifty years and more. 
 
 DICK. She was beautiful. They call 'er the Star 
 of ihe West. My dad 'ave tell of 'er. She 'ad a 
 face like cream. 
 
 NAN. He made beautiful poems to 'er; and music, 
 'e did. I 'eard 'im sing 'is poems once. He was 
 fiddlin' quiet-like, all the time 'e were a-singing; 
 and the tears standing in 'is eyes. 'E's never been 
 quite right since the Lord 'ad mercy on 'er. 
 
 DICK. 'Oo else's comin' 'sides Gaffer? 
 
 NAN. Tommy and Artie. What a 'andsome boy 
 Artie be grown. 
 
 DICK. Ah ? I 'ear 'em say that. I couldn't ever 
 see it. 
 
 NAN. He be just like his mother. Black and 
 comely. 
 
 DICK. I likes a good black. I likes a good brown, 
 a good bay brown. I likes a good black too. There 
 be bright blacks and there be dull blacks. Now 
 what be the black as I likes? Your 'air is jest the 
 very colour. Beautiful I call it. 
 
 NAN. (getting up) If you ben't going to 'ave 
 more zider I'll take your mug, Mr. Dick. Mr. 
 Dick. 
 
 DICK. Yes. 
 
 NAN. We've 'ad a sheep die on us last week. 
 
 31 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [act n 
 
 Don't you 'ave none of our 'ot mutton pies to- 
 night. 
 
 DICK. Ah ? I 'ope you'll give me twice of trotters, 
 instead like, I can do with a trotter, I can. I s'posc 
 us be going to 'ave great times 'ere to-night. Miss 
 Nan. 
 
 NAN. Yes, indeed. Us'll dance the moon down 
 to-night. 
 
 DICK. I s'pose you be a girt lady to dance? 
 
 NAN. I've not dance now, for more'n a year, Mr. 
 Dick. 
 
 DICK. I s'pose you 'ad dancings when you were 
 to 'ome. 
 
 NAN. Us used to dance on our doorsteps at 'ome. 
 There was an old man used to fiddle Jo us. Every 
 night there was a moon, we danced. The girls 
 would dance in their pattens. They used to go 
 clack, clack, their feet did. You'd a thought it was 
 drums, Mr. Dick. 
 
 DICK. I wish I'd bin there to 'ave dance with you. 
 
 NAN. And then we used to sing "Joan to the 
 Maypole" and "Randal" and all the old songs. 
 And there'd be beetles a buzzin'. And sometimes 
 one of the shepherds come with 'is flute. It was 
 nice at 'ome, then. 
 
 DICK. What times us be 'avin' since you come 
 'ere. It be always sad to leave 'ome. But I s'pose 
 you'll be going back afore long. Your dad and your 
 mother'U be a-wanting you. Sure to be. 
 
 NAN. They be dead, Mr. Dick. 
 
 DICK. Now, be they indeed! Mrs. Pargetter do 
 talk's though you 'ad both your folL 
 
 NAN. Mrs. Pargetter! She has 'er reasons, Mr. 
 Dick, for letting folk think that. 
 
 DICK. What reasons can 'er 'ave for that, Miss 
 Nan? 
 
 32 
 
ACT n] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. Some day,' per'aps I'll tell you 'er reasons. 
 Now let I take your coat and that. 
 
 {She takes coat, hat, etc. and puts them in inner 
 room. Then RE-ENTERS) 
 DICK. 'Ow brave you be a-looking, Miss Nan. 
 Soap and water tells, they do say. 
 You be all roses, Miss Nan. And you be 
 
 NAN. 
 DICK. 
 
 all lilies, 
 
 NAN. 
 
 DICK. 
 
 NAN. 
 
 DICE. 
 
 NAN. 
 
 DICK. 
 
 NAN. 
 
 DICK. 
 
 NAN. 
 
 rose! 
 
 DICK. 
 
 Why, Mr. Dick! You be quite the courtier. 
 
 Ah! {producing a rose) Miss Nan? 
 Yes? 
 
 I brought a rose — 
 For Jenny, Mr. Dick? 
 
 No, for 'ee. Will 'ee wear it, Miss Nan? 
 Yes, if you'll give it to me. 
 
 'Ere it be. VVill 'ee say thank you for it ? 
 Thank you, Mr. Dick. What a beautiful 
 
 'Er be red. 
 
 Er be a Campden Wonder. 
 Like love. Love be red. Like roses. 
 NAN. Oh! 
 
 DICK. I see that rose growing, Miss Nan — an' I — 
 I thought 'er'd look beautiful if — if — if you were 
 wearing of 'er, like. 
 NAN. Well, I hope it does. 
 
 You put 'er to the blush, Miss Nan — ^Miss 
 
 DICK, 
 
 Nan — 
 
 NAN. 
 DICK. 
 NAN. 
 DICK, 
 
 NAN. 
 DICK, 
 
 Yes? 
 
 Will you do I a favour? 
 
 What is it? 
 
 Will 'ee wear that rose in your hair? 
 
 In my hair, Mr. Dick! Why? 
 
 I 'ad a dream once of you with roses in 
 your hair. 
 
 NAN. (putting rose in her hair) In the old times 
 women always put roses in their hair. When they 
 
 33 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN act u] 
 
 danced, they wore roses in their hair. The rose- 
 leaves feU all about 'en, my mother told me. 
 
 DICE. It looks like it were growing out of your 
 'ed. 
 
 NAN. I must light the lamp. 
 
 DICK. No, don't 'ee. Don't 'ee. 
 
 NAN. (striking a match) They must have looked 
 beautiful, those women must, in the old time. There 
 was songs made of them. Beauty be a girt gift, Mr. 
 Dick. 
 
 DICK. It be wonderful in a woman. 
 
 NAN. It makes a woman like God, Mr. Dick. 
 
 DICK. You be beautiful. Nan; you be beautiful. 
 
 NAN. Ah, Mr. Dick. 
 
 DICK. You be beautiful. You be like a fairy. 
 The rose. You be beautiful like in my dream. 
 
 NAN. Ah! Let go my hands. Let go my hands. 
 
 DICK. You be beautiful. Yoior eyes. And your 
 face so pale. And your hair with the rose. O Nan, 
 you be lovely. You be lovely! 
 
 NAN. O don't! Don't! 
 
 DICK. My love, my beloved. 
 
 NAN. Ah! 
 
 DICK. I love you, O Nan, I love you. 
 
 NAN. Let me go: let me go, please. 
 
 DICK. Do 'ee care for me? Do 'ee love me, Nan? 
 
 NAN. You don't know! You don't know! You 
 don't know about me. 
 
 DICK. I love you. 
 
 NAN. Ah! You mustn't. You mustn't love me. 
 
 DICK. There be no high queen 'as a beauty like 
 yours, Nan. 
 
 NAN. O! let me go. 
 
 DICK. My love! My 'andsome! 
 
 NAN. O! Dick. 
 
 DICK. Nan, O Nan, do 'ee love me? 
 
 34 
 
ACT II] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. Ah! 
 
 DICK. Dear sweet. Will 'ee marry me? Do 'ee 
 love me? 
 
 NAN. I love you, Dick. 
 
 DICE. My lovel My pretty! 
 
 NAN. My dear love. 
 
 DICK. My beautifiil. I'll make a song for you, 
 my beautiful. 
 
 NAN. Your loving me, that's song enough. 
 
 DICK. Nan, dear, let I take the pins out of your 
 hair. Let me 'ave your 'air all loose. Your lovely 
 hair. O Nan, you be a beautiful woman. 
 
 NAN. Ah, God! I wish I were beautiful. 
 
 DICK. Dear love, you be. 
 
 NAN. More beautiful. Then I'd 'ave more to 
 give you. 
 
 DICK. Kiss me. Kiss me! 
 
 NAN. There be my 'air, Dick. It ben't much, 
 after all. 
 
 DICK, (kissing the hair) Oh, beautiful. Beau- 
 ti-vul. My own Nan. 
 
 NAN. I am yours, my beloved. 
 
 DICK. When shall us be married? When shall 
 us come together? 
 
 NAN. Ah, my love! Now is enough. Now is 
 enough. 
 
 DICK. When shall us marry? 
 
 NAN. Kiss me. 
 
 DICK. Shall it be Michaelmas? 
 
 NAN. Kiss me. Kiss me. 
 
 DICK. My winsome. My beauty. 
 
 NAN. Now loose me, darling. {They break) I 
 have had my moment. I have been happy. 
 
 DICK. Nan! Nan! 
 
 NAN. I cannot marry you. O Dick, 'ee must go 
 away. Go away. (He goes toward her) Don't 
 
 3S 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [ act n 
 
 'ee. Us can never marry. You'd 'ate me if you 
 . knew. I can't tell you. Not to-night, dear. They'll 
 ^ be coming down directly. If I married you, Dick ? 
 Oh, I can't. I can't — if I married you — if we lived 
 'ere — I might bring shame upon you. They'd call 
 names after me. They'd know. They'd know. 
 
 DICK. My pretty! My Nan. Tell thy Dick. 
 
 NAN. Ah, no, no. Don't touch me. You don't 
 know yet. I'm — not a fit — I'm not a fit woman for 
 you to marry, Dick. My father. My poor dad — 
 {she breaks down) O Dick! O Dick! You don't 
 know what sorrows I gone through. I think my 
 'eart'U break. 
 
 DICK. There, there. Nan. Tell thy Dick. My 
 poor dearie. You be my dear love now. Nan. 
 
 NAN. If you love me, Dick — O, my love! Us 
 together! Us needn't fear what they say. Us 
 could go away, Dick. To America. Us'd be 'appy 
 there. O Dick, take me out of this. All we ave 
 is our lives, Dick. With love, us'd never want. 
 Us'd 'ave that, my love. Take me, Dick. 
 
 DICK. I'll take you, darling. To-night To-night 
 I'll tell them. 
 
 NAN. In spite of — even if — ^what I 'ave to say? 
 
 DICK. No matter what it is, dear. To-night, now. 
 To-night. When the fiddler comes. 
 
 NAN. Ah! my beloved! 
 
 DICK. I'll daim you. Before them all, I'll claim 
 you. 
 
 NAN. Your wife, my blessed. 
 
 DICE. Kiss me, once more, dear. 
 
 NAN. Before they come. 
 
 (Outside the door there is a shuffling and giggling) 
 
 A VOICE. They be in. I hear 'em. 
 
 A VOICE. They ben't. 
 
 A VOICE. Don't Artie. (Together, rapidly) 
 S6 
 
ACT II] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 A VOICE. Sh! 
 
 A VOICE. All together. 
 
 A VOICE. One aJFter the other. 
 
 DICK. Here they are. 
 
 NAN. My beloved! My own. 
 
 VOICES. "Joan, to the maypole away let us on 
 The time is short and will be gone — " 
 
 (Xhey stop and giggle) 
 
 ANOTHER. They ben't. 
 
 {One hums the tune) 
 
 DICK. To-night. Before them all. When the 
 fiddle begins. My wife. 
 
 NAN. My husband. 
 
 VOICES. "Where your beauties may be seen" 
 Bang! Bang! Bang! 
 
 {They knock the door. The LOVERS break. 
 Mrs. Par getter and Jenny run downstairs as NAN 
 flings the door open. ENTER OLD GAFFER 
 PEARCE, ARTIE of that ilk, TOMMY ARKER 
 and TWO GIRLS) 
 
 MRS. P. 'Ere you be. 'Ow nice it is to see you. 
 {She kisses the girls and looks hard at NAN) 
 
 JENNY. {To DICK) Ah, Mr. Gurvol. 'Ave you 
 brought I the rose as you promised? 
 
 DICK. You don't want no roses. 
 
 JENNY. You ain't very polite, Mr. Dick. 
 
 DICK. You got roses in your cheeks, you 'ave. 
 
 MRS. p. 'Ow be you, gaffer? 
 
 {General salutation) 
 
 ARTIE. Granfer doan't 'ear you, unless you 'it 
 'im. {shouts in his ear) 'Ow be you, granfer? 
 
 GAi'EER. {looking at NAN) Twice I seen her, 
 twice. Her've gone by on the road. With a rose 
 in 'er 'air. And 'er eyes shone. Twice. In 
 April. 
 
 ARTIE. 'Ere, gaffer! Sit down 'ere. 'E can fiddle 
 
 33 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [act ii 
 
 still, th'owd granfer do; but 'e doan't talk, not to 
 strangers. 
 
 A GIRL. Us seed some strangers in the village, 
 Mrs. Pargetter. 
 
 MRS. p. Ah? 
 
 TOM. They were askin' where your 'ouse was. 
 Them and parson. 
 
 ARTIE. 'Ave you been a-robbin', Mrs. Pargetter? 
 
 MRS. PAR. A-robbin'! No. I 'ave enough of 
 thieves without me going stealin', I 'ope. 
 
 ARTIE. V/ell. One of 'em be a runner, 'e be. 
 
 DICK Yes, for I seed 'en too. 
 
 MRS. p. O! So you didn't come with th' others, 
 then, Dick? 
 
 DICK. Noa. But I seen 'en. 
 
 ALL. I wonder whatever they do want! 
 
 MRS. PAR. Well. If they're coming 'ere, us shall 
 soon know. I should a-thought the pleece could a- 
 caught their own thieves. 
 
 {OLD PARGETTER comes downstairs, button- 
 ing his waistcoat) 
 
 MR. p. Aha! Aha! 
 
 ALL. 'Ow be you, Mr. Pargetter? 
 
 MR. PAR. {saluting Why, 'ow beautiful all you 
 girls be looking! 'UUo, Didc! You be quite the 
 bridegroom. Why gaffer, what a old Pocahontas 
 you be, to be sure! 'Ave you brought your fiddle? 
 
 GATFER. {still staring at NAN) 'Oo be her? 
 On the roads, shining, I've seen 'er. Scattering 
 blossoms, blossoms. 
 
 JENNY, {after glancing at GAFFER) So you 
 come 'ere early, Dick. Why Nan, do look. You 
 'aven't a-done your 'air. Look, mother, at Nan's 'air! 
 
 MRS. PAR. What in the name of Fate d'you 'ave 
 that rose in your 'air for? Any why d'yer come 
 down with your 'air like that? 
 38 
 
ACT II] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. I had to open the door. I had to light the 
 candle. 
 
 GAITER. Give I a cup of red wine and a cup of 
 white wine, and honey {coming towards her) and a 
 apple and a — I be goin' to fiddle joy to the feet of 
 the bride. 
 
 ARTIE. You be going to do wonders, you be. 
 Sit down, you old stupe. Ain't no bride 'ere. 
 
 MR. p. {to the GIRLS) There be brides for us 
 all. With all you lovely young things. Nothing 
 like 'aviag a sweet'eart. Now! You ladies, you'll 
 want to take oflE your things. 
 
 ARTIE. 'Ow about us? 
 
 MR. PAR. One sect ' at a time. Like the sheep 
 goin' through a 'edge. Per'aps you ladies'll go up- 
 stairs with Nan and Jenny 'ere. 
 
 NAN. Come, Ellen. 
 
 JENNY. 'Ere! Give I your brolly. 
 
 (The GIRLS go upstairs) 
 
 MR. PAR. Now, you gentlemen. Come on in 
 'ere with me. {He leads them to the inner room) 
 ^ MRS. PAR. {as DICK follows) Oh, Dick. 
 
 DICK. Ess, Mrs. Pargetter. 
 
 MRS. PAR. I see you 'ave your things ofi. Just 
 'elp me a moment, there's a good lad. 
 
 DICK. Ess, Mrs. Pargetter. What do 'e want 
 done? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Us must 'ave all clear for dancing. 
 I'll nip them candles over 'ere to the dresser. There. 
 Now 'elp me lift the table over. There! You was 
 'ere early, wasn't yer, Dick? 
 
 DICK. Nothin' to speak of. 'Ow about them 
 chairs ? 
 
 MRS. PAR. They'll do nicely. I suppose Nan 
 let you in? 
 
 DICK. Ess. Miss Nan done. 
 
 39 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NANLacth 
 
 MRS. PAR. You two been 'aving a fine game, I know. 
 
 DICK. Ah ? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Don't tell me you 'aven't. Did she 
 kiss yer ? 
 
 DICK, {sullenly) Never you mind. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Oh, I don't mind. But I got eyes, 
 I 'ave. 
 
 DICK. Oh! What good 'ave they done yer? 
 
 MRS. PAR. O, when I see a girl with 'er face all 
 flushed, and 'er 'air all 'anging down, and a rose 
 stuck over 'er ear, and a young man by 'er as flus- 
 tered as what you are — Well — I can — 
 
 DICK. What can you? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Well, I know they don't come like that 
 of their own. 
 
 DICK, {sullenly) Do you? 
 
 MRS.. PAR. I ain't blaming yer, mind. 
 
 DICK. Aren't yer? 
 
 MRS. PAR. I know what it is to be young, myself. 
 But all the same — 
 
 DICK. What? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Oh, nothing. 
 
 DICK. What were you going to say? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Nothing. 
 
 DICK. You were going to say something. 
 
 MRS. PAR. No, I weren't. Only it mid seem 
 strange. You see, your dad's so partikler. 
 
 DICK. Oh! 'Im, 
 
 MRS. PAR. 'As 'e took you in 'is partner yet? 
 Your dad? 
 
 DICK. No. 
 
 MRS. PAR. No, I know 'e 'aven't. I could tell 
 yer something. A little surprise — about your dad. 
 
 DICK. What's that? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Somethin' 'e said to me. I don't 
 know as I've a right to tell yer. 
 40 
 
ACT n] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 DICK. About my being took in as partner to 'im ? 
 
 MRS. PAK. It was meant as a secret. But there 
 — since — us can 'ave no secrets, can us? 
 
 DICK. Why, no — I'm — 
 
 MRS. PAR. Well — your dad says to me, "Mrs. 
 Pargetter" 'e says, "I'm gettin' to be a old man, 
 I want to see my boy settled. Now then", 'e says. 
 "The day my boy marries I 'ave 'im bound my part- 
 ner. And £20 to 'elp 'im furnish". 
 
 DICK. Good iron! A old chanti-cleer. Balm 
 in Gilead, as the saying is. 
 
 MRS. PAR. "Yes", I says, "And more no mother 
 could ask", (change of voice) That girPd forsake 
 'er 'eavenly crown for you, Dick. She's drooped 
 like a lily of the vale since she's been away. If you'd 
 seen that girl as I seen 'er, you'd 'ave yourself arst 
 this Sunday. Or you'll 'ave 'er goin' into a decline. 
 'Ave you arst 'er yet? 
 
 DICK. Yes. I arst 'er just now. Just this minute 
 ago. 
 
 MRS. PAR. When she was at the door 'ere? 
 
 DICK. When I come in. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Wot did she say, I wonder? No 
 tellin', I suppose? 
 
 DICK. I thought as you'd seen. I mean, from 
 what you said. 
 
 MRS. PAR. No. I never seed. 
 
 DICK. From 'er 'avin' 'er 'air down. The rose 
 and that. 
 
 MRS. PAR. 'Air down? She 'adn't 'er 'air down. 
 I done it myself. 
 
 DICK. Yes, she 'ad 'er 'air down. You said — 
 just now — 
 
 MRS. PAR. Jenny 'ad? 
 
 DICK. No, Nan. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Nan: wot's she got to do with it? 
 
 41 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN[actii 
 
 DICK. I've just arst 'er to marry me, Mrs. Par- 
 getter. And her 'ave said yes. (a pause) It'll 
 be nice bein' a partner and that, won't it. I'll be 
 able to 'ave the trap of a evenin'. And I'll 'ave money 
 for— 
 
 MRS. PAR. (grimly) You be 'is partner! You'll 
 be your dad's partner if you marry Jenny — that's 
 your dad's arrangement. That's wot 'e's planned. 
 
 DICK My dad 'ave planned — 
 
 MRS. PAR. "'E shall marry as I choose", 'e 
 says, "my son shall. If 'e don't know which side 
 'is bread is buttered, there's the door. 'E can 
 beg." 
 
 DICK. 'E can beg! 
 
 MRS. PAR. "Not a penny will 'e ever 'ave from 
 me", 'e says. Now. 
 
 DICK. So! 
 
 {MRS. PARGETTER watches him) 
 
 MRS. PAR. D'you think we'd let you throw Jen- 
 ny over, after getting 'er talked about? 
 
 DICK. It be different 'avin' a kiss or two of a girl 
 and wantin' to marry 'er. . 
 
 (RE-ENTER PARGETTER slowly, looking hard 
 at DICK -who is very white. He walks to the 
 dresser, picks up a corkscrew, and walks slowly out, 
 looking hard at DICK but saying nothing) 
 
 MRS. PAR. Now then. 
 
 DICK, (moistening his lips) Per'aps my father'U 
 'ear me explain. , 
 
 MRS. PAR. Wot'U you tell 'im? 
 
 DICK. Tell 'im as Jenny ain't no more to me 'n 
 what a pig's milt is. Tell 'im as I love Nan. And 
 as I be goin' to marry 'er. 
 
 MRS. PAR. (slowly and grimly) You'll tell 'im 
 for instans, you'll tell your father, for instans, as 
 you're goin' to marry a girl whose dad was 'ung at 
 42 
 
ACT n] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 Glorster, like the thief 'e was. Just afore last Christ- 
 mas. 
 
 DICK. Nan's dad wos? 
 
 MRS. PAR. {nods her head) And 'er mother 'ad 
 men come to see 'er. (a pause) 'Ow'll yer tell 
 that to yer dad? 
 
 DICK. My Lord Almighty! Daughter of one of 
 theml 
 
 MRS. PAR. Two of them. 
 
 DICK. My 'oly Saviour! 
 
 MRS. PAR. Your 'art out of your bosom like a 
 engine it does go. 
 
 DICK. I'll marry 'er yet to spite yer. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Wot'll yer marry 'er on? You ain't 
 got a penny. She ain't got a penny, (a pause) I 
 wonder she never told yer about 'er dad's being 'ung. 
 They 'ad yeomanry in front of the gaol. Quite an 
 affair. Didn't she never tell yer? 
 
 DICK. No. 'Er was going to. My! Oh my 
 
 MRS. PAR. Per'aps she waited till she 'ooked yer. 
 'Ark at 'em in there! 
 
 (Laughter inside and one crows like a cock) 
 She is artful. I never see a deeper girl than wot 
 she is. 
 
 DICK. Oh, 'old yer tongue, you old devil! I've 
 'ad my gruel. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Come, come. Be a man. 
 
 DICK. Mrs. Pargetter. I mean, I'm — ^Mrs. Par- 
 getter — 
 
 MRS. PAR. Yes? Wot? 
 
 DICK. I dunno — I dunno wot to think. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Your dad'U know wot to think. 
 
 DICK. I dunno! If I 'ad a little of my own! 
 
 MRS. PAR. Oh, if yer like to starve, starve. Walk. 
 Pad yer 'oof. 
 
 DICK. Ah! A tramper! My 'eavenly Kingl 
 
 43 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN[ACTn 
 
 MRS. PAR. Lots on 'em pass 'ere. Dirt on 'em. 
 Feet comin' through their boots. You see 'em nick 
 crusts out of the gutter. Berries of a 'edge, some 
 on 'em. Froze stiff, some on 'em, under a rick. 
 Lots on 'em. 
 
 DICK. Ah! Don't 1 I can't! (a pause) 
 
 MRS. PAR. Well, Dick? Wot's it to be? Is it 
 Jenny ? 
 
 DICK. O damn it, yes, it's Jenny, Jenny. Like 
 'avin' a cold poultice! Very well, it's Jenny then. 
 Now I 'ope yer satisfied. 
 
 MRS. PAR. {kissing him) There. I knew yer 
 wouldn't act dishonourable. I knowed you better. 
 
 (The door opens, the men come in, singing and 
 laughing. ARTIE PEARCE crows like a cock. 
 The GIRLS come down, hearing the noise) Wot a 
 time you people 'ave been. 
 
 MR. PAR. Wot 'a you been doin' all the time ? 
 
 ARTIE, (singing) Mating love in the evenin' 
 
 Making love in the evenin' 
 
 A drop of zider sets one up like (wiping his mouth) 
 
 MRS. PAR. (to Pargetter) You'll 'ear later. 
 All in good time. 'Ere Jenny, 'elp me with these 
 chairs! I've watched it all right. Dick and you 
 I mean. It's settled. 
 
 JENNY, (with a chair) Give I that one, Mother. 
 O Mother, wot fun us shall 'ave. 
 
 MR. PAR. Now us be goin' to 'ave a dance. 
 
 A GIRL Be you a-goin' to dance, Mr. Pargetter? 
 
 MR. PAR. Coujse I be. Come, gaffer. Out with 
 that fiddle o' yourn. 
 
 A GIRL. I do love a fiddle. 
 
 JENNY. A barrel hargin be good, too. 
 
 MR. PAR. Now, gaffer. Now, no long faces, 
 anybody. Us be goin' to 'ave great times, ben't us? 
 
 NAN. Wait till I set thy chair right, gaffer. 
 44 
 
ACT II] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 GAFFER, (quertdously) On the roads, I seen you. 
 Surely. And it was all — all a-blowing? 
 
 NAN. Sit 'ere, now. And 'ave this cushion. 
 
 ARTIE. Don't let - granfer fall into the fire. 'E 
 will, if you don't watch it. 
 
 GAFFER, (bowing in the old style) Beauty makes 
 women be proud. There be few beauties 'as the 
 'umbleness to 'elp a old man. Ah, there be no 
 pleasure for the old; but to 'muse the young. I be 
 a old man. A old, old man! 
 
 NAN. The old be wise, gaffer. The old 'ave 
 peace, after their walking the world. 
 
 MRS. PAR. StuS! (a giggle) 
 
 GAFFER. There be no peace to 'im as sees you, 
 goin' by in beauty, puttin' fire to 'em. 
 
 GIRLS. Us be waitin''. Us be all ready! 
 
 MR. PAR. Take your — 
 
 GAFFER, (to NAN) What tune will the bride 'ave? 
 A ring of bells and the maids flinging flowers at 'er. 
 Like me and my girl 'ad. (^atise) I 'ad a flower of 
 'er to go to church with, (^ause) They put my 
 flower under the mould after, (jiarise) I 'eard the 
 mould go knock! (he tunes his fiddle as he speaks) 
 No one remembers my white flower, (pause) 
 That's sixty year ago. 
 
 NAN. You'll meet her again, gaffer. Per'aps 
 she's by you now. 
 
 GAFFER, (vjith a lifting voice — half rising) So 
 you've a come, my 'andsome — 
 
 MRS. PAR. 'Ere. (shetaps GAFFER'S hand) Play! 
 'Ere! Fiddle, (to NAN) Don't you see you're 
 upsettin' 'im. Move away. One'd think you'd 
 no feelings. 
 
 MR. PAR. Take your partners. 
 
 MR. PAR. Now, 'ave you all got your partners? 
 
 ALL. No. Don't be so silly, Artie. Now, do be 
 
 45 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NANUcrn 
 
 quiet. 'Ow are us to dance! {etc. etc.) You come 
 over 'ere, by me. 
 
 {NAN stands a little apart, looking at DICK, 
 waiting on him) 
 
 MRS. PAE. Now, now, we're all 'ere. 'Ush a 
 moment. Afore we begin there's a little bit o' noos just 
 'appened, as I'd like to say about. 
 
 ARTIE. 'Ear! 'Ear! 
 
 MR. PAR. {to ARTIE) You be quiet! {He grins 
 at ARTIE approvingly) 
 
 MRS. PAR. As I'm sure '11 come as a great sur- 
 prise. Really, it quite took my breath away! It 
 did, really. Now, I mustn't stop you young people 
 dancing. But I must just tell you this little bit of 
 noos. He, he! Why — 
 
 ARTIE. We ain't lookin'. 
 
 A GIRL. Be quiet, Arde. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Jenny and Dick 'ere 'ave made a 
 match of it. I 'ope the present company'll wish the 
 ^ 'appy couple joy! Dick! Jenny! Give me your 
 'ands. There. {She clasps them) I 'ope you'll 
 be very 'appy together. Dick, {kissing him) you're 
 my son now, ain't yer ? 
 
 ARTIE. Spare 'is blushes, Mother. 
 
 ALL. Why, who'd ever a-thought it! I do 'ope 
 you'll be 'appy. 'Ow sudden! Quite took my 
 breath away!^ Jenny, come 'ere, and let I kiss 'ee. 
 I s'pose us can't kiss you, Mr. Dick? No, Mr. 
 Dick'll be quite the married man. 'E looks it al- 
 ready. 
 
 NAN. Dick, Dick, oh, Dick! What, oh, Dick, 
 you weren't playing, Dick? 
 
 DICK. Don't Dick me. Get out! 
 
 MRS. PAR. Wot are yer bothering Dick for? 
 
 NAN. I thought 'e'd something — something to 
 say to me. 
 46 
 
ACTu] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 DICK. You thought I was a oly scrawf, didn't 
 yer? 
 
 NAN. I thought I was a 'appy woman, Dick. 
 {she looks at him and goes slowly over to a chair. As 
 she goes) 
 
 MR. PAR. Now, Nan. What are you waitin' 
 for? Take your place 'ere and dance, now. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Per'aps Nan is like 'er father. 
 
 JENNY, {sliding her feet about) 'Ow's that, Moth- 
 er? 
 
 MRS. PAR. Per'aps she can only dance on air. 
 
 NAN. {going to her) Yes, yes, I am like my fath- 
 er. You coward to say that. 
 
 MR. PAR. Wot are you thinking of, with com- 
 pany present? 
 
 MRS. PAR. You leave her to me. I'U deal with 
 her. {To the company) She thought if she 'ad 'er 
 'air down an 'er neck un'ooked as she might 'ave a 
 go in at Dick, 'ere. 
 
 TOMMY. 'Ope us didn't come too soon, Dick. 
 
 JENNY. She believes in giving all for love, Cousin 
 Nan do. 
 
 MRS. PAR. She'll give no more in this house. 
 Why, 'er dad was 'ung for a thief only last Christmas. 
 
 MR. PAR. Now, Mother, that's — ^No, she deserves 
 it. She ain't been straight. 
 
 ALL. Ah. 
 
 NAN. Yes. I'd like you all to know that. My 
 dad was 'ung at Glorster. I'd oughtn't to a shook 
 your 'ands without I'd told you. I tried 'ard to tell you, 
 Dick. Dick. Dick. I give you all I had. You 
 'ad me. Like I never was. Not to any. O Dick, 
 I 'ope you'll be very, very 'appy. 
 
 DICK. 'Ere. Go and say yorn: piece to Gaflfer 
 there. 'E 'asn't many pleasures, I've done with 
 yer. 'Ere, Jenny, you be goin' to dance with I. 
 
 47 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [actu 
 
 JENNY, (giggling) I think I could 'elp, Dick 
 Gurvil. 
 
 DICK. 'Elp me then. Come on. 
 
 JENNY. Law. It make my heart all of a flower. 
 That's wot Cousin Nan says. I s'pose it must be 
 very clever if 'er says it. 
 
 NAN. I wish — I wish the grass was over my 
 'ed. 
 
 DICK. 'Ere. Us wish to dance. 
 
 (nan goes aside) 
 
 GAITER. A bride's tears be zoon' a-dried. But 
 love be a zweet vlower. A girt red viewer. Her 
 do last for ever. For ever. {He plays "Joan to 
 the Maypole") Like me and my girl, for everl 
 
 (They dance) 
 
 CUSTAIN 
 
 48 
 
ACT m 
 
 {SCENE:— The same. NAN at table at hack. 
 A noise within. GAFFER in his chair) 
 
 NAN. Life be that bitter. O dad, life be that 
 bitter. 
 
 GAITER. You be young to 'ave life bitter on you. 
 
 NAN. It isn't time makes us old. 
 
 GATPEE. Some on us is glad to go away. Quite 
 early. 
 
 NAN. I wish I could go away. I wish I could 
 go away. 
 
 GAITER. Us'U all be took away, afore long. 
 
 NAN. I'd like to be took away now. 
 
 GATEER. I've a-wanted to be took away ever 
 since my viewer were took. Many a long year. 
 And I grawed to be a old, old man. I were out of work 
 sometimes. And I be old now. Very old. 
 
 NAN. Per'aps you'll join 'er soon, gaflfer. 
 
 Gaiter. Noa. Not for a girt while. I 'ave 'er 
 little grave. I 'ave 'er little grave to see to. With 
 vlowers and that. If I 'ad girt bags of gold like 
 Squire, I could 'ave a 'edstone put. I'd 'ave 'er 
 little grave all carved. I'd 'ave posies cut. And 
 'er face down on the stone. AU in white I'd 'ave my 
 tflower cut. White stone. There be no kings 'd 'ave 
 whiter. But I can't never avord a 'edstone. So I 
 ben't goin' to die. Noa. I ben't goin' to die. 
 
 49 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [actih 
 
 NAN. When love be dead, gaSer, what be there 
 else? 
 
 GAFFER. There be the grave. It be all the poor 
 'as, just the grave. And I got my vlower's grave. 
 Eight maids in white there was. No older than my 
 vlower they was. And there were aU white viewers 
 on 'er. Eight maids in white, maidy. And the 
 bell tolling. Oh, my white blossom to go under the 
 grass. 
 
 NAN. She was very young to be took. Gaffer. 
 
 GAFFER. They was eight maids in white when 
 they carried 'er. Then they was women. Beauti- 
 ful they were. Then they grew old. One by one. 
 And then their 'ouses were to let, with the windows 
 broke. And grass and grass. They be all gone. 
 When I be gone there'll be none to teU the beauty of 
 ftmy vlower. There'll be none as knows where 'er 
 I body lies. I 'ave 'er little grave all done with shells. 
 d And the vlowers that do come up, they be little words 
 from 'er. Little zhining words. Fifty-nine year 
 them little words come. 
 
 NAN. I got a grave, ^00, gaffer. And I 'ave fifty- 
 nine years to come. 
 
 GAFFER. My bright 'ansome. Go 'ave you in 
 yer grave? 
 
 NAN. I 'ave my 'eart in the grave, gaffer. But 
 there'll be no vlowers come up out of 'er. I shall 
 be 'ere fifty-nine year per'aps. Like you been. 
 Fifty-nine year. Twelve times fifty-nine is — and 
 four times that. Three hundred and sixty-five days 
 in a year. Up, and work, and lie down again. But 
 dead, dead, dead. All the time dead. No. No. 
 Not that. Gaffer. How did thy vlower die? 
 
 GAFFER. There come a gold rider in the evening, 
 maidy. 
 
 NAN. You was by 'er, Gaffer? 
 SO 
 
ACT III] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 GATFER. She look out of the window, my white 
 vlower done. She said, "The tide. The tide. 
 The tide coming up the river". And a horn blew. 
 The gold rider blew a 'om. And she rose up, my 
 white vlower done. And she burst out a-laughing, 
 a-Iaughing. And 'er fell back, my white vlower 
 done. Gold 'air on the pillow. And blood. Oh, 
 blood. Blood of my girl. Blood of my vlower. 
 
 NAN. In your arms, gaffer? 
 
 GAITER. On my 'eart. My white vlower lay on 
 my 'eart. The tide. The tide. The tide coming 
 up the river. 
 
 NAN. She was 'appy to die so, gaffer. Along of 
 'er true love. You 'ad the sweet of love along of your 
 vlower. But them as 'as the sharp of love. Them as 
 never 'as no sweet. O I wish the tide was comin' up 
 over my 'ed, I do. 
 
 GAITER. It be full moon to-night, maidy. 
 
 NAN. Full moon. It come up misty. And red. 
 
 GAITER. It was red on the pillow. Then. 
 
 NAN. The harvest-moon. 
 
 GArrER. There'll be a high tide to-night. 
 
 NAN. A high tide. 
 
 GATFER. For some on us. 
 
 NAN. Why for some on us, gaffer? 
 
 GAFFER. The tide be comin' for some on us. 
 
 NAN. For you, gaffer? 
 
 GAFFER. Ther've come no message yet for me. 
 But the tide be a'comin' for some on us. It 'ave 
 someone every time. It 'ad my vlower one time. 
 O it be a gallows thing, the tide. First there be the 
 mud and that. Sand banks. Mud banks. And 
 the 'erons fishing. Sand in the river, afore the tide 
 comes. Mud. The cows come out o' pastmre to 
 drink. They come on the sand. Red cows. But 
 they be afraid of the tide. 
 
 51 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [Acrm 
 
 NAN. They 'aven't no grief, the beasts asn't. Crop- 
 ping in the meadows when the sun do zhiae. 
 
 GATFER. They be afraid of the tide. For first 
 there come a-wammerin' and a-wammerin'. Miles 
 away that wammeria' be. In the sea. The ship- 
 men do cross theirselves. And it come up. It 
 come nearer. Wammerin' Wammerin'! 'Ush it 
 says. 'Ush it says. 'Ush it says. And there come a 
 girt wash of it over the rock. White. White. Like 
 a bird. Like a swan a-gettin' up out of the pool. 
 
 NAN. Bright it goes. High. High up. Flash- 
 ing. 
 
 GAPPER. And it wammers and it bubbles. And 
 then it spreads. It goes out like soldiers. It go 
 out into a line. It curls. It curls. It go toppling 
 and toppling. And on it come. And on it come. 
 
 NAN. Fast. Fast. 
 
 A black Ime. And the foam all creamin' 
 on it. 
 
 GAFFER. It be a snake. A snake. A girt water 
 snake with its 'ed up. Swimming. On it come. 
 
 NAN. A bright crown upon it. And hungry. 
 
 GAFFER. With a rush. With a roar. And its 
 claws clutchin' at you. , Out they go at the sides, 
 the claws do. 
 
 NAN. The claws of the tide. 
 
 GAFFER. Singing. Singing. And the sea a-roar- 
 ing after. O, it takes them. They stand out in 
 the river. And it goes over them. Over them. 
 Over them. One roarin' rush. 
 
 NAN. Deep. Deep. Water in their eyes. Over 
 their hair. And to-night it be the harvest tide. 
 
 GAFFER, (as though waking from a dream) The 
 salmon-fishers '11 lose their nets to-night. 
 
 The tide'U sweep them away. O, I've 
 known it. It takes the nets up miles. Miles. They 
 52 
 
ACT in] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 find 'em high up. Beyond Glorster. Beyond 'Art- 
 pury. Girt golden flag-flowers over 'em. And apple- 
 trees a-growin' over 'em. Apples of red and apples 
 of gold. They fall into the water. The water be 
 still there, where the apples fall. The nets 'ave 
 apples in them. 
 
 NAN. And fish, gafifer? 
 
 GAFFER. Strange fish. Strange fish out of the 
 sea. 
 
 NAN. Yes. Strange fish indeed, gaffer. A strange 
 fish in the nets to-morrow. A dumb thing. Knock- 
 ing agen the bridges. Something white. Some- 
 thing white in the water. They'd pull me out. 
 Men would. They'd touch my body, (shuddering) 
 I couldn't. I couldn't. 
 
 (Loud laughter from within, and a clatter of knives. 
 The door opens. ENTER JENNY from inner 
 room, carrying a dirty plate, with dirty knife and 
 fork. As JENNY comes in, MRS. PARGETTER 
 is heard off) 
 
 MES. PAR. Is she in there? 
 
 JENNY. Yes. 
 
 MRS. P. Tell 'er to come in. 
 
 JENNY, (to NAN) You're to go in, mother says. 
 
 PAR. (heard off) 'Ere, shut that door behind 
 yer. It blows my 'ed off. (JENNY turns and 
 shuts the door) 
 
 NAN. What 'ave you got there, Jenny? 
 
 JENNY, (uneasily) You're to go in, mother says. 
 
 NAN. (rising) Never mind what mother says. 
 Answer my question, my friend, my girt friend, my 
 little creeping friend. What 'ave you got there ? 
 
 JENNY, (shrinking) A mutton parsty pie for 
 gaffer, as mother sent. It'll be a little treat for 'im. 
 
 NAN. (looking) Whose plate have you brought 
 it on, my little friend? 
 
 53 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [Acrm 
 
 JENNY, (stammering) Mother's plate. 
 
 NAN. It is a dirty plate. And the knives 'and 
 forks are dirty. 
 
 JENNY, (confidently) Gaffer won't know any dif- 
 ferent. It's good enough for an old man like 'im. 
 'Ere, gaffer. 'Ere's some supper for yer. 
 
 NAN. (going up to her) No, my friend, my girt 
 friend, my little Judas friend, my little pale snake 
 friend. It's not good enough. Did you 'ave one of 
 them pies? 
 
 JENNY, (blustering) You can — I ain't goin' to — 
 
 NAN. Did you? The sheep died. The sheep 
 died last week. Did you eat one of them pies ? 
 
 JENNY. No, I know what the sheep die of. Gaf- 
 fer won't mind. 'Ere, gaffer. 
 
 NAN. (fiercely) Sit down, my little friend. Sit 
 down and eat that pie yourself. Eat it. Eat it or 
 I'll kill you. Eat it. You with no charity to old or 
 young. You shall eat the charity of the uncharitable. 
 Eat it. You little snake. Eat it. 
 
 JENNY. I'll — I'll send mother to you. 
 
 NAN. (preventing her) No. Oh, no. (forcing 
 her into a chair) Eat. Eat. (JENNY in great 
 terror begins to eat) 
 
 JENNY. I be goin' to be sick. 
 
 NAN. Eat. (JENNY eats. Then shrinks back) 
 
 JENNY, (after a mouthful) Wot are you lookin' 
 at me for? 
 
 NAN. I'm looking at my friend. My friend. 
 
 JENNY, (after a mouthful) I can't eat with you 
 watchin me. 
 
 NAN. Yes, Jenny. It is your bride cake. Your 
 bride cake. Your bride cake for your marriage, 
 Jenny. 
 
 JENNY, (screaming) Don't look at me like 
 that. 
 
 54 
 
ACT III] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. (coming up to her and glaring down into 
 her /flee) Yes, Jenny. I must look at you like this. 
 I must look into your soul, Jenny. Into your soul. 
 (Slowly and quietly) 
 ■ JENNY. Ah-h. 
 
 NAN. You 'ave pale eyes, Jenny. Pale eyes. I 
 can look into your soul. D'you know what I see, 
 Jenny? (a pause) I see your soul. It is cold, 
 Jenny. It's a little mean cold, lying thing. You're 
 a lucky one, Jenny. You cannot love nor hate. A 
 dog loves more and hates more. A worm do. 
 D'you know what comes to such souls, Jenny? 
 
 JENNY, (gasping) Mother! Mother! 
 
 NAN. I'll tell you, jenny. I'll teU your future 
 to you. I see your life very plain in your pale eyes. 
 I see a girt town, with lamps. And I see you in a 
 public 'ouse, Jenny, with red on your white cheeks. 
 And your pale eyes are swollen with drink. And 
 you've a raggy skirt And you cough. And you 
 tremble. That is the pay in this world, Jenny, for 
 a little cold mean lying thing. And I see a dirty 
 room with a dirty bed, and you lying dead on it. 
 Your painted cheeks on the pillow. Till the town 
 ■ dead-cart come. Out with you. Out with you. Out 
 with you. (JENNY totters, gasping, to the door) 
 
 JENNY. Ah. Ah-h! (she leans up against the 
 door, holding it by 'he latch, in terror; she is only 
 half conscious) 
 
 GAITER, (rousing and shading his eyes looking 
 up) Be you ready for your journey, maidy? 
 
 NAN. My journey. 
 
 GAFFER. You must eat and drink, my 'andsome. 
 'E be coming. 
 
 NAN. Who be coming? 
 
 GAFFER. The gold rider, maidy. 'E be comin' 
 on the road. 
 
 51 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [Acrm 
 
 NAN. The gold rider. We will eat and drink, 
 gaffer. It be a long road to go. {She opens oven 
 and brings out the apple-pasty; then takes a carving 
 knife, and plate. Then the brandy bottle. She cuts 
 the pasty and gives food to GAFFES) 
 
 GAFFER, (rising unsteadily and holding up his 
 hands) Bless this food to thy service. Bless the 
 Giver of all good things. Amen. (He eats.) 
 
 NAN. Amen. {The outer door is knocked. Foot- 
 steps outside) Drink, gaffer. (She gives him a 
 sup of brandy) 
 
 GAFFER, (drinking to her) A fair journey. Vie- 
 wers on the road afore you. O gold 'oofs. Gold 
 'oofs. Be swift. Swift. {A knocking at outer door) 
 
 A VOICE. Is anyone inside there? Open. 
 
 NAN. Drink, gaffer. (Violent knocking outside. 
 The inner door is shaken by those within. JENNY 
 holds the latch and keeps them from entering) 
 
 JENNY. O! O! Don't let 'er in on me. Don't 
 let 'er in on me. (Falling against the wall) Oh, oh. 
 
 (ENTER the PARGETTERS and DICK. The 
 others cluster at the doorway) 
 
 DICE, (seeing JENNY and glad to have NAN 
 for once in the wrong. Angrily) Wot 'ave you been 
 doin' to 'er? Eh? 
 
 MRS. PAR. (advancing on NAN) Why can't 
 you open the door? Standing staring there. 
 
 PAR. Wot 'ave she done to you, Jenny? 
 
 MRS. PAR. (turning) Never you 'eed wot she's 
 done to 'er. You go and open the door. 'Ere, Jenny. 
 Go on inside. Go on now. Before they see yer. 
 
 DICK. She's — she's — ^Best 'ave 'er locked up, 
 mother. 
 
 MRS. PAR. Open the door, there. 
 
 (JENNY totters oui) 
 
 MR. PAR. Wot's brought 'er into that state? 
 56 
 
Acini] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. She has seen herself, uncle. There's few 
 can bear that sight. A worm in the dust fears it. 
 
 MRS. p. You don't mean to say as you've cut the 
 parsty. 
 
 PAK. 'Ush. They'll 'ear yer. 
 
 MRS. p. (in a blood-curdling voice) And look 
 at your uncle's bottle. If I don't give it yer for 
 this. (A knock) 
 
 A VOICE WITHOUT. Come on. Come on. I've got 
 no time to waste. 
 
 MRS. p. (going to the door with her best society 
 smile) I didn't 'ear yer knock. Wot with comp'ny. 
 I 'ope I aven't kep you waitin', I'm sure, (^peering 
 at visitors) Good evenin'', sir. Will, fetch chairs 
 for the gentlemen. Why, it's Mr. Drew. Come 
 in, sir. Won't you please ter come in, sir. 
 
 DREW. Thank you. 
 
 (ENTER PARSON DREW, CAPTAIN DIXON 
 and a CONSTABLE carrying a hand bag) 
 
 PAR. (fetching chairs) Good evenin', sir. 
 
 DREW. Good evenin', Pargetter. 
 
 PAR. (to DIXON) Good evenin', sir. 
 
 DIXON, (coldly to CONSTABLE) Put that bag 
 on the table. 
 
 DREW. Well, Dick. Is that you, Ellen ? You grow 
 so fast. Nan. Yes. Yes. Good evening, everybody. 
 
 PAR. (in a stage whisper to MRS. PARGETTER) 
 'Ave the table cleared. 
 
 DIXON, (irritably) Never mind the table. 
 
 MRS. PAR. You must excuse things bein' a bit 
 untidy, sir. Wot with 'avin company, we're all 
 topsy turvy, as you mid say. (suavely to NAN) 
 Jest take that parsty off the table. Nan, there's a 
 good girl. 
 
 naU. I've done with make-believes, Aunt. One 
 makes believe too long. 
 
 57 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [Acim 
 
 MRS. P. (to DREW) She loves a bit of play- 
 actin', sir. She do it wonderful, considerin'. 
 
 DIXON. Oh, Drew. Drew. {Irritably) 
 
 MRS. p. She's been givin' us a bit out of Shakes- 
 peare as they call it. 
 
 DREW. Yes. Yes. Yes. Now hush, please, a 
 moment everybody. {EVERYBODY is silent) 
 (Raising a hand) I'm afraid we come at a very in- 
 convenient time. But — (seeing those in the door) 
 Oh, just come in there, will you? Yes. Yes. 
 It's a very pleasant duty. It's not often that I have 
 such a pleasure as I have to-night, (taking chair) 
 Yes. Thank you. Sit down, Mr. Dixon. 
 
 DIXON, (coldly) Captain Dixon. 
 
 DREW. Yes, yes, to be sure. Captain Dixon, to 
 be sure. I beg your pardon. Captain Dixon. I'm 
 sure you'll all be very glad when you hear 
 what it is that makes us interrupt your evening's 
 pleasure. 
 
 DIXON, (tartly) Excuse me, Mr. Drew. But 
 hadn't we better come to business ? 
 
 DREW. Yes, yes, but — 
 
 DIXON, (mildly) I shall miss the coach back to 
 town. 
 
 DREW. O, no, no, no, no. O, no, no, no. Oh, 
 you've ten minutes /et. More. You've got lots 
 of time. You'll hear the horn long before the 
 coach is due. 
 
 MRS. p. Yes, sir. You'll 'ear the horn a long 
 ways off. If it's the coach you want. 
 
 GAFFER. The horn. The horn. Gold hoofs beat- 
 ing on the road, (he advances to the table) They 
 beat like the ticking of a 'eart. Soon. Very soon. 
 The golden trump. 
 
 MRS. p. (angrily) Could ever anything! (quiet- 
 ly) You old stupe. Take 'im out. Will. Don't 
 58 
 
ACTin] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 let 'im begin in 'ere. {to Dixon) Don't mind 
 'im, sir. 'E's silly. 
 
 (GAFFER goes to the door and looks out into the 
 moonlight) 
 
 GAITER, (.at the door) Maybe I'll meet 'im on 
 the road. 
 
 (He goes out) 
 
 DREW. One of our — You know, eh. (taps his 
 forehead) 
 
 DIXON, (sourly) I thought it was another bit 
 out of Shakespeare as they call it. 
 
 PAR. Yes, sir. 'E talks very strange sometimes. 
 
 DREW. Yes, yes, poor fellow. 
 
 DIXON. I suppose this is the right house ? 
 
 DREW. Yes, of course. Yes, certainly, certainly. 
 
 DIXON, (taking bag and unlocking it) I thought 
 it might be the — the — Yes. Ye-es. Very well, 
 then, (suddenly) Which of you is Nan Hardwick? 
 
 NAN. I am that one. 
 
 DIXON. Ye-es. You. Very well then. Is that 
 correct, Mr. Drew? 
 
 DREW. Certainly. Certainly. 
 
 DIXON. Daughter of Mary Hardwick, and of — 
 of Edward Hardwick who was — eh? 
 
 NAN. Who was hanged at Gloucester. 
 ^ DIXON. Of Swanscombe, in the Hundred of — 
 Yes. Very well then, (turning to others) You 
 certify that this is that Nan Hardwick? 
 
 THE OTHERS. Yes, sir. That be 'er. 
 
 DIXON. Very well, then. That's not the horn. 
 Drew? 
 
 DREW. O, no, no. 
 
 DIXON, (taking bag and papers out of handbag) 
 Have you a pen and ink in the house? 
 
 Par. (taking them from the dresser) This is a 
 pen and ink, sir. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [actiii 
 
 DIXON. Ye-es. (writes) This pen's — ^Drew, have 
 you got a pen? (to MRS. PAR.) Give me a pen- 
 wiper, (he wipes, and then mends pen with a pen- 
 knife) Ye-es. Ye-es. (sharply) Nan Hardwick, 
 your father was — er — ^put to death for stealing a sheep 
 near Aston Magna. No. Don't answer. That 
 is the fact. Ye-es. Very well then. The sheep 
 was the property of Mr. Nicols. Now it has been 
 proved that your father, Edward Hardwick, had 
 nothing to do with that sheep. 
 
 NAN. And you come here, do you, to tell me that ? 
 You have a thousand men beneath you, a thousand 
 strong men like the man there. And you have 
 judges in scarlet, and lawyers in wigs. And a little 
 child out of the road could have told you that my dad 
 was innocent. A little child of the road. By once 
 looking in his eyes. 
 
 DIXON. I can't go into all that. You must keep to 
 the pomt. (DREW whispers) What? Yes. Yes. 
 I daresay. 
 
 DREW, (to NAN) Let Captain Dixon finish 
 what he's got to say. 
 
 MRS p. Where's yer manners gorn? You wait 
 till afterwards. 
 
 DIXON. To continue. The sheep was stolen by 
 Mr Nicol's shepherd, who was the chief witness 
 against your father. 
 
 NAN. The sheep was stolen by Richard Shapland. 
 
 DIXON, (staring at her) Who has since confessed. 
 
 ALL. Ah. Confessed. Think of that. There 
 now. 
 
 DIXON. A sad miscarriage of justice. Very well 
 then. While we support the laws, we must be con- 
 tent to suffer from their occasional misapplication. 
 (glances at his watch) 
 
 DREW. Lots of time. Lots of time. 
 
 60 
 
Acim] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 DIXON. Ye-es. But in this instance, the Home 
 OSice has decided to offer you some compensation. 
 
 NAN. Some blood-money. Thirty pieces of silver. 
 
 DIXON. No. It's more. It's fifty pounds, {he 
 empties bag) Will you count it over please, before 
 signing the receipt? 
 
 NAN. No. No. The blood and tears are sticky 
 on it. 
 
 DREW. She's upset. I'll count it. 
 
 PAH. {pouring brandy for NAN) 'Ere, Nan. 
 'Ave just a drop. 
 
 {She refiises) 
 
 OTHERS. Fifty pou-und. Fifty pou-und. Did 
 you ever. 
 
 - DICK, {muttering) A 'orse and trap. And fur- 
 nish a 'ouse. 
 
 DREW. Fifty. Would you like to count it over, 
 Pargetter? 
 
 PAR. No, thanky, sir, I'm sure. 
 
 DIXON, {to NAN) Are you satisfied? {sharply) 
 Nan Hardwick. 
 
 NAN. What d'you want more? 
 
 DIXON. Are you satisfied that the sum is correct ? 
 
 NAN. Oh. The money. You know it is. Why 
 go to all this trouble? Give me your pen. There. 
 There's my name to your paper. Received. By me. 
 Fifty pounds in gold. 
 
 DIXON. And the date. Ye-es. I'll just add the 
 date, (to the CONSTABLE) Witness it, Horton. 
 {the man signs. He looks at his watch again) I 
 shall miss that coach. 
 
 DREW. Won't you think better of it, and stay the 
 night ? Stay, man, stay and see the tide. It's a won- 
 derful sight. 
 
 DIXON. No, thanks. No, thanks, {he gathers up 
 his handbag) Here you are, Horton. {Gives him 
 
 61 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [Acrra 
 
 bag) I hope the money may be a comfort to you. 
 {to NAN) Where can I catch this coach ? 
 
 MRS p. Just down the lane, sir. It is but a step. 
 Keep on right down, sir. You can't miss it, sir. 
 
 PAR. You'll 'ear the 'am go, sir. 
 
 DIXON AND HORTON. Good night, (going) 
 
 ALL. Good night, sir. Good night. Officer. 
 ^ DICK, (to PARGETTER) Wouldn't 'e take a 
 drop of somethin' ? 
 o^ PAR. Noa. It's not for the likes of us to offer. 
 
 DICK. You can't ever tell. 
 
 DREW. I'm sure that what we have just heard has 
 given us all a great deal of pleasure. I won't dwell 
 on the satisfaction to yourself, Nan, for fear of giving 
 you pain. But I am sure that your good aunt, who 
 has been so kind to you — 
 
 MRS p. No more than my sacred dooty, Mx. Drew. 
 
 DREW, (gallantly) I will spare your blushes, Mrs. 
 Pargetter. And aU your young friends who are here 
 to-night. I'm sure that they all feel with me — 
 (RE-ENTER DIXON) 
 
 DDCON. Excuse me. Drew. Do show me the way 
 to where the coach passes. These beastly lanes are — 
 
 DREW. Yes. Yes. Certainly. Certainly, (to 
 the Company) I must wish you all good night. So 
 sorry to have interrupted your evening's amusement. 
 
 MRS p. A pleasure I'm sure, sir. 
 
 DREW, (to NAN) By the way, Nan. Perhaps 
 I should say Miss Hardwick, now you're an heiress. 
 ,^ Mrs. Drew would like to see you at the Rectory to- 
 morrow — She thinks you might like to live with us as 
 our housekeeper. 
 
 DIXON. Come on. Come on. 
 
 DREW. Coming, Captain Dixon. But we'll go 
 into that to-morrow. Shall we? 
 
 NAN. Thank you, sir. I hope you'll thank Mrs. 
 
 62 
 
ACT in] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 Drew, too, sir. But I shall not come to the Rectory 
 to-morrow. Unless — Unless the fishers bring their 
 take to you. For you to choose your tithe. 
 
 DREW, (puzzled) Well. Ah. Ah yes. Well, 
 think it over. Sleep on it. 
 
 NAN. I shall sleep soundly on it. 
 
 DREW. Good night, everybody. Now. Captain 
 Dixon. 
 
 (EXIT) 
 (returning) Mrs Pargetter! 
 
 MRS p. Yes, sir. (He draws her aside and whis- 
 pers, pointing to NAN) 
 
 DREW, (in stage whisper) To bed at once. 
 (NAN smiles bitterly) 
 
 MRS p. Yes, sir. Pore thing, it's been too much 
 for 'er. I don't wonder. 
 
 (EXIT DREW) 
 
 MRS P. 'E's gone at last, (to the others) Go on 
 in back to supper. Us'll be with yer in a minute. 
 Shut the door. There's sech a draught. 
 (They go) 
 
 DICK. I'll fetch in Miss Nan a bit of supper. 
 
 MRS p. It's a pity you don't 'eed the mote in yer 
 own eye without 'eedin' the camel in yer neighbour's. 
 Go in and see to Jenny. 
 
 PAR. Well, Nan, it be a long lane as 'as no turn- 
 ing, as they say. I knew thy pore dad when us was 
 boys. When us goe'd a nesting after ardiestraws. 
 Dear, dear. 'E won the prize for kiddy potatoes, 
 and for kiddy beans. I be glad, that I be, to 'ear — 
 wot we've 'eard to-night. 
 
 NAN. So you are glad, are you? Glad. 
 
 MRS p. If you 'adn't a black 'eart, you'd be glad 
 yourself, I should a-thought. Some people a-got no 
 teelin's. 
 
 PAR. Fifty pound be a lot of money, too. 
 
 6.1 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [ act m 
 
 NAN. The worth of a man's life 'ad need to be a 
 lot of money. 
 
 PAR. There's two things you could do with all 
 that money. You could put er into the Bank and 
 that. Or you could — I'd be very glad to borrow it 
 of you, to 'elp me on the farm. And pay you the 
 interest, like. 
 
 NAN. And if I'd refuse. What then? 
 
 MRS. p. Refuse? Refuse? I don't doubt 
 you give yerself airs. It's wot we'd expect of 
 yer— 
 
 PAR. (interrupting) I'm only asking. — To keep 
 it in the family. 
 
 MRS p. (to PAR.) Asking? Givin' in to 'er 
 wills and 'er won'ts. Wot's asking got to do with it? 
 'Ere. You're under age. We're yer guardians. 
 We'll take care of that money for yer. 
 
 NAN. Yes. You'll want some money, for Jenny's 
 portion. 
 
 PAR. (controlling his temper) I 'aven't said 
 nothink yet — 
 
 MRS p. No. You 'aven't got the sperrit of a 'og 
 with the twitters. 
 
 PAR. (angrily) I don't want none of yer jaw. 
 
 MRS p. Don't you nag at me, for I won't 'ave it. 
 See? 
 
 NAN. The money is mine. Not yours. I have a 
 -ise for it. 
 
 PAR. (to NAN) Then I've done with yer. You 
 talk rude to the quality. You give all sorts of talk 
 to — Talk as 'd sick a savage. Do wot y' like with yer 
 money. But you'll make good my Toby jug, at 
 least. Now then. 
 
 NAN. Your Toby jug? 
 
 PAR. You know wot I mean. 
 
 NAN. Aha. The little friend. My little friend. 
 
 64 
 
ACT III] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 (a cry within) That's 'er soul's voice that cry is. So 
 thai is wot— 
 
 MRS p. And you 'ad the cold blooded cheek to 'ave 
 your go at the parsty, wot's more. 
 
 PAR. And — there — I'U leave you to your con- 
 science, (going) 
 
 MRS p. Stop a moment, Will. Us'll settle 'er with 
 'er, onst for all. 
 
 NAN. (going to the money bag and cutting its tape) 
 Yes. We'll settle. Look at it. Look at it. (she 
 pours the gold into a heap) Gold. Gold. Little 
 yellow rounds of metal. Fifty little yellow rounds of 
 metal. This. This is for a man's life. Oh, you 
 little yeUow rounds that buy things. Look at 'em. 
 Hear 'em. (pause) Don't you speak to me. (in- 
 tensely) There was a strong man, a kind man. He 
 was forty-nine years old. He was the best thatcher 
 in the three counties. He was the sweetest singer. 
 I've known teams goin' to the field stop to 'ear my dad 
 sing. And the red coats come. And a liar swore. 
 And that strong man was killed. Sudden. That 
 voice of his'n was choked out with a cord. And 
 there was liars, and thieves, and drunken women, and 
 dirty gentlemen. They all stood in the cold to see 
 that man choked. They stop up all night, playing 
 cards, so as they should 'ear 'is singin' stopped. For 
 it goes round the voice the cord do. And they draw a 
 nightcap down so as 'e shan't see 'is girl a-crying. 
 (pause) And for that, I get little yellow round 
 things, (pause) And there was a girl, a young 
 girl, a girl with a sick 'eart. D'you know what 
 came to 'er? You know what came to 'er. She 
 came among them as might have made much of 'er. 
 For she'd 'ave give a lot for a kind word. ' Er 'eart 
 was that broke 'er'd 'ave broke out a-crying at a kind 
 word. 
 
 6S 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [actiii 
 
 MRS P. When you've done with your fal-lals, I'll 
 'ave my say. 
 
 NAN. Don't you speak. Don't you threaten. 
 You'll listen to me. You 'ad me in your power. And 
 wot was good in me you sneered at. And wot was 
 sweet in me^ you soured. And wot was bright in me 
 you dulled. I was a fly in the spider's web. And the 
 web came round me and round me, till it was a 
 shroud, till there was no more joy in the world. Till 
 my 'eart was bitter as that ink, and all choked. And 
 for that I get little yellow round things, {pause 
 and change of voice) And all of it — No need for any 
 of it. My dad's life, and your taunts, and my broke 
 'eart. All a mistake. A mistake. Somethin' to be 
 put right by fifty pound while a gentleman waits for a 
 coach. 'E thought nothing of it. 'E thought only of 
 getting the coach. 'Ed didn't even pretend, (a cry 
 within) It were a game to 'im. 'E laughed at it. (a 
 cry withiti) Yes. She has seen herself. No wonder 
 she cries. She sees the parish dead-cart coming. 
 {DICK puts his head in at the door) 
 
 DICK. Mother. Come to Jenny. Quick. 
 
 MRS p. To 'ell with Jenny. I've somethin' to at- 
 tend to 'ere. 
 
 DICK. She's in a fit or somethink. Us can-'ardly 
 'old 'er down. 
 
 MRS p. {to NAN) More of yer work. You wait 
 till I come back. 
 
 A GIRL, {at the door) Quick, Mrs Pargetter. 
 
 {MRS PARGETTER snatches the brandy bottle and 
 
 goes out) 
 
 PAR. I don't know 'ow all this'U end, Nan. 
 {He goes out) 
 {RE-ENTER DICK) 
 
 DICK. I brought you a little bit o' supper, Miss 
 Nan. 
 
 66 
 
ACT III] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. What then? 
 
 DICK I thought — Won't you sit down and 'ave it, 
 Miss Nan? There. Let me put this chair comfer- 
 able. 
 
 NAM. Why do you bring this to me? 
 
 DICK. I thought — ^some'ow — I thought you'd like 
 a bit of cossitin'. 
 
 NAN. I want nothin'. Nothin'. 
 
 DICK Miss Nan. I want just to say. Some 'ow, 
 it be 'ard to explain. But I ask — I ask your forgive- 
 ness. 'Umbly I ask it. Oh, Miss Nan. My beau- 
 ti-vul. My beautivul as I wronged. 
 
 NAN. As you wronged. Yes? 
 
 DICK. I was — I dunno — I was led away, Miss 
 Nan. 
 
 NAN. Yes, Dick. You were led away. How were 
 you led away? Why? 
 
 DICK. I was that. When I 'card as your dad was. 
 I mean when I 'eard of your dad. I doan' know. It 
 seemed — I felt some'ow. , I be that dry I can't 'ardly 
 speak. Miss Nan — 
 
 NAN. You felt some'ow? Yes? 
 
 DICK. As your 'air was, was a cord round my 
 throat. Choking. I was sick. I couldn't — no — I 
 couldn't. 
 
 NAN. And was that the only reason why ? 
 
 DICK. Yes, Miss Nan. 
 
 NAN. And why did you choose Jenny ? My kiss 
 was still warm upon your lips, (going to him) Your 
 blood was singing in your veins with me, when you 
 turned — Why did you turn to 'er? 
 
 (a pause) 
 She was not a — a gallus-bird. . Eh ? 
 
 (A pause. DICK licks his lips and swallows) 
 
 {RE-ENTER GAFFER slowly, with a few rojes 
 
 plucked in the garden. He goes to NAN) 
 
 67 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [act m 
 
 GAPFER. The moon be at full, O wonder. The 
 cows in the meadows kneel down. 
 
 The rabbits be kneelin'. The viewers in the edge 
 do kneel — 
 
 Roses for your 'air, my beauty. O my bright 'an- 
 some of the world. 
 
 (He gives the roses reverently) 
 
 Roses in your 'air. And the bride's 'air loose. 
 
 (NAN places a rose in her hair and loosens it about 
 
 her) 
 
 NAN. (taking some money) For a 'eadstone, 
 Gaffer, (sharply) Well, Dick. 
 
 DICK. I was. — O, I can't. To show that I 'ad 
 done with yer. I was angry. 
 
 NAN. Because I didn't teU you of my dad? 
 
 DICK. Yes. 
 
 NAN. There be three times, Dick, when no woman 
 can speak. Beautiful times. When 'er 'ears 'er 
 lover, and when 'er gives 'erself, and when 'er little 
 one is born. You — You'd have been the first to stop 
 me if I'd spoken then. 
 
 DICK. I thought as you'd — not been straight — I 
 thought — 
 
 NAN. And now you turn again from Jenny. Why 
 have you left Jenny, Dick? 
 
 GAITER, (jangling and counting money) 
 
 'Nine. 'Ow the bells do chime, 
 
 'Ten. There's a path for men.' 
 
 DICK. Because I don't care for 'er. Because 
 now — 
 
 GATFER. 'Leven. From the earth to 'eaven. 
 
 DICK. Be quiet, Gaffer. 
 
 NAN. Because ? 
 
 DICK. O, Miss Nan. It be you as I love. My dad 
 'ave stop me afore. But now your name be cleared — 
 
 NAN. Is that the only reason? 
 68 
 
ACT III] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 GATFER. (talking through) Twelve. Twelve. Us 
 rang out a peal at twelve. Angels. Gold 
 angels. The devil walks the dark at twelve. 
 Ghosts. Ghosts. Behind the white 'edstones. 
 Smite 'em, gold rider. Smite 'em with thy 
 bright sharp spear. 
 
 NAN. Is that the only reason? You love me, 
 then? 
 
 DICK. Yes. That's the only reason. I love you, 
 Nan. 
 
 NAN. And what will my aunt say? 
 
 DICK. Damn 'er. It's 'er that came between us. 
 
 NAN. I know what you can say to 'er. 
 
 DICK. What? 
 
 NAN. Go to her now. Take her that bag of 
 money. Tell her she may have that. But that you 
 will marry me, not Jenny. 
 
 (DICK, rather staggered, takes up the bag and walks 
 
 slowly to door) 
 
 DICK. Wouldn't it be better, Miss Nan, if us — if us 
 just told 'er, without — without bein' — 
 
 NAN. I knew it. I knew it. 
 
 (A horn is heard faintly off) 
 
 GAFFER. There be a music on the sea, a soft 
 music. The ships be troubled at the music. 
 
 NAN. Come here, Dick. They said my dad kill 
 a sheep. A foundered old ewe as'd feel notiiin' ; 'ard- 
 ly the' knife on 'er throat. And my dad was 'ung; on- 
 ly acos they said 'e kill a beast like that. They 
 choked 'im dead, in front of 'aU a city. But you come. 
 And you 'ave yer love of a girl. You says lovely 
 things to 'er. Things as'd move any girl — and only 
 because you be greedy. Greedy of a mouth agen 
 your mouth; of a girl's lips babblin' love at you. And 
 a sour old woman's word'll make you 'it that girl 
 across the lips you kissed. In ten minutes. You'll 
 
 69 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF NAN [actiu 
 
 take 'er lovin' 'eart and 'er girl's pride, and all 'er joy 
 in the world, and stamp it in the dust. And you'll 
 dance on 'er white body; and all you'll feel is the 
 blood makin' a mess on your boots. 
 
 (The Itern blows nearer) 
 
 GAFFER. The horn. The horn. O night owl 
 laughing in the wood. 
 
 NAN And you go to another girl. And you give 
 'er a joy in the world. And then you see your old 
 love not wot the old woman said. No. But as sweet 
 to the taste, as dear to your greedy mouth. And with 
 gold — yellow round things — to buy vanfty. 'Ouses, 
 'orses, position. Then you come back whining. 
 Whining I For 'er to take you back. So as you mid 
 'ave that gold. 
 
 DICK. O, you can talk. You've a right. But I 
 love you, Nan. I do love yer. 
 
 NAN. I see very plain tonight, Dick. I see right, 
 right into you. Right down. You talk o' thieves. 
 You talk o' them as kills — them as leads women 
 wrong. Sinners you calls them. But it be you is the 
 sinner. You kill people's 'earts. You stamp them 
 in the dust, like worms as you tread on in the fields. 
 And under it all will be the women crying, the broken 
 women, the women cast aside. Tramped on. Spat 
 on. As you spat on me. No, no, oh no. Oh young 
 man in your beauty — Young man in your strong hun- 
 ger. I will spare those women. 
 
 DICK, {scared, and speaking loudly, so as to attract 
 them in the inner room) I never! Mother! Mother! 
 
 GArrER. O Love you be a King. A King. 
 
 NAN. I will spare those women. Come here to me. 
 
 DICK. Ah! Ah! Mother! (he backs towards the 
 door) 
 
 GAFFER. On the road. They come. Gold hoofs. 
 Gold hoofs. 
 70 
 
ACT III] THE TRAGEDY OF NAN 
 
 NAN. Spare them. Spare them. Spare them the 
 hell. The hell of the heart-broken. Die — you — 
 die. (she stabs hifn with the pastry knife. He falls) 
 
 DICK. (Raising himself stupidly) The drums be 
 a-roaring. A-roaring. {he dies) 
 
 GATFER. (clapping his hands) Oh Beauty, beau- 
 ty. Oh beauty of my white viewer. 
 
 (A murmuring and rushing noise is heard as the 
 
 tide sweeps up from the sea) 
 
 GATFER. (shouts) It be coming. Out of the 
 wells of the sea. The eagles of the sea hear it. They, 
 sharp their beaks. 
 
 (ENTER hurriedly the others') 
 
 MRS p. (running to DICK) Dick. Dick. Ohl 
 (screams) Look at it all smoking. 
 
 PAR. 'Ere. The brandy. Quick. 'E's gone. 
 
 NAN. (as the noise increases) The tide. 
 
 GATPER. The tide. 
 
 NAN. (laughing) The tide coming up the river. 
 
 MRS p. Take the money, Will. Don't 'eed the 
 brandy. 
 
 A GIRL. The pleece, Artie. Get the pleece. 
 
 NAN. (going to the door as the noise increases) A 
 strange fish in the nets to-morrow 
 (She goes) 
 
 GAPPER. Singmg. Singing. Roaring it come. 
 Roaring it come. Over the breast. Over the lips. 
 Over the eyes. 
 
 (The horn blows) 
 
 MRS p. (putting the money hastily in the locker) 
 That's something. Wot are we to tell them? 
 (The coach-horn blows loudly and clearly) 
 
 GAFFER. The horn! The horn! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 71 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 PERSONS 
 
 John Perry 
 Dick Perry 
 Parson 
 
 Tom Constable 
 Mrs. Perry 
 Mrs. Harrison 
 
 PLATED BT 
 
 . Mr. Norman McKinnel 
 
 Mr. H. R. Hignett 
 
 Mr. Edmund Gumey 
 
 - Mr. Norman Page 
 
 . Miss Carlotta Addison 
 
 Miss Dolores Drummond 
 
 This play was produced at the Court Theatre, in London, 
 on the &th of January, 1907, under the direction of Mr. H- 
 Granville Barker. 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 SCENE. Harrison's Kitchen in Campden. 
 
 JOAN: Be the master come home from Charring- 
 worth yet? 
 
 rich: I an't heard him, I an't. 
 
 JOAN: He be gone a great while. It's near ten. 
 
 rich: (going to the door) Be you there, Mas- 
 ter ? — No, a ben't come home yet, Mother. 
 
 JOAN: Why, whatever have a kept 'en. If that 
 ben't ten a striking! 
 
 rich: Old Mr Curtis, he've a harvest feast to- 
 night. Her'll have stopped with old Mr Curtis, 
 Mother. Her'll sleep there after veast, in the barn, I 
 do think. 
 
 JOAN: {laughing) He be a good one, he be. Sev- 
 enty year old he''be — And her do drink, her do, and 
 her do sing. Law ! how a do sing, to be sure ; and a do 
 like a's ale. 
 
 rich: Her be a good old soul — ^A old ram, he be. 
 Lor, now, to think on the merry deeds of him, the old 
 sinful soul. Only last year now — him away so sly 
 now, like a old fox. They said a was killed for sure; 
 and there a were to Gloucester surely, a drinking, a 
 drinking merry, and him his threescore and ten! 
 
 JOAN: Her be a merry old soul. Her be a trusty 
 good soul — ^And a be a good master. Her've done 
 right by thee, Dick. 
 
 rich: Her did say this noon, I should have twelve 
 
 7? 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 shillin' a week after Michaelmas. That's more than 
 brother John gets. 
 
 JOAN: Ah, to think of that now! More than thy 
 brother John! Thy brother John — he be a strange 
 one, he be. I do fear I'll live to see thy brother John 
 hanged! He be earnin' nine shillin' a week, and he 
 driii that, he do. — And he be a handsome lad, Dick, 
 a fine grown lad, John be. He be like his feyther was. 
 
 rich: I do think as how a should do summat for 
 you, Mother, and not go a-drinking all he do earn. 
 
 JOAN: He be a handsome lad, Dick, thy brother 
 John. A dear, a dear, he be the very spit of his poor 
 feyther, and he be a sad one, he be; and he do drink 
 all his nine shUlin'. 
 
 (enter JOHN) 
 
 JOHN: Who do drink all his nine shillin' ? 
 
 JOAN: Ah, John! there thou be, lad. You be late 
 out, John. 
 
 JOHN: You were talking about me, you were. 
 You were saying as I drank — ^you and Dick there. He 
 be a godly one, brother Dick be. {To DICK) You 
 keep your tongue shut about me, and about my nine 
 shillin'. If I do drink it, I drink it open. I ben't one 
 to go knucklin' to pa'son, I ben't. Nor I don't go 
 knucklin' to my lord, like some I know. 
 
 JOAN: There, there, John. Don't 'ee take on, 
 now! 
 
 rich: It would be better, I do think, if as how 
 you did go knucklin', as you call it, stead of swillin' 
 like a beast up to beerhouse. 
 
 JOAN: There, there, Dick, lad, don't 'ee go for to 
 mad him. Speak un fair, lad — thy elder brother he 
 be. 
 
 JOHN: (mimicktng) Ah! speak un fair — ^You 
 shut your head, Mother. I be good enough to stand 
 up to Dick, I be. Who goes swillin' like a beast? 
 78 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 rich: You do. They be fair shamed to speak to 
 us, neighbours be. They be a drunken lot, them Per- 
 rys, they say — 'Ah', they say, 'I see John Perry over to 
 Aston. He were asleep in the ditch, the drunken sot!' 
 
 JOHN: Who say? 
 
 rich: Parson say, and Farmer Hill say, and thy 
 poor Mother say, and I say too, if they ben't good 
 enough. 
 
 JOHN: Let vin say! You be a lot of old puts, all 
 on you — You leave I, I do advise thee. I won't take 
 no preachin' from you. You be a old put, and 
 Mother be. 
 
 rich: Rather be a old put, than rotten fruit, you 
 drunken dog, you! 
 
 JOHN: I ben't no drunken dog. 
 
 rich: You be. 
 
 JOAN: Ah! Don't 'ee mad un now, Dick. 
 
 JOHN: Better be a drunken dog than a knuckler to 
 Pa'son. You was always the good one, you was. 
 You was like the good boy in the Bible, you always 
 was. You was born to tread on my corns, you was, 
 you closhy put. 
 
 rich: I ben't no closhy put. 
 
 JOHN: You've crossed I long enough, Master 
 Dick. You cross I no more, or I'll give you a cross 
 '11 set thee i' the muck. 
 
 RICH: I don't cross thee, John, nor I never done. 
 
 JOHN: You be a liar! Wan't you a gettin' six- 
 pence when I were a gettia' nought? Wan't it you 
 got the hat give you? Wan't it you got Master's coat 
 with the red trimmings? And I got nought. You 
 with your pretty face, you gruming pinkanye! Wan't 
 you a gettin' eight shillin' when I were a gettin' but 
 seven? And I your elder, and your better. 
 
 dick: You be my elder, but you ben't my better. 
 If I got eight shillin' an' you seven, it's because I didn't 
 
 79 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 go swilling over to Aston. I didn't get drunk, I 
 didn't. 
 
 JOHN: No, nor you hadn't got the soul in you, you 
 mean. Then you comes a sucking and a trucking to 
 Master Harrison — 'Ah!' you says, 'ben't I a godly 
 one? Ben't I proper and godly?' 'Ah!' you says — 
 So you get took to be his servant. Wan't that a 
 cross to me? Wan't I enough servant to him? I 
 didn't want no knucklin' sniveller helping me. You 
 call that not crossing, don't you? Ah! 
 
 JOAN: Now ha' done, John, ha' done. Don't 'ee 
 mind thy brother Dick, John. 
 
 JOHN: But I will mind him, I tell 'ee. He have 
 crossed me since we weren't that high. Ah ! you dog, 
 you. I be a drunken one, be I ? You must get more 
 than I get, must you? And my lady'U speak to you. 
 'Good mornin'. Perry,' she'll say, 'Oh! what beautiful 
 weather.' 'Good evenin', Dick,' she'll say, 'You 
 ben't no sot, you ben't. You ben't like your brother 
 John.' — No, no, you be a innocent lamb, you be; but 
 you be warned! You have done of your crossing me — 
 you dear sweet suckin' innocent lamb. You was him 
 got sore knees from praying, you was, you dog of 
 dogtown! 
 
 JOAN: Ah! John dear, do a done! 
 
 rich: Now, don't you go calling names, John Per- 
 ry. I'll tell you what you are. You're a disgrace; 
 you'll come to a bad end. I never crossed you, and 
 you know it. It's true I'm getting more than you. 
 After Michaelmas I'll be getting more stUl. I'll be 
 getting twelve shilling a week. If you'd do more, 
 and drink less, you'd be getting the same. 
 
 JOHN: If I'd do more! , Don't you preach to me. 
 
 What's the good of doing more, with you stepping in 
 
 over my head. Twelve shilling a week you're going 
 
 to have, are you? You are not. You think your- 
 
 80 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 self high in the world. You think you're a clever 
 one. You think you'll do better than your brother. 
 You will not. Not with me here. High in the 
 world you think yourself with your tw:lve shilling. 
 I'll bring you low — I'll bring you lower tlian the low- 
 est. 
 
 rich: It'll take a soberer man than you to do it. 
 
 JOHN: What'Uittake? 
 
 JOAN: A dear! A dear! That ever I should se^; 
 the day! Go home, Dick lad, you're only angering 
 your brother. 
 
 JOHN: Lower than the lowest, I'll bring you. 
 You shall drag in the dirt, you and your twelve shil- 
 lin'! 
 
 rich: I tell you it'U take a soberer man than you. 
 Go home, man. Get someone to pimip on you. 
 You need sobering. I wonder you're not ashamed to 
 talk that way afore your mother! 
 
 JOHN: Don't you learn me my duty, you Noll 
 Crumwell's man, you Dicky Kill King! 
 
 RICH: What am I? 
 
 JOHN: A canting put. That's what you are — and 
 a dog — A dirty twelve shilling sneck up of a Ledbury 
 lawyer; but you mark me, I'll bring you down! 
 
 rich: Go home and sleep it off, man. I'm sick 
 of hearing you. 
 
 JOHN: What? What? Sick, are you? I'll 
 make you sicker. 
 
 {He flies at RICH: and grapples with him) 
 
 JOAN: {running to door) Help! Help! Mrs 
 Harrison! 
 
 (enter MRS HARRISON) 
 
 MRS h: Lord save us, and spare us! Good God, 
 be good to us! Why, what's all this? Lord 
 God's my mercy; why, Dick, why, John! John, 
 what are you doing here? I thought I forbid you 
 
 81 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 my kitchen. Dick, I'm ashamed of you! As for 
 you, John, a gaol's the best place for you. Dick, I'm 
 ashamed of you, fighting in your Master's kitchen, and 
 with your own brother! You'd ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself! It was enough to turn aU the beer in the 
 cellar, the noise you were making. 
 
 rich: He began it, mum! 
 
 JOHN: You be a liar. 
 
 JOAN: Remember your duty. 
 
 Kits h: Now say a word more, John Perry, and 
 ni have you bound over. As for you, Dick, I'll tell 
 yoiir Master. Has your Master come in yet? 
 
 dick: No 'm. Us haven't heard him. 
 
 MPS h: Lord God, be good to a sinful woman. If 
 I haven't enough to bear! It's not enough that I have 
 my house made a common bawdy bouse. Lilce a den 
 of thieves it was, the noise you were making; and my 
 msui must go boozing till I don't know what hour. — 
 It'll be another of his gallivaunts — I'll give him har- 
 vesting when he comes in. Go saddle the mare, one 
 of you, and go to Charringworth and bring him back 
 with you. 
 
 JOHN: {Rising) I'll go, give me the lantern, 
 Mother. 
 
 dick: You set down, John Perry. You ain't fit 
 to bring any one home. 
 
 JOHN: Give I the lantern. (To DICK) I'll 
 give you a bloody head if you orders me. 
 
 dick: Set down, when you're told. Give me that 
 light. 
 
 JOHN: No, you don't! Stand back. Wotildyou? 
 Take that! Qie hits him) 
 
 JOAN: Ah, Lord! Ah, Lord! Don't 'ee, Dick, lad. 
 
 MRS h: Now, John, John Perry — ^Lord God's my 
 hope and mercy. There'll be bloody adultery done. 
 What, John, I say! 
 82 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 JOHN: I'll learn 'ee. 
 
 dick: Let go of my throat, or I'll hit 'ee one. 
 
 JOAN: Ah dear I Ah dear! Oh, do 'ee. 
 
 MRS h: (snatching a cider mug and dashing cider 
 into JOHN'S face — the fighters separate) Lord God's 
 my hope and merqrl If I'm not all of a tremble — all 
 of a tremble you've made me. And the cider all over 
 my new taffetyl Lord God's my witness, there 
 might have been murder done. Get you out of this, 
 John Perry. I do believe, John, as you'd do murder. 
 Get you out of this. Never you darken these doors 
 again. I believe as you'd cut my husband's throat — 
 Lord Jesus have mercy — ^for what he had on him. 
 Saddle the mare, Dick. You're the only one of the 
 two I can trust. Saddle the mare, Dick. Where's 
 my bottle of cordials ? 
 
 (exit) 
 
 dick: I knowed how it would be — and I get dis- 
 graced because you go swilling beer, and come here 
 drunk. Give us the lantern. (He lights it. 
 John glowers at him) 
 
 JOAN: Ah dear! ah dear! Ah, Dick, I do wish 
 thee wouldn't mad thy brother. Ah dear! Ah dear! 
 He be that like his poor feyther. 
 
 dick: (taking harness down) You're a dis- 
 grace, you are. You're a disgrace to Campden — 
 you're a disgrace to your mother. You make us 
 shamed. Ugh, you drunkard! 
 
 (exit dick with harness and lantern: JOHN 
 glowers after him) 
 
 JOAN: (in a quavering voice) Ah dear, ah dear. 
 I be getting old. It ben't like it were. There be 
 none to comfort me now my man is taken. If thy 
 poor feyther were alive now! Ah, John dear, don't 
 'ee mind thy brother Dick. Ah dear, he do mad thee, 
 that he do. He do vex thee sore. Ah dear! I mtist 
 
 83 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 be getting home. — It be late. Don't 'ee mind thy 
 brotiier Dick, John. 
 
 JOHN: I'll mind my brother Dick. 
 
 (She goes out slowly after waiting a moment. 
 JOHN glowers after her) 
 
 JOHN: {slowly) Old Harrison be out late. They 
 think he be gone away boozing, but he ben't. Only I 
 know where old Harrison be gone, {a pause) 
 Twelve shillin' a week you be gettin'. Twelve shil- 
 lin' a week, and I nought but nine. {The mare's 
 hoofs sound outside) Ah, ha, ha! I'll do it — ^That's 
 what I'll do. 
 
 (re-enter joan) 
 
 JOHN: I'll drag him lower than the low, him 
 and his twelve shillin'. 
 
 JOAN: Do 'ee come, John. I be all of a shake. 
 
 JOHN: {going) Lower than the dirt, I'll drag him. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 (The Curtain rises again immediately) 
 
 SCENE n 
 
 scene: The same, mrs harrbon and the pak- 
 
 SON. (dick perry, within, singing, and joan 
 
 joining in the chorus, heard faintly). 
 
 parson: Come, come, Mrs Harrison, bear a good 
 heart! Come, don't take on so. Your husband's 
 only — only gone to see a friend. He'U be back to 
 dinner, I daresay. 
 
 MRS h: Not with the friends he goes to see, no. 
 Oh, if I haven't much to bear. 
 
 parson: O, but, Mrs Harrison, come now, go in 
 and take some breakfast. Why, your husband's 
 well enough. Think, think of last year, what a turn 
 84 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 he gave us. No one would hurt Mr Harrison. It's 
 absurd. Anyone would think he had been murdered. 
 MRS h: Murdered — ah! There's some comfort 
 in a corpse. There's satisfaction in a body. I was 
 saying that to Mrs Murrell. 'If one has the body,' I 
 said, 'one knows one has done one's duty by it.' One 
 knows that it's all for the best, and then there's the 
 funeral. O dear, O dear — my man lying drunk in a 
 ditch! It's his beer again — ^Beer, beer, beer. It's 
 his ruin. O, if I had you here, William Harrison! 
 O, a corpse would be a mercy compared to this. And 
 half of my lady's corn not cut, and the reapers saying 
 they must have another peimy a day. O, William 
 Harrison! Man is a trial, and a rod of aflSiction. 
 It's a gnashing of teeth you've been to me. 
 
 (enter JOHN) 
 
 parson: Why, my good Mrs Harrison, this'll 
 never do. Why, here's John Perry back. Come, John, 
 you've brought good news, I'm sure. Come, Mrs 
 Harrison, here's John back. Well, John, have you 
 found Mr Harrison? Where was he? 
 
 JOHN: No, nor won't find him — Neither you nor 
 no one. 
 
 parson: John! 
 
 JOHN: Neither you nor no one. 
 
 MRS h: There, now! If he hasn't been at the 
 drink again. I smell it on him from here — ^like an 
 empty cider cask. I think I've enough to bear with- 
 out you getting drunk, John Perry. 
 
 JOHN: You have enough to bear — that's true. 
 
 parson: What do you mean, John, man? He's 
 not drunk, Mrs Harrison. What is it? What has 
 happened? 
 
 MRS h: You don't mean to say he was seen with 
 Mrs Emsworth? I'm — 
 
 parson: Hush, Mrs Harrison — we are all in God's 
 
 85 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 hand. Speak John. Tell us! Speak, man, can't 
 you? 
 
 JOHN: I want my words took down. 
 
 {THE PARSON looks hard at Mm) 
 
 MRS e: Is it as bad as that? He's been seen with 
 the scarlet woman I He's been sitting on the seven 
 liills. I know it. O dear, O dear, drinking the wine 
 of wrath. 
 
 parson: Hush, Mrs Harrison. {He sits down to 
 ink and paper) Now, John, tell us all you have to 
 say. Mrs Harrison, we are but children, we must 
 submit to Providence. We are here to declare the 
 glory of God, not to cry over our little hurts. If 
 Providence has taken your husband, you should re- 
 joice. Now, John, speak, tell us everything. Come, 
 Mrs Harrison. 
 
 {The voices of DICK and JOAN within, singing) 
 
 JOHN: I ben't going to tell my words, till there be 
 witnesses. I want Tom Constable, and I want 
 Mother here, and brother Dick. I got Tom Con- 
 stable, outside. I brought 'en special. 
 
 parson: {going to door) Mrs Perry! Dick! Is Tom 
 Constable, outside there still, or has he gone home? 
 
 dick: {within) He be here, sir. 
 
 parson: Just ask him to step inside, and will you 
 come in too, both of you? 
 
 (enter dick, JOAN AND TOM CONSTABLE) 
 
 Stand at the door, Tom, and attend to what is said. 
 
 tom: I will, sir. 
 
 PARSON: {aside) Mrs Perry, just get out the cor- 
 dials, and set them by Mrs Harrison, I'm afraid she 
 may swoon, {she does so) I want you all to attend 
 to what John, there, has to say. Now, John, tell all 
 you know. 
 
 JOHN: I ben't going to tell my words, not till I had 
 my book-oath took. 
 86 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 parson: Lay your hand on this testament. 
 
 JOHN: (putting hand on testament) I be going to 
 testify. 
 
 (tt pause) 
 
 JOHN: I be gomg to testify, (glowering at MRS. 
 HARRISON) Mrs Harrison, thee'd best drink a 
 drop — I got awful news. I got awful news. Mr 
 Harrison be dead. 
 
 parson: Be patient, Mrs Harrison, hear all. How 
 dead? 
 
 JOHN: Murdered dead. 
 
 all: What? 
 
 JOHN: Murdered dead! 
 
 parson: (standing up) We are but children, Mrs 
 Harrison. Whom God loveth he chasteneth. How 
 was he murdered, John? 
 
 JOHN: I be going to testify. I want my words 
 took down. (PARSON takes pen) — It was us mur- 
 dered Mr Harrison. 
 
 all: What, what, what d'ye mean? 
 
 JOHN: It was I, and Mother, and Dick there, mur- 
 dered Mr Harrison. 
 
 dick: You — liar! 
 
 joan: Be you gone mad, John? 
 
 PARSON: Have a care what you say, John Perry. 
 
 John: For his gold we murdered him. 
 
 MRS h: I don't believe a word you're saying — 
 (Weeps) 
 
 JOHN: For his gold we murdered him. 
 
 dick: I wonder God don't strike thee dead, John. 
 
 JOAN: John have gone crazed, sir. It be the sun 
 — he were in the sim afore he took food this morning. 
 Do 'ee sit, John. Us'll bathe thy poor head 
 for 'ee. 
 
 JOHN: We murdered en dead for his gold. For 
 his gold we murdered en, — didn't us, Dick? 
 
 87 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 dick: Mr ... Sir! God have afflicted my 
 poor brother — He don't know what he say. 
 
 JOHN: I know what I say, I do. And you do. 
 It lie black on my breast — It was your bloody mind 
 planned it. 
 
 MRS h: You be a-lying, John Perry. You always 
 was a liar! I was saying what a liar you was only 
 yesterday, to Mrs Murrell I said it — 'that John Perry 
 be a liar,' I said. Where did you murder him? 
 Where's the body? 
 
 JOHN: We murdered en dead for his gold. 
 
 dick: Shall us put leeches to en's head, Sir? Ut 
 be mazed. It be the blood. Shall I go fetch Doctor f 
 
 parson: {in a hard voice) Stay where you are, 
 Richard Perry. Come here to the table — and you, 
 Mrs Perry. Will you lay your hands to this testament 
 and swear you are innocent of this crime? This 
 crime John accuses you of? 
 
 dick: Sir, you don't surely — sir, you don't go for 
 to believe him? Sir, you don't go for to believe 
 him? 
 
 JOAN: My poor boy be crazed, sir. Make 'en set, 
 sir. He don't know what he do say. 
 
 parson: I ask you to put your hands to this testa- 
 ment, and swear you are innocent of this crime. This 
 crime John here accuses you of. 
 
 dick: Sir, you ben't thinking — O! God, sir, you 
 ben't thinking that? 
 
 JOAN: I do swear it, Sir. I swear it purely. Do 
 'ee let me bathe his head now, Sir. It be only a wam- 
 mering-like. 
 
 JOHN: It ben't no wammering. It lie black on 
 my breast. 
 
 parson: Come here to the table, Dick Perry. I 
 want you to swear — Put your hand on this testament. 
 
 dick: (aloud) What be I to say, sir? 
 
THE flAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 JOHN: Say how we killed en, Dick. Say how we 
 laid en dead. 
 
 dick: I say you be a wicked liar, John, a liar 
 afore God. I say as I be false accused, and as Mother 
 is. And I say you be a wicked liar, John, or you be 
 smit mad. 
 
 JOHN: You come to me last night, vou did. And 
 Mother come — 'Let's kiU en', you said — And you'd 
 said it afore. 'Let's kiU en', you said — ^and Mother 
 said it. 
 
 dick: Parson, do believe en! (a pause) — God 
 help my poor wife! (he goes to testament) — I do 
 swear as I be false accused. As I be innocent — And 
 as Mother be. 
 
 MRS h: And I believe thee, Dick. Thy brother 
 John be a liar: to Mrs MurreU I said it. If he ben't 
 swooning, now. 
 
 {DICK puts his hand to his head, and sways a mo- 
 ment. He takes out a handkerchief, as he takes it 
 
 out he drops some twine) 
 
 JOHN: (jouncing on the twine) Now, what d'ye 
 say, Dick Perry? 'Ee don't know this, do 'ee, now. 
 What be this string, Dick? What be this. Mother? 
 
 dick: It be my poor wife's hair net. 
 
 JOAN: Why, so it be. It be a hair net, to be sure. 
 
 parson: What do you know of this hair-string, 
 John Perry? Do you know it? 
 
 JOHN: I know it, I do. And Mother know it, and 
 Dick. To our cost we know it. It be the cord we 
 murdered en with. 
 
 JOAN AND dick: Oh, John Perry! 
 
 parson: Where was this? This that you say ? 
 
 JOHN: Below Battle Ridge. At the foot o'hill it 
 were. By the brook, where they found ens collar. 
 
 JOAN: Us was never nigh the place. 
 
 dice: John, have done with thy sport. Say you 
 
 89 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 be fooling. Parson — Do 'ee think what 'ee be say- 
 ing. 
 
 JOHN: I do think, I do. And you think. I con- 
 fessed, I have. I made a clean breast — our sin be 
 black — ^black it be — to kill poor Mr Harrison. 
 
 parson: Be calm, Mrs Harrison, hear aU. Qie 
 writes) Now tell us how you killed him. Listen 
 Tom, you will have to give evidence at the trial. 
 
 DICE AND JOAN: Sir, don't you believe en. Sir, 
 you ben't goin' to believe en. He be lying, sir. Mrs 
 Harrison knows he be lying. He be smit mad, sir. 
 
 pakson: Keep silence, please. You will be heard 
 in due course. Now, John. 
 
 JOHN: So brother Dick he says, 'Let's kill en'. 
 'For ens gold,' says Mother. Often they'd said it. 
 So us goes out — 
 
 pakson: What time was this? 
 
 JOHN: It were — it were twelve. So us goes out, 
 and we see old Mr Harrison coming, singing. In the 
 moonlight we seed en, and Dick and Mother and I, 
 we strangles un — with this cord. O, it were a black 
 deed! 
 
 MRS h: (Interrupting) John Perry, you be ly- 
 ing — where's the body? I don't believe as my poor 
 man be dead. Nor I won't. Not till I touch his 
 cold corpse — there now. 
 
 parson: Where is the body, John? 
 
 JOHN: Mother and Dick took ens body. They 
 were hardened uns, they were. I were that shook by 
 our black deed ! O, a black deed it were. Where did 
 'ee put ens corpse, Mother ? Hey, Dick ? 
 
 dick: {To PARSON) Sir, he be play-acting. 
 You see he be play-acting. 
 
 JOAN: If my poor man were alive, us wouldn't be 
 like this, us wouldn't. Do 'ee not damn thy soul 
 black, John. Thou knows us be innocent. 
 90 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 JOHN: A proper hardened un, you was; and Dick 
 was. 
 
 parson: Richard Perry, can you now, in the sight 
 of God, put your hand on this testament, and swear 
 yourself innocent, after what John here has said? 
 Can you, Mrs Perry ? 
 
 MRS p: I be a poor old widow woman, I be. I 
 an't got no man, I an't, not since my poor man were 
 took. Seventy year have I lived in Campden, and 
 some time it have been hard, and some time it have 
 been not so hard; and us have had our little home, us 
 have, though us were poor. I have brought my sons 
 up in the fear of the Lord. I wasn't never ques- 
 tioned like this afore. Us have borne a good name, 
 us have, though us were poor. I be innocent. Sir. 
 God forgive my poor lying boy. 
 
 JOHN: God forgive thee Jeading I to murder. 
 
 parson: Now, Richard Perry. 
 
 MRS h: Dick be fainting, {to PARSON) It be 
 a cruel shame, it be, sir, to vex us so. For shame. Sir. 
 
 dice: I be innocent, I be. John knows I be in- 
 nocent. My poor wife knows I be, and Mother 
 knows. (He touches book and sways) 
 
 parson: His nose is bleeding. It is the hand of 
 God. God hath spoken, Tom. 
 
 tom: Ess, sir. 
 
 parson: Call thy men. 
 
 {TOM goes to door and whistks) 
 
 dick: What be 'ee going to do, please, sir. Us 
 have sworn. 
 
 (enter men) 
 
 parson: Tom Constable, take John here, and 
 Dick, and Mrs Perry, to the lock-up. 
 
 dick: Sir, do 'ee now! 
 
 tom: Thee'd best come quiet, Dick. Us won't 
 hurt 'ee. 
 
 91 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 dick: But I be innocent. It be a lie. I ben't no 
 murderer. 
 
 parson: You will be able to prove that at your 
 trial. Remove them, Tom. 
 
 JOHN: Our blood be due for our black deed — Us 
 shall all hang. 
 
 JOAN: Give me thy arm, Tom. I be a old woman. 
 I ain't got no man, I an't. Book says us must be pa- 
 tient, (she goes to JOHN and strokes his face) 
 John, boy, thee be that like thy dad, John. Us must 
 get Doctor to un, mustn't us, Dick? {she makes her 
 reverence to PARSON) 
 
 TOM: Come, mother, lean on my arm. 
 
 dick: Bear on me, Mother. {They support her 
 to doer) 
 
 JOAN: {turning at door) Mrs Harrison, us be 
 poor folk, false accused. Do 'ee get Doctor to look 
 to my poor boy. 
 
 JOHN: Us shall be like Staffordshire — ^three hung 
 in one knot. 
 
 parson: Do your oflSce, Tom. 
 
 (exeunt constables &c. 
 
 MANENT parson & MRS HARRISON) 
 
 Bear up, Mrs Harrison. We are like the old lanterns 
 in the hall — ^we are dark — we are broken. And anon 
 God takes us, and sets us on the walls of Heaven, amid 
 imspeakable beauty, to light His Courts. Your hus- 
 band — 
 
 MRS h: Mr Parson, sir. You be a man of God, 
 and you be a scholard. It don't beseem the likes of 
 me to talk plain to the likes of you. You'd ought to 
 go down on your knees and ask forgiveness. You be 
 swift to shed innocent blood. You talk of lanterns, 
 and such. Down on your knees, you ought to go. 
 You've been and committed them Perrys on the word 
 of a liar and a dog. My man ben't murdered — my 
 92 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 man ben't murdered. That John Perry'd hang his 
 mother for a sup of drink. 
 
 parson: Mrs Harrison, John Perry would not ac- 
 cuse himself; you forget yourself. 
 
 MRS h: Forget myself, do I! In my own house — 
 quotha! Ladida indeed — so I forget myself! You 
 be a sneck up of a covetuous Levite, a creeping into 
 widows' houses. That's what you be. Ladida in- 
 deed! But I ben't no widow. When my man comes 
 home he shall reckon with thee, he shall. And the 
 Perrys shall. They'll teach 'ee to shed innocent 
 blood on the word of a dog and a liar. Marry, come 
 up! 
 
 (exit parson) 
 O, Willy Harrison, Willy Harrison! You and your 
 beer will be my death! 
 
 CURTAIN 
 SCENE m 
 
 (A room in the lock-up at Broad Campden. mrs 
 
 PERRY, DICK, JOHN, secured by wrists and ankles to 
 
 chains. They are in different comers. A table in 
 
 front) 
 
 JOAN: Us be to die, Dick. Do 'ee bear up, lad. 
 Thou, knows John, as us be innocent. And God he 
 knows it. Us shall have mercy, Dick. Us shall walk 
 the gold streets and that — for ever, Amen. 
 
 dick: It be easy for you to talk. Mother. I do 
 think of my poor wife, I do, and of my poor babes. 
 'There goes his wife,' they'll say. That's what 
 neighbours'U say. 'Him as killed poor Mr Harrison.' 
 
 JOHN: 'As killed him for uns gold.' 
 
 dick: John, do 'ee now speak. Say as us be inno- 
 cent. Don't ee see us hanged, boy. There be my 
 
 93 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 poor wife, and my poor babes. Do ee speak, John, 
 speak. Her'll be but a tramp, and my little Nan and 
 all. Her were saying so pretty — And I shan't see un 
 again. Lord, never again! And her'll want bread 
 to eat, and go to bed crying. Do ee speak, John. 
 For God's sake, John, say as us be innocent. 
 
 JOHN: Us'U have ballads sung — and I shouldn't 
 wonder. Us'll all be in a ballad. 'The bloody Per- 
 rys, they was hanged — O, grief!' And there'll be 
 drums, and the sun a-shining — on Broadway Hill and 
 aU. And there'll be neighbours. Sure to be. And 
 us'll go in a cart, like high up folk. 'There they go'; 
 neighbours'll say, 'as kUled un for ens gold. They 
 was always bad ones, them Perrys,' they'll say. 
 
 JOAN: John, thou be going afore thy Maker, thou 
 be. Us be going to die to-day. It be a sad thing for 
 a old woman to die with her sons — her two boys, as 
 she's been that proud of. To be hanged up on a hill 
 with neighbours calling her a old witch. And then, 
 there be Dick's little maids. O, John, do 'ee speak, 
 lad! And us won't be put in churchyard. I shan't 
 lie with my poor man, a dear! Whatever will I do, a 
 dear! I shan't lie with my poor man! 
 
 JOHN: I ben't going to speak, I ben't. I said my 
 say. To Judge I said it. Her were all in her red 
 gownd. 'Ah, you Perry,' he said: 'you be a notable 
 rogue.' Her had a sword afore her. Now us be go- 
 ing to be hanged. I wonder will us have ale give us. 
 Old Cop of Aston, they give him ale. 
 
 (enter TOM constable) 
 
 TOM: Master Parson, sir. 
 
 JOAN: He ben't here — ^yet — Tom. 
 
 TOM: Can I do aught for ee, Mrs Perry ? 
 
 JOAN: Us be past it, Tom, I do thank ee. It be 
 my boy, John, and my boy, Dick, as I be grieved for. 
 And them little maids of Dick's. Us be false ac- 
 
 94 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 cused, us be, my poor mad boy knows. And God 
 knows. And them Little ones'll want bread when us 
 be gone! 
 
 TOM: Mrs Harrison have took Dick's little ones. 
 God save ee, Mother. Us knows as you be innocent. 
 And neighbours says it. God bless ee, Dick, if I 
 don't see ee again. 
 
 dick: God bless ee for thy kind words. Ee com- 
 fort poor Nan, Tom. Don't ee let folk say as her 
 Daddy were hung. God comfort my poor Nan. 
 
 tom: God bless ee, Dick, lad, and comfort ee. 
 God forgive ee, John. Thy hands be red of blood, 
 John; God forgive ee. {To PARSON) Saving 
 your presence, sir. 
 
 parson: Go, Tom. 
 
 (exit tom) 
 
 joan: I be ready, sir. I be ready to go in the 
 cart. 
 
 parson: Ah, Mrs Perry! In a few moments you 
 wiU be before God's Judgment Seat, a trembling bird 
 on God's hand. How will you ask mercy of Him, 
 when you have hardened your heart here on earth; 
 denying the guilt for which you suffer! 
 
 JOAN: I ben't afeard to meet my God, sir. God 
 have pity upon the poor and on the widows. I be in- 
 nocent of blood, I be. I've been a great sinner, and I 
 be punished for it. I set my boy John afore my boy 
 Dick. Parson, I be dying. Will ee let I lie in 
 Chrisom ground? Let I lie near my man, Parson, 
 along of my poor husband? 
 
 (enter tom) 
 
 tom: {in a choking voice) It be the Sheriff, sir. 
 
 parson: Come, Mrs Perry. You are about to 
 walk in Paradise, among the holy ones. You are 
 about to stand before God, in the glory unspeakable. 
 Lean on me — lean on Tom here. 
 
 95 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 JOAN". John, won't ee say now as we be false ac- 
 cused? Ee won't see thy old mother hanged? Do 
 ee speak. Say as you spoke lies, John. Thee knows 
 ee did. 
 
 dick: For God's sake, John. 
 
 JOHN: I confessed to Parson, and I confessed to 
 Judge, I ben't bound to confess to you. 
 
 JOAN: God have mercy on us all then. May He 
 have mercy on you, John — And on you, Dick — and 
 on me, thy mother — and on all poor souls. May us 
 meet glorified in God's golden courts. Amen. 
 
 parson: Amen. Come, Mrs Perry. 
 
 JOAN: God be with ee, Dick. I've put ee to bed, 
 Dick, a many times. But now I be going to bed afore 
 you. 
 
 dick: God be with ee, Mother. God comfort ee. 
 
 JOAN: God be with ee, too, John. For all your 
 sins. 
 
 (She turns to go) 
 Ee be that like thy poor feyther, John. I be going to 
 God's holy house. 
 
 tom: Lean on me. Mother. 
 
 (They go out at door — the drums beat up) 
 
 JOHN: O, us be going to have drums. 
 
 dick: Thou be a dog, John, thou be. O, John, 
 say as us be innocent, say it out, now. It'll save 
 Mother. It'fi save my little Nan. . . Call, John; 
 call! O, John, thou be a dog! 
 
 JOHN: Call, Dick. That be right. Call, Dick. 
 Shout! Thy throat it won't call much longer. 
 
 dick: Ah, God! 
 
 JOHN: O! It be 'Ah, God' now, be it! It were 
 'I be a proper godly one,' it's not so long since. How 
 about thy twelve shillin' a week, Didk? You that 
 was to be that high in the world? Eh, Dick? Thy 
 twelve shillin' ? Lower than the dirt I've dragged ec. 
 
 96 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 Like I said I'd do. Lower than the dirt, thou and 
 thy twelve shillin'. 
 
 dick: Then thee ben't mad. Thee've sworn 
 our lives away! 
 
 JOHN: You be a clever one, you be! 
 
 (re-enter passon, very white and sick, and tom) 
 
 dick: Parson, John have confessed. He've con- 
 fessed he have sworn false. O! Parson, do ee save 
 Mother. He have confessed, sir. 
 
 JOHN: He be mazed, sir. Give un a cordial. Par- 
 son. He be clean mazed. 
 
 dick: O, Sir, hear en. Do ee save Mother. 
 Her said he'd done it a purpose to cross I. Do ee 
 listen, sir. 
 
 parson: Come, Richard Perry. Compose your- 
 self. We are poor flames blowing in the wind, now 
 one way, now another. In the peace of God's house 
 our light will burn steadily. Come, Richard Perry. 
 (tom undoes chains) 
 
 dick: God help my poor wife. God help all dy- 
 ing men as foUi won't listen to! I've lived honest, 
 and I've worked honest, and this be the end. 
 
 parson: It is but the beginning. There is no end 
 to the glory and ths peace of God. 
 
 dick; \To JOHN) And no end to the fire for 
 such as thee, John. May the red hot worms gnaw 
 thy body, John. You dog, you dog! 
 
 parson: Come, Dick. Help him, Tom. 
 
 dick: O Parson, do ee make John speak. He 
 have confessed, sir. O ! sir, he have confessed. In- 
 deed, sir, he've confessed. Make un speak, Parson. 
 It'll save my Nan. 
 
 parson: Come, Dick. It is but a step. Do not 
 seek to stay longer in this wicked world. 
 
 dick: But he've confessed. Parson. He've said 
 as he were lying. O ! sir, do ee. 
 
 97 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 JOHN: Give un a cordial, Parson. He be fair 
 mazed. Help en, Tom. 
 
 tom: Come, be a man, Dick! 
 
 (exeunt — The drums again) 
 
 JOHN: There he do go, him and his twelve shill- 
 in'. Ah, you godly one! Ha, you godly one! They 
 got you. Lower than the dirt, like as I said I'd do. 
 Afore all Campden! You and your twelve shillin'! 
 Make im a speech, Dick. Make thy speech and con- 
 fession. O ! if I might see thee. 1 if only door were 
 open. Thee be looking pale, you and your twelve 
 shillin'. You that thought to be high in the world. 
 Aha! Aha! 
 
 {A cry without and drums) 
 There he do go! Aha! Aha! 
 {A pause) 
 (ke-enter pakson and tom) 
 
 parson: O! the pity of it, the pity of it! O! 
 Lord strengthen me. 
 
 JOHN: Mr Parson, Sir, might I speak to ee, sir? 
 
 parson: In a minute. In a miaute, John. 0! 
 Lord, have pity. 
 
 JOHN: I be a dying man. Parson. I got summat 
 to say to ee. 
 
 (parson stands) 
 Parson, wiU ee give I comfort? I been a great sin- 
 ner, I have. I been drunk, and I stole; and I been 
 poaching, and I gone with women. And I kill poor 
 Mr Harrison. O! I been a black one, I have. 
 Shall I have mercy. Parson? Be I doomed to the 
 fire? 
 
 parson: There is joy, John, over one sinner that 
 repenteth. God's mercy is infinite. Put your trust 
 in Him, John. 
 
 JOHN: Ah, sir. I do feel it in my heart. It be a 
 glow, like. 
 98 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 parson: Come, John Perry. 
 
 (tom undoes chains) 
 
 There is yet one thing, John. Where is Mr Har- 
 rison's body? You are about to die, John. Tell us 
 this, that he may have Christian burial. 
 
 JOHN: It were Dick and Mother took his body, 
 sir. I don't know where it be, I don't. But perhaps 
 one day you'll find en. You'll be wiser on that day, 
 Parson. 
 
 paxson: You talk strangely, John. 
 
 JOHN: A dying man have a right to talk strange. 
 I be ready, Sir. Will you say a prayer for me. Sir? 
 "Our Father" or summat. 
 
 parson: Repeat it after me, John. Come. 
 (exetjnt: drums again) 
 
 (A pause, during which the drums beat. Then a 
 
 march as the troops pass away) 
 
 (enter MRS HARRISON, PANTING) 
 
 MRS h: Are you there, Dick? Ah! Ah! If I'm 
 not near my death. Are you there, Dick? Mrs 
 Perry! 
 
 (enter parson. MRS H. fans herself. PAR- 
 SON mops his brow) 
 
 parson: The wages of sin is death. {He mops 
 and sits down) The wages of sin is death. He 
 talked strangely. And the old woman — Ah, God, 
 her gray hairs — and then the frantic one, about his 
 child. Ah, have pity, O Father! The wages of sin 
 is death, death. It has been a terrible day. A terri- 
 ble day. 
 
 MRS h: What's terrible? How has it been terri- 
 ble? What ails you, man? 
 parson: (looking at her) O, Mrs Harrison — 
 MRS h: Oh? Well, he's come home, like I said 
 he would. 
 parson: Who? 
 
 oo 
 
THE CAMPDEN WONDER 
 
 MRS h: Who? Why, William Harrison, my husband. 
 
 parson: Come home? 
 
 MRS h: Yes, come home, like I said he would. 
 
 parson: Come home? 
 
 MRS h: If you don't vex a sinful woman's flesh! 
 Ves, he has come home — boozing — That's where 
 he's been. 
 
 (parson covers his EYES AND MOANS) 
 
 {aloud) Now, don't set there moaning — You've got 
 to set them Perrys free. 
 
 (she GOES TO HIM AND !: lAKES HTM) 
 
 Go and find 'em, and set 'em free. Come, come, 
 now, don't ee take it to heart. We all make mis- 
 takes. That John Perry, he might have had 'em all 
 hanged. 
 
 parson: (weakly) They are — all hanged. 
 
 MRS h: What? 
 
 parson: Hanged. This morning. 
 
 MRS h: But it was to-morrow. 
 
 parson: No, to-day. 
 
 MRS h: But this be the sixteenth? This be Tuesday? 
 
 parson: No. {a long pause) 
 
 MRS h: So that's why the town was empty. 
 That's why the prison's got no — (fiercely) Be you 
 telling the truth? 
 
 parson: O, don't, don't! 
 ( a pause) 
 
 MRS h: May God be good to a sinful woman. 
 
 parson: Amen. 
 
 MRS h: They be happy to be out of such a world. 
 
 parson: "O, Father, Now is my soul troubled, 
 and what shall I say?" 
 
 MRS h: Us be two poor souls. Parson. 
 (crying and laying her hand on his) 
 
 curtain 
 100 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 PERSONS 
 Will Harrison 
 Parson 
 
 Tom Constable 
 Mrs. Harrison 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 SCENE: A Room in MRS HARRISON'S House 
 
 MRS H. There's your cider. Take it; there's a 
 toast in it. Take it. And now, you and I will have 
 a reckoning. 
 
 WILL H. Huh! 
 
 MRS H. (Rapping table) You may groan and you 
 may grunt, but you'll listen to me. And you'll an- 
 swer me. You'U answer me, before you leave this 
 room. 
 
 WILL H. Gerr yer. 
 
 MRS H. I want to know about you, William Harri- 
 son. A nice husband you've been to me. And now 
 I want to know about you, and you'U answer me. 
 Wher've you been all this long while? Wher've 
 you been, I say? What Dolly Draggletails have you 
 been with? 
 
 WILL H. Ah, put your head in a bag! 
 
 MRS H. Put my head in a bag! Put my head in a 
 bag! You low dog, you. There's a way to talk to a 
 woman. There's a way to talk to a wife. How dare 
 you tell me put my head in a bag. How dare you, 
 after what's past? How dare you? After leaving me 
 alone all this long while. Is this a world to leave a 
 woman alone in? Is this a world to leave a nice, 
 comely, decent, fine-grown woman alone in? Let 
 alone your wife! 
 
 WILL H. Huh! I run no risks leaving you. 
 
 lOS 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 MRS H. No. So you ran no risks, didn't you? 
 There's some would have said different. There's some 
 set a higher price on beauty than what you do. A 
 comely woman's something to them, it is. 
 
 WILL H. It is, is it? They're welcome! 
 
 MRS H. When you've done with your insults, we'll 
 talk. Where've you been all this long while ? — ^You 've 
 
 been with your beer and your dollymops! I'm 
 
 sick to think I've kissed you. 
 
 WILL H. And I am. 
 
 MRS H. Thank you. Thank you for nothing. 
 And now I want an answer. When you've done 
 with your sneers and your jeers I want an answer. 
 D'ye know what you've done by going away ? D'ye 
 know what your beer and your trollopsing have been 
 the cause of? 
 
 WELL H. I know what your naggin's '11 be the 
 cause of. Here — Qie hangs mug) — Cider. 
 
 MRS H. You'll answer me first. 
 
 WILL H. Cider, I say. 
 
 MRS H. You have been the cause of three folk be- 
 ing hanged; — John Perry, and Dick Perry and poor 
 old Mrs Perry; — Hanged. Hanged by the necki 
 That's a fine thing, isn't it, for beer and trulls to do? 
 Wher've you been, you tank, you dog, you low 
 thing. Where've you been? What can you say for 
 yourself? 
 
 WILL H. Gimme my cider. Gimme my cider 
 when I tell you! 
 
 MRS H. (Snatching cider mug.) Herel (She 
 smashes it on floor and stamps on fragments) There! 
 That's all the cider you'll get. Now, answer. 
 
 wnx H. (Getting up and snatching her wrist) Be 
 
 that the game? Well, I'll answer. Sit down there. 
 
 And you say another word, and you'll get a knock'll 
 
 give you sense! I'll tell you where I've been; and 
 
 106 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 keep it dark. You'd better. You speak a word of it, 
 and you'll be missed. The first dark night as comes, 
 you'll be missed. 
 
 MRS H. That means you'll murder me. 
 
 WILL H. Listen! I went away acos I was paid to 
 go away. D'ye understand that? Paid. 
 
 MRS H. Who paid you ? 
 
 WILL H. Ah! Wouldn't you? And I was paid 
 three hundred golden pound to go away. And my 
 going away was worth that to the man as paid it. 
 
 MRS H. Where did ee go to? 
 
 WILL H. I weren't never more'n twenty mile away. 
 
 MRS H. Then ee knew. Ee knew of what — ee 
 knew of the Perrys ? 
 
 WILL H. I knowed all about the Perrys. 
 
 MRS H. You knowed about the Perrys? 
 
 WILL H. And glad to. 
 
 MRS H. You knowed they was to be hanged ? 
 
 WELL H. And glad to. 
 
 MRS H. And 'ee could have saved 'en. 
 
 WILL H. I knowed one worth two of that. You 
 listen to I and keep your mouth shut. John Perry 
 knew where I were. And why I'd gone. Think I'd 
 let 'en live when he were that crazy to go and get 
 hanged? Think I'd stop 'en hanging when he knew 
 my secret? Gerr yer; talk sense! 
 
 MRS H. Then you let them poor souls be hanged, 
 knowing they was innocent. 
 
 WILL H. Ah, talk sense. 
 
 MRS H. You set by and let them all be hanged? 
 
 WILL H. Didn't I tell you I got three hundred 
 pound? What's the Perrys to me? I know my du- 
 ty, I hope. Hark you to me, missus. It was my 
 Lord give me that £300. It was to my Lord's advan- 
 tage I should be away awhile. What's three Perrys, 
 or six Perrys, or a churchful of Perrys to my Lord? 
 
 107 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 Hark you to me! (he gets up and goes to her) And 
 you breathe so much as a shuddering, wee glimmer of 
 a whisper, — you just raise your little dove-like voice — 
 you just dare to! {he snaps his fingers) And it'll 
 be your last. 
 
 MRS H. {slowly) And — I'm — to — live — with — a 
 — murderer? I've had a murderer to bed with me, 
 and held 'en in my arms! {to WILL H.) And 
 what tale will you tell the neighbours? What tale 
 am I to tell the neighbours when they ask? Lord 
 God! if it ben't pitiful! 
 
 WILL H. Damn the neighbours! Gimme my ci- 
 der. 
 
 MRS H. There's footsteps coming up the walk. 
 It'll be parson. O God, Will, what be I to tell en ? 
 (a knock at the door) 
 
 WILL H. Why, teU 'en — tell 'en — ^Tell 'en some- 
 thing; you'd better. Say I was kidnapped. And 
 bear me out, now. Bear me out in that. I was kid- 
 napped. {Another knock) Set down there, {she 
 sits) and now, remember. You say a word of the 
 truth, {he snaps his fingers) — your neck'U go like 
 that! — Come in! Who be there? 
 
 (enter TOM CONSTABLE AND PARSON) 
 
 Why, if it bain't you, parson. Come in. Come in! 
 Why now, if this ben't strange. What wonders I 
 have to tell 'ee. 
 
 PARSON O Harrison. There have been wonders 
 indeed. To think of you coming home safely, after 
 all. Your wife is looking quite white, even now. I 
 don't wonder. 
 
 WILL H. They do say as joy kills quicker'n grief, 
 parson. 
 
 PARSON You must look after Mrs Harrison. It 
 has been a terrible time for her. 
 
 TOM Ah! it has. 
 108 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 WILL H. {recognising TOM) Why, Tom. Tom 
 Constable. And how be you, Tom ? Why, what joy 
 it be to meet all the old folk agen. 
 
 TOM Thank 'ee, sir. I be doing kindly, sir. 
 
 PARSON Yes, I brought Tom as a witness. I 
 have to write to my Lord and tell him everything. 
 Ah me, it is a terrible tale! And so you've come 
 back? 
 
 WILL H. They do say as seein' is believin'. 
 
 PARSON Just to think, Mrs Harrison. Ah, Mrs 
 Harrison! And so you've come back. O! if you 
 had but come a day sooner. No, not a day; an hour; 
 twenty minutes. 
 
 WILL H. We be in God's hands, parson. 
 
 PARSON It is the truth. And v>'here've you been? 
 Tell me now. Tell me everything. Everythingl 
 
 WILL H. Well, you'll think there's still miracles. 
 
 MRS H. He was kidnapped, parson; think of that, 
 kidnapped. 
 
 WILL H. By a man on horseback. 
 
 MRS H. By two men on horseback. 
 
 PARSON Where was this? Was this where they 
 found the collar? 
 
 MRS H. Yes, by Battle Ridge. They wore masks; 
 and they seized him. 
 
 TOM Why didn't 'ee welt their nags ? I'd a welted 
 en, afore they'd seized I. 
 
 MRS H. How could an old man fight agenst 
 two? 
 
 PARSON Yes, and then? 
 
 WILL H. Why then Why. . . . Let me see. 
 
 Yes. So they said. . . . No a said nothing. . . They 
 
 up and How were it now ? (Aside to MRS. H) 
 
 Help me out or I'll hit 'ee one. 
 
 MRS H. They up and set you afore one of them. 
 You told me just now. 
 
 109 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 WILL H. Ah, they did. Afore one of them they 
 set me. 
 
 MRS H. And he'd been eating onions, parson. 
 Think of that. The one he set afore had been eat- 
 ing onions. Think of him noticing that. Think of 
 a man noticing that. 
 
 PARSON Go on, go on. 
 
 WILL H. So they set me afore one of them. And 
 he'd been eating onions. I could never abide the 
 smell. No. I never could abide onions. Did you 
 ever know me abide the smell of onions ? 
 
 MRS H. No, you never did. You never could 
 abide onions. 
 
 WILL H. They do say as one man's meat be an- 
 other's poison — 
 
 PARSON So then? 
 
 WILL H. Why, all in good time So then 
 
 Where was I ? So then. . . You be in such a hurry. . . 
 Why. So then. . . I wish 'ee'd not interrupt. 
 
 MRS H. Here, William Harrison. If you aren't a 
 trial and a torment. Do for goodness' sake let me 
 tell the story! 
 
 TOM Ah, do 'ee. 
 
 PARSON Go on, Mrs Harrison. 
 
 MRS H. So they rode him off, oh, for miles. And 
 then they came to a house, and they locked him in a 
 room for all the next day. And at night they rode 
 him off agen. And so on for a day or two. And 
 then they came to a ship. And there he heard 'em 
 selling his body for a slave. Selling his body for a 
 slave — a slave to the Turk! 
 
 PARSON How much did they give for you, William ? 
 
 WILL H. I heard one of them say thirty shiUin'. 
 
 PARSON But that couldn't have been for you. 
 That'd never have paid taking you across England. 
 
 MRS H. It'd be more like thirty pound. 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 WILL H. Well, it might a been pound. Thirty 
 pound then. 
 
 MRS H. And then the ship was at sea, and at last 
 they come to the Turks' coimtry, where they sold him 
 for a slave. 
 
 PARSON To think of that now! A Campden man 
 a slave to the Turkl 
 
 TOM O Lord! thy wonders! 
 
 wnx H. I was a slave to the Turk. 
 
 PARSON What work did you do, William? 
 
 WILL H. Why hard work. Hard work it was. 
 
 MRS H. He was a slave to a doctor, parson, — dig- 
 ging in the herb beds. 
 
 WILL H. I dug 'em with a spade. 
 
 TOM I'd a liked to a seen 'ee dig, master. 
 
 PARSON And how did you get away, William? 
 
 WILL H. Well, I got away, didn't I, — though I be 
 old. 
 
 TOM Old and bold as the saying is. 
 
 PARSON Ah, but how? 
 
 MRS H. His master sent him to an English mer- 
 chant with a bottle of elixir. The merchant was 
 sick. And William said he was an Englishman as 
 had been stole away. And the merchant put 'en in a 
 ship. And so he came home. 
 
 PARSON What port did you land at? 
 
 WILL H. (puzzled) It was Norfolk, I do think. 
 
 MRS H. Norfolk my grandmother! Portsmouth 
 don't I keep telling you. {to PARSON) I think 
 my man would make a saint cross. Portsmovih, 
 Will. Norfolk's in France. 
 
 WILL H. Ah, Portsmouth. I be'n't no learned 
 astronomer. One place be like another to me. I 
 don't hold with these new fangled towns. I been a 
 slave to the Turk. Give I Campden. 
 
 TOM O, the wonders of the Lord! 
 
 Ul 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 PARSON Well, Will; you ought to write a book. 
 
 WILL H. I don't know about any book. The 
 Christian religion's book enough. There's a book. 
 All else is sin, books is. 
 
 TOM Ah! 
 
 PARSON Now, Wni. I want you to come up to the 
 church with me to return thanks for your restoration, 
 and to ask His mercy for our sins, and for the deaths 
 of his innocents, the Perrys. 
 
 WILL H. Ah, that I will. Parson. 
 
 {Tlwy turn to go) 
 
 PARSON Come, Mrs Harrison. 
 
 MRS H. I be feeling overcome. Parson, I'll stay 
 here and read the Bible, while you prays. 
 
 PARSON You must take care of yourself, Mrs Har- 
 rison. You must look after your wife, William. She 
 has had a grievous trial. 
 
 WILL H. She'll pull round, you'll find. Joy Com- 
 eth in the morning. 
 
 MRS H. Have I been a good wife to you. Will? 
 
 PARSON She's been overwrought, William. 
 
 MRSH. Have I been a good wife to you. Will? 
 
 WILL H. Now don't 'ee fuss. Set quiet. She'll 
 be all right; she just needs letting alone a while. 
 Come, parson, us'll just step to church. 
 
 (exit parson and will h. TOM holds door for 
 
 tJiem) 
 
 MRS H. (as TOM goes) Tom! 
 
 TOM Yes, Mrs Harrison? 
 
 MRS H. Come here, Tom. 
 
 (TOM goes to taile) 
 
 MRS H. Reach me the Bible. 
 
 TOM Here it be, miss. 
 
 MRS. H. Now, Tom. 
 
 TOM Yes, Mrs Harrison. 
 
 MRS. H. You know them little girls of Dick Perry's ? 
 112 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 TOM Ay! 
 
 MRS H. You'll look after them little girls, Tom? 
 
 TOM I said I'd do. And I will do. 
 
 MRS H. You'll not let folk say as their daddy were 
 hung? 
 
 TOM I'll break their heads as says it. They'll 
 not say it twice, if they says it once. 
 
 MRS H. You'll swear that, Tom, swear it on the 
 Bible. 
 
 TOM There be'n't no call to swear, mum. You 
 knows me, I hope. 
 
 MRS H. Swear it. Swear you'll look after 'em. . 
 Whatever happens. . . 
 
 TOM What I can do I'll do. 
 
 MRS H. (going to a drawer) This be for you, 
 Tom, to spend for them little girls. It be what I got 
 by my hens. It be near five pound in silver. 
 
 TOM I don't ask no money, I be glad to do a kind- 
 ness. I don't ask no money. 
 
 MRS H. Take it. Take it, I say! And may the 
 Lord prosper you for aU you do for them poor little 
 maids. Look after 'em, Tom. 
 
 TOM I'll look after 'em, mum. 
 
 MRS H. Now go, Tom. I be all-to frushed and of 
 a frammock. 
 
 TOM Can I get 'ee anything? 
 
 MRS H. No, Tom. Now 'ee go. 
 
 TOM Good day to 'ee, mum. 
 
 MRS H. God save 'ee, Tom. 
 
 (exit tom) 
 
 MRS H. I been wife to a murderer. . . I been 
 wife to a murderer. . . I've been to bed with a man 
 as done mm-dcr; and I've helped un clear after. . . . 
 (she rocks in her chair; then gets up and goes to cup- 
 hoard) But never no more, William Harrison, you've 
 had your last of me. . . . {she opens cupboard) I be 
 
 liJ 
 
MRS. HARRISON 
 
 the lowest of the low. O Lord, I be the lowest of the 
 low. ... I feel as I'd been spat on. (she rummages 
 among bottles) But never no more, William Harri- 
 son. . . . God have mercy on a sinful woman. . . . 
 You've had your last of me, William Harrison. You 
 can go to your Jennies, you can. . . . (she takes out a 
 paper) This is it. This is it, — is the cure. I bought 
 it for the rattens as ate my chicks. What'll kill 
 rattens'll kill folk. Where be my thimble? (she pours 
 powder into thimble and drinks) Ugh ! it be bitter ! (she 
 pours again and drinks) Ugh! (she puts thimble and 
 paper into fire. The fire spurts up) Ah, pretty it be! 
 (she goes to table and begins to read the Bible: she spells 
 it out slowly) 
 
 "But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, 
 and said imto them: Suffer the little children to come 
 unto me. Suffer the little children to come unto me. " 
 Us be little children — "And forbid them not.". . . 
 It be a long road for poor folk. . . It be a cold 
 road for us, poor children. . . . {dies) 
 
 THE END 
 
 114