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 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013551712 
 
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 THE T. P. COOKE PRIZE DRAMA. 
 
 MX 
 
 A. R. SLOUS, Esq. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STB AND. 
 
 1866. 
 T!ie rigid of Translation is reserved. Yvrv 
 
 . r 
 
 r 
 
 FBICE ONE SHILLING. 
 
TRUE TO THE COEE. 
 
 % Sforg of fte %xmh. 
 
 THE T. P. COOKE PRIZE DRAMA, 1866. 
 
 ANGIOLO ROBSON SLOUS, 
 
 AUTHOR OE 
 
 f THB TEMPLAB," "HAMILTON OB BOTBTWELLHATIGH," "LIGHT A1TD SHADOW," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 1 The subject of my story is the dawn of England's glory, 
 When her stripling Navy smote with mortal stroke the giant Spain, 
 And her landsmen, true and ready, show'd a front both bold and steady, 
 A front whene'er a foeman comes they'll surely show again.*' — Old Sea Song. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1866. 
 
 [Tlie Right of Translation is reserved.] 
 
TO THE 
 
 MASTER, WARDENS, AND COUNCIL 
 
 OF THE 
 
 EOYAL DKAMATIC COLLEGE, 
 
 AND 
 
 EVERY WELL-WISHER TO THAT EXCELLENT INSTITUTION, 
 
 This Dbama. 
 
 $« $espttlf»llg $ri>itnfri> 
 
 BY 
 
 ITS AUTHOR. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 Although familiar to the theatrical world, it is, perhaps, not 
 
 fenerally known that the late accomplished actor, Mr. T. P. Cooke, 
 equeathed a sum of money to the Royal Dramatic College, the 
 interest of which, at certain intervals, was, in the form of a prize, to 
 be given to the Author of the best original Nautical or National 
 Drama, the awardment of such prize being regulated by the 
 conditions which usually govern a public competition. The prize 
 was £100, and the successful candidate was required, by the stipu* 
 lations of Mr. Cooke's will, to surrender to the Dramatic College all 
 right and control over the future of his drama, the Master and 
 Council of the said College possessing the exclusive right of determin- 
 ing at what theatre the piece in question should be performed, and 
 also appropriating all .profits that might arise to the benefit of the 
 excellent Institution over which they preside. 
 
 In a pecuniary sense, the reward was certainly not a tempting 
 one, and the conditions linked with it of a somewhat stringent and 
 irritating nature. But there is always something animating in a 
 contest. Besides, it was of course imperative that the pieces sent in 
 should be original. The plot and incidents could not be filched 
 from continental dramatists, and this (to me at least) imparted, an 
 additional zest for trying a fall in an arena from which the plunder 
 of Parisian theatres was to be rigidly excluded. For these reasons, 
 in a rash hour, I was tempted to become a candidate for the T. P. 
 Cooke Prize, though not, I confess, without sundry warnings to 
 abandon my intention. 
 
 Most of ns, I believe, possess amongst our circle of friends 
 one whose peculiarity it is to see everything through the me- 
 dium of a very gloomy atmosphere. I, at any rate, am blessed with, 
 one of these unpleasant, but useful Mentors, who thus, with 
 almost cheerful alacrity, at once pointed out " a Rock ahead :" — 
 " Should you fail, and no doubt you will fail, you will be annoyed ; 
 should you succeed, you will only create enemies. And your 
 subject ! The Spanish Armada ! Why, the very name suggests the 
 Critic, and of course a Sneer." This was not exhilarating, but I 
 knew that critics and sneers would be sure to come without any 
 suggestion ; and notwithstanding the awful shapes of Tilburina and- 
 Whiskerandos conjured up to fright me from my purpose, I refused 
 to be alarmed. But my cheerful friend hadn't done with me. 
 His rocks began to multiply, like Palstaff's men in buckram, with 
 terrible rapidity. "Nautical! why, your sailors can't appear in 
 
VI PfiEFACE. 
 
 blue jackets and white trousers, because they didn't wear 'em. You 
 mustn't speak of the Union Jack, because our ships didn't carry it. 
 You can't allude to Greenwich Hospital, because it wasn't built; 
 and who, I should like to know, is to sing ' Rule Britannia,' when the 
 man who composed it wasn't born ?"' This was the way my friend 
 raked me fore and aft. But I let him fire all his guns, and persisted 
 with sullen obstinacy in sticking to my ship. I could not see why, 
 because a man of brilliant genius had selected it as a vehicle for 
 satirizing the turgid bombast of his time, so glorious an epoch in our 
 nation's history should never be approached in a more serious spirit 
 — an epoch too, I presumed to think, so memorable in the annals of 
 our NaVy— our infant Navy ! For, compared with its present stu- 
 pendous growth — it was then but a mere baby. A very vigorous baby 
 I'll allow, an infant Hercules if you will, ready to strangle the ser- 
 pents that came to assail him in his cradle — but still an infant. But 
 though small, our Ships, our Captains were great. Drake, Raleigh, 
 Hawkins, Frobisher, Effingham — these, at least, were no babes to 
 deal with, as Philip II., of blessed memory, found afterwards to his 
 cost : true sons of the Scandinavian Sea-Kings who hung then- 
 shields over their galleys, sides, worthy progenitors of the men who. 
 sustained the glory of our flag at the Nile and Trafalgar. Thank 
 Heaven, there are enough of us still left in this island, even in these 
 degenerate days, when the hideous system prevails of turning every- 
 thing, however graceful or elevating, into a ghastly kind of mockery* — 
 that hateful practice of taking the fair statue from its niche, merely 
 
 * The true province of satire is surely to select for the object of its attack 
 that which is in itself ridiculous. Is that the case with our modern writers of 
 burlesques ? No. Shakspeare, Scott, Byron, are all seized by these funny 
 gentlemen, and smutted over with their dirty fingers. Even the touching, 
 glorious legend of" Virginius" has not escaped their profaning hands being 
 not very long ago distorted into a vile and monstrous shape. Did Henry 
 Fielding, in his matchless burlesque of " Tom Thumb," seek to degrade the 
 grand? or Sheridan, in his terrible " Critic," aim his shafts at the beautiful? 
 No ; it was the inflated nonsense mouthed so often by the tragic heroes and, 
 heroines of former days at which these great writers shot the burning arrows 
 of their wit, and well did they hit their mark. But what are the chief features 
 of our present burlesques ? The works of great men profaned ; young and 
 talented actresses thrust continually into male attire; blue-bearded, hoarse' 
 voiced men disporting themselves in woman's garb ; and our noble English 
 tongue word-tortured (shade of Thomas Hood I I believe it is called punning), 
 mangled, broken on the wheel, for the delectation of audiences nine-tenths of 
 whom have never read the originals thus trailed through the mire for their 
 amusement. This is the dainty fare flung night after night to the British 
 public, and on which, alas ! the British public seems to batten with uncommon 
 relish. It will be said this is the public taste ; if so, shame on those who per- 
 vert and prostitute their talents by pandering to it. Better an honest crust 
 earned by a stout birch-broom, that at least cleanses a public crossing, than 
 turtle and ortolans supplied by gratifying an unclean craving for the desecra- 
 tion of all that should command our esteem or veneration. 
 
PREFACE. VU 
 
 to debase and defile it, even as the reptile sometimes drags its filthy 
 slime over the marble shaped by the genius of the sculptor into a 
 thing of beauty ; — there are still, I say, those who can feel their 
 blood throb with quickened pulse as they read of that memorable 
 July night when, in the immortal verse of our great historic poet, 
 " the fiery herald flew" from hill to hill to warn England of that 
 awful Crescent, seven miles from horn to horn, looming off the 
 Lizard Point. Ay, what a night must that have been ! Recollect 
 our assailant was then the mightiest empire in the world. Our 
 countrymen knew their invaders came to stamp out the very life 
 from the heart of England ; and remember, also, the horrors perpe- 
 trated in Planders did not appeal to our forefathers, as to us, through 
 the haze of centuries. The miserable fugitives from that unhappy 
 land were dwellers here. The shrieks of the victims must have 
 seemed to ring in their ears, and the flames of burning Elemish 
 villages to redden the lattice-pane3 of our English homesteads. 
 There was not an Englishman along our threatened coast of Devon 
 who clasped to his breast that night wife, daughter, sister, whose 
 heart must not have turned sick at what might be the fate of those 
 dear ones on the morrow — not a mother who watched her sleeping 
 baby in its cot, who knew not too well that a few hours might see 
 her darling tossed on the gory pikes of the Spanish soldiery. But 
 our Sea-Kings were on the waters, while — 
 
 " ,Our landsmen, true and ready, showed a front both bold and steady : 
 A front whene'er a foeman comes, they'll surely show again." 
 
 Such is the theme (too long, I venture to think, neglected by far 
 abler pens tlian my own) I have endeavoured to illustrate in dramatic 
 action. Doubtless it was a perilous experiment to choose such a 
 subject. Doubly perilous, it appeared to me, was the enterprise of 
 Messrs. Shepherd and Greswick in inaugurating their season by 
 the production of a drama, the chief interest of which was neces- 
 sarily of an historic nature. Severe ordeal I expected, but not, 
 I frankly confess, the ordeal I have passed. Disguising a heavy 
 heart, I endeavoured to do my best to aid the praiseworthy efforts 
 made by the lessees of the New Surrey Theatre to give rny piece 
 every advantage in their power. Yet to me their very lavish outlay 
 on costumes and extensive scenery was saddening rather than 
 pleasurable. To what avail, I said to myself, this careful attention 
 to authorities ? Why this care to make the Hidargo of the Spanish 
 ship look as if he stepped from the canvas of a Velasquez, or a 
 Murillo ? Of what use the attention bestowed upon the barbaric 
 magnificence of his Peruvian cup-bearers ? Why try and realize the 
 bold Drake and his companions, their doublets doffed for that famous 
 bowling-match, not to be suspended — no, not even for the approach 
 of the invincible Armada? in vain did I see the skill and labour, 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 both of the scenic artist and machinist, expended upon efforts which 
 were to give reality to the Spanish galleon-of-war, and the isolated 
 grandeur of the Eddystone Rock. 1 was not reassured. Alas ! where 
 was the funny man, nay, men ? (for I was informed that two of these 
 comic personages were imperatively demanded by a transpontine 
 audience.) Where was the heroine in white, with her hair down P 
 Where was the double hornpipe, the broad-sword combat ; and, above 
 all, where was the little child to pick up the weapon when struck 
 from the hand of its gallant defender, and reinstate it in his grasp ? 
 I knew too well where they were not, and nerved myself to abide the 
 consequences of these sins of omission. For it is not a pleasant 
 thing, Mesdames et Messieurs of " Westward Ho," to be — you know 
 what I mean — even in that terra incognita in which the very 
 graceful and commodious New Surrey Theatre is located. A variety 
 of circumstances — amongst which was, perhaps, a very natural 
 curiosity to see what stuff the Prize Drama was made of — drew 
 together an audience which literally crammed the house on the 
 opening night of the season to the ceiling. It was certainly not 
 a reassuring sight that over-crowded and, of course, somewhat 
 turbulent pit — that vast, seething, surging gallery, so Amphi- 
 theatre-like in aspect, so suggestive of a cruel populace, ready 
 at any moment to demand the immolation of its victim. It 
 is unnecessary to enter into any account of the result of that 
 night's trial; suffice it to say, that the managers received their 
 well-earned meed of reward for all their efforts in the genuine 
 and hearty applause of their auditory, while the author expe- 
 rienced the agreeable surprise of finding himself called for, but 
 not as a victim. I think I am justified in saying that the verdict 
 of the public press (with two notable exceptions) was confirmatory 
 of the verdict of the public. The knowledge that success to the 
 Prize Drama may, in some considerable degree, benefit the interests 
 of the Royal Dramatic College, might possibly have had a generous 
 influence in swaying that verdict towards a favourable conclusion. 
 Be that as it may, there were, as I have said, two critics (one of 
 them belonging to a most influential journal), who suffered no such 
 weakness to dilute the acrimony of their venom. One of these 
 gentlemen, whose notice was as short as it was savage, and from every 
 Ene of which oozed forth malice and crass ignorance in most impar- 
 tial proportions, has, 1 have reason to believe, some connexion with 
 one of those great music halls which exercise so beneficent an in- 
 fluence over the minds and morals of the rising generation. It may 
 possibly explain his enmity to the interests of a regular theatre. So 
 eager was this writer to find fault, that it seemed offensive, in his 
 eyes, for the mariners of the days of Elizabeth to wear doublet and 
 hose. This might be excused. It is true a public censor of other 
 men's works should be expected to be tolerably educated, but a 
 deliberate, malignant falsehood admits of no palliation. This gentle- 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 man (I suppose I must use the conventional phrase) insinuated 
 that I had plagiarized a character from Mr. Watts Phillips's " Hugue- 
 not Captain." Now, it so happens, and my asperser must have well 
 known the fact, the candidates for the T. P. Cooke Prize were com- 
 pelled not only to send in their pieces, but that the prize was awarded 
 months before the " Huguenot Captain" was produced ! This needs 
 nolurther remark. Of my other and far more important censor, I 
 will only borrow one of the phrases used by himself, and assure him 
 that I fullyrecognise how well he did "his little ■utmosf to destroy 
 me in an article which affords a remarkable example of how in- 
 geniously a dramatic critic and writer can try to crush a brother 
 author, yet keep on tolerable terms with a manager.* If either of 
 these gentlemen, or both, should feel inclined to appropriate the Caps 
 I have flung them, by all means let them put on the headgear. I 
 may possibly meet them at an annual dinner of the Dramatic 
 Authors' Society, or even, perchance, in the Stranger's Room of the 
 Garrick Club ; if so, nothing will afford me greater pleasure than the 
 opportunity of expressing my deepest sympathy for the keen disap- 
 pointment which both, I know, have experienced in having failed to 
 injure the interests of an institution founded for the benefit of the 
 old and the helpless of the dramatic profession, by their very abortive 
 attempt to extinguish the first result of the wishes of one who was 
 not only a great actor, but, what is better, a good man. 
 
 I have now a far more pleasing task before me. It is briefly but 
 earnestly to thank all who have been associated with the production 
 of the T. P. Cooke Prize Drama. In a former edition I abstained 
 froni particularizing their especial merits, partly because I knew the 
 public had fully recognised them, and partly because, while endea- 
 vouring to do justice to those who give life and motion to his con- 
 ceptions, an author may fairly lay himself open to the charge of 
 drawing undue attention to himself. 
 
 I think now, however, the just claims of others should override 
 all other considerations. Let me, therefore, commence by offering 
 my thanks to Miss G. Pauncefort, whose graceful and picturesque 
 Marah rendered my fiery gipsy heroine one of the most interesting 
 personages in the Drama. With equal pleasure I also recognise the 
 admirable manner in which Miss Kate Saville, throughout the part 
 of Mable Truegold, combined judicious, energy with true feminine 
 
 • An author has no right to expect exemption from criticism, but the notice 
 in question was not a criticism — it was simply one long continuous sneer. For 
 example : an English pilot devotes himself, his new-made bride, and some 
 eight hundred of his country's foes to destruction, rather than open the way to 
 a Spanish squadron into the port of Plymouth. This act is commented on after 
 this fashion : — " Martin does his little utmost to foil the schemes of Philip 
 of Spain." Ex uru> disce amines — I give it as a sample of the way the critic 
 did his little utmost, and the very sneaking mode in which the delegates of 
 Great Jove sometimes use his thunder. 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 softness. The part of the Fedler "Wallet, in ordinary hands, would 
 not perhaps have risen to the importance it attains but for the per- 
 sonation of Mr. Shepherd, whose earnest and impassioned acting, 
 especially in the denunciation of his enemy, most certainly claims my 
 particular notice. Nor must I overlook the services of Mr. H. Marston 
 in his delineation of the Priest, nor those of Messrs. Edgar and 
 Nelson in their respective characters of the Spanish and English 
 Admirals. Of my obligations to Mr. Creswick I have spoken on a 
 former occasion, "but it is a pleasure to again rendef my hearty 
 acknowledgments to that gentleman, not only for the courteous 
 manner in which he endeavoured to meet my wishes and carry out 
 most of my suggestions, but for the manly vigour and tender pathos 
 with which he embodied the character of Martin Truegold — an imper- 
 sonation principally conducive to a success which, I sincerely trust, 
 will be commensurate with the liberal and enterprising spirit shown 
 both by Mr. Shepherd and himself. 
 
Jramatis jgeraoiKe, 
 
 As first performed at the New Surrey Theatre, Sept. 8, 1866. 
 
 ENGLISH. 
 EFFINGHAM (lord High 
 
 HOWARD OF 
 
 Admiral of England) ......... Mr. 
 
 SIR FRANCIS DRAKE (Mr. 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH Sea Mr. 
 
 SIR JOHN HAWKINS Captains Mr. 
 
 SIR MARTIN FROBISHERj I Mr. 
 
 SIR FRANCIS WALSINGHAM (Secretary of 
 
 State to Queen Elizabeth) Mr. 
 
 MARTIN TRUEGOLD (a Devonshire Pilot, 
 
 Keeper of the Beacon of Plymouth Hoe, and 
 
 Host of the " Pelican") Mr. 
 
 WALLET (a Pedler) Mr. 
 
 GEOFFERY DANGERFIELD (a Jesuit Priest, 
 
 assuming the name of Adam Miisgrave) . . . Mr. 
 SIR GILBERT TREVANNION (Governor of 
 
 Plymouth Citadel) Mr, 
 
 ■\ Gentlemen /■ 
 of Devon- 
 
 SIR MAURICE CHUDLEIGH . , . . 
 MASTER GILES TRACT \ league to aid 
 
 MASTER STEPHEN WELFORD ne 2f* 
 
 of the 
 
 Alfred Nelson 
 woodfield. 
 c. allbkook. 
 Edwards. 
 Johnson. 
 
 Smithson. 
 
 Creswiok. 
 Shepherd. 
 
 Henry Marston. 
 
 C. Butler. 
 
 F. Maynard. 
 
 Matthewson. 
 
 Stephens. 
 
 Armada 
 
 SHACKLE (a Gaoler) Mr. Maclean. 
 
 FLEMING (the Hover) Mr. Dalton. 
 
 HUGH FLETCHER V Retainers of /Mr. Edwards. 
 
 SIMON LYNN J Sir Gilbert Trevannion \ Mr. Stamford. 
 DICK MERRY WEATHER") (Mr. W. C. Williams. 
 
 CLOVELLY JACK }■ Mariners J. Mr. C. Lloyds. 
 
 TOM O' BIDEFORD J (Mr. Hummehstone. 
 
 ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND . . Mrs. Morton Brookes. 
 MABEL TRUEGOLD (caUed the Rose of Devon, 
 
 Bride to Martin) Miss Kate Saville. 
 
 (Her first appearance here.) 
 MARAH (a gipsy girl, surnamed Flash o'Fire) . Miss G. Pauncefort. 
 
 SPANIARDS. 
 
 DON DIEGO DE VALDEZ (Admiral of the 
 
 Castilian Division of the Armada) .... Mr. E. F. Edgar. 
 DE SILVA I Officers of (Mr. Graoy. 
 
 GOMEZ j "La Santa Ft" \ Mr. C. Herring. 
 
 English Mariners, Townspeople of Plymouth, Morris Dancers, Spanish 
 Sailors, Soldiers, Gitanos, or Spanish Gipsies. 
 
 The Scene is laid on and near the coast of Devonshire. 
 Time— July, 1588. 
 
TRUE TO THE COEE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 THE BEACON. 
 
 " 'Twas in Fifteen hundred eighty-eight, 
 As a July sun went down, 
 With backward clang the bells they rang 
 
 In the streets of Plymouth town. 
 And through the night our Beacons bright 
 
 Threw far and near their glow, 
 To rouse Old England's sons to arms, 
 To meet the coming foe." 
 
 " Plymouth Hoe," a Ballad. 
 
 The summit of Plymouth Hoe, overlooking the Sound. On 
 one side (l.) the exterior of the Hostel of the " Pelican," 
 behind which is supposed to be the Bowling-green. Near 
 it is the Beacon of Plymouth Sound — a huge cresset of ' 
 iron on the top of a lofty mast, the summit of which is 
 attained by a ladder, and connected by a beam fixed in 
 the wall of the Inn just below a window. From the beam 
 hangs the sign of " The Pelican," with " Ye Pelican. 
 By Martin Truegold," written beneath it. At the bach 
 of the, stage (r.) is a group of rocks with two paths, one 
 leading over the cliffs, the other to the beach. As the 
 curtain rises, a large number of English sailors are 
 discovered with flowers in their caps, grouped opposite to 
 the Inn, near the door of which is seated Wallet, the 
 Pedler, his staff and pack by his side. 
 
 Chorus of Mariners. 
 
 A cheer, bully boys ! a cheer, bully boys ! 
 
 A lusty, rousing cheer ! 
 Give it with a will for the Bridegroom bold, 
 
 Likewise for his Bride so dear. 
 
2 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 For the Bridegroom is a proper man, 
 
 Oh, a proper man is he ; 
 And his Bride is Devon's fairest Eose, 
 
 Yes, Devon's Rose is she. 
 
 Full many a ship hath he brought to port, 
 With timbers safe and sound, boys ; 
 
 'Tis meet we wish him a voyage fair 
 To the haven where he's bound, boys. 
 
 So a cheer, bully boys ! a cheer, jolly boys ! 
 
 A cheer for Devon's pride ! 
 And three for Devon's fairest Eose ; 
 
 Yes, three for the dainty Bride. 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Dick Merryweather. — Yarely, boys — yarely ! "Well 
 given; and not a man in Devon merits a mariner's cheer 
 better than Martin Truegold. 
 
 Clovellt Jack. — Ay, the truest heart and the rarest 
 pilot between Plymouth Sound and the Land's End. I for 
 one owe my life to Martin Truegold. Only last voyage 
 home our ship would have gone to pieces on the Eddystone 
 Eock, and eighty honest lads fed the fishes, but for Martin's 
 seamanship. 
 
 Tom of Bideford. — And the ale he sells — how it warms 
 a wrecked seaman's heart when he's shipped too much salt 
 water aboard him. But hark ye, Dick (to Mekryweathee), 
 is it true that our captains are coming to do him honour 
 on his marriage-day ? 
 
 Dick. — Coming ! I warrant ye, lad. There's my own 
 commander, Frank T>rake-^Sir Francis, I mean — God 
 bless him ! — and Captain "Walter Ealeigh, and old Hawkins, 
 and all the jolly sea-dogs whose ships are moored in the 
 Sound yonder. Nay, 'tis said the Lord Admiral himself 
 has vowed to drink the bride's health, and take a turn in 
 the bowling-match on the green. 
 
 Tom. — And who's the lass Martin takes for his wife ? 
 
 Dick. — Who, muni "Why, doesn't thee know? But 
 to be sure — I forgot, thou art just back from a three- 
 years' cruise. Well, 'tis pretty Mabel, of Cbudleigh 
 Hall. 
 
ACT I.] TRUE TO THE COKE. 8 
 
 Tom. — What,that slip of a thing I left so high ? I mind 
 her well. An orphan lass she was, poor dear. Ah, many's 
 the jolly rouse I've had with her father, Harry Langley, 
 Sir Maurice Chudleigh's forester. 
 
 Jack. — Ay, truly, Sir Maurice Chudleigh. There be 
 strange tales up at the Hall about Sir Maurice and 
 
 Dick. — Ay, marry, and what tales, prythee ? 
 
 Jack. — What tales 1 Why, that pretty Mabel had but to 
 say " Yes I" to be Lady of Chudleigh — not lawful Lady, 
 mind ye. 
 
 Dick. — Well, but you, see she didn't say it. But mum, 
 boys, Martin knows naught of this, and as he and Sir 
 Maurice are foster-brothers, there must be no ill blood 
 between them. But look, boys, look ! There's Martin — > 
 there he is ! (pointing to the window of the Inn, at which 
 Martin appears, his hat wreathed with flowers). 
 
 Mariners (waving their caps). — Hurrah ! hurrah ! for 
 Martin Truegold ! ^"**» - * 
 
 Martin. — Thank ye, lads, thank ye. I'll be with 
 you in the turning of an hour-glass. (He leaves the 
 window and enters from the door of the Inn. The sailors 
 all ' crowd round Mm, cheering and shaking hands with 
 Mm.) 
 
 Martin. — Thank ye, thank ye, dear boys all ; and hark 
 ye — there's a runlet of Canary wine broaching on the 
 bowling-green. Only I say, boys, you know I don't 
 grudge the liquor, but as your noble captains honour me 
 with their presence this happy day, why, you see, they'll 
 look to me for the good behaviour of their crews. 
 
 Mariners. — Ay, ay ; never fear, Martin, never fear. 
 
 Martin. — Well, yonder's your way, lads (pointing to the 
 green). There's a jolly ox turning on the spit; don't spare 
 
 him — dip deep into Mm, but" don't dip too deep into 
 
 Ods me ! it goes against me to say, " Spare my ale" on such 
 a day as this, when you're all my guests, only you see— — 
 
 Dick.— Well, Martin, lad ? 
 
 Martin. — Well, Dick, here it is : !twas but yesterday 
 says your Captain Frank Drake, Sir .Francis Drake I 
 mean : " Martin," says he, " look to the ale-butts to- 
 morrow. Hawks are abroad, arid steady's the word."' 
 
 Dick (whistling). — Phew! Frank may keep his 
 B 2 
 
4 TRUE TO THE COKE. [ACT I. 
 
 breath to cool his porridge. Hawks abroad ! Spanish 
 falcons belike. But never fear, Martin. I, Dick Merry- 
 weather, will look to the revels while you keep your tryst 
 with pretty Mabel in the church yonder. (A marriage- 
 peal is heard in the distance.) Hark ! there go the bells. 
 Ding, dong— ding, dong ! Ah ! that's the way they went 
 for me twenty years gone and past. And, i' faith, Dame 
 Merryweather keeps the peal going in my ears still, only 
 it's her own clapper ding-donging, and not the church- 
 bells'. But cheerly, my hearts : if the hawks are abroad, 
 why, the watch-dogs are at home. 
 
 [Exeunt Dick and the rest to the bowling-green. 
 
 Martin {looking after them). — Ay, ay, friend Dick ; but 
 the watch-dogs must be ready to bite as well as bark. 
 
 Wallet, the pedler (rising from the table). — Eight, my 
 good host, and they may need all their teeth ; but now 
 for my reckoning. 
 
 Martin. — Put up your purse, master pedler ; there are 
 no reckonings at the old " Pelican" to-day. 
 
 Wallet. — No reckonings ! 
 
 Martin. — No ! 'Tis my marriage-day, and all who seek 
 my ' roof-tree, • neighbours or strangers, are my guests, 
 but guests against whom I mark no score. 
 
 "Wallet. — Good fortune then to the " Pelican," and all 
 who live under its roof-tree ! But I must be trudging 
 (taking up his staff). By the way, have you one Sir 
 Maurice Cbudleigh laving hereabouts ? 
 
 Martin. — You must know little of this part of Devon, 
 friend, to ask such a question ; but if 'tis to seek customers 
 for your wares at Cbudleigh Court, you may e'en spare 
 your legs. 
 
 Wallet. — What ! have all its inmates then turned 
 Puritans, and forsworn the vanities of laces and silver 
 bodkins ? 
 
 Martin. — Not so, but you may find a better market by 
 stopping where you are. Sir Maurice Chudleigh, pedler, 
 is my foster-brother, and will ere long grace my wedding 
 with his presence. "With him come most of his serving- 
 men to foot it merrily to pipe and tabour, and when that's 
 the case 
 
 Wallet. — Why, the lasses are sure to follow ! I under- 
 
ACT I.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 5 
 
 stand. And look, yonder comes one who means to be 
 first at the merrymaking (looks towards the rocks at the 
 back). Why, the girl runs like a hare before the" hounds. 
 
 Martin (looking the same way). — Body o' me ! 'tis 
 Marah ! What makes her crowd all sail in that fashion ? 
 (A shot heard without.) Ha ! the cowardly lubbers ! 
 Would they slay, the girl ? (He runs towards the back, 
 and is met by Marah:, who bounds down the rocks. She is 
 dressed in a wild, semi-oriental costume, her feet bare, a 
 scarlet scarf wound round her head: a leathern girdle with 
 a pouch and knife encircles her waist. She carries a cross- 
 bow in her hand.) 
 
 Marah. — Help, help, dear master ! Save me, save me ! 
 
 Martin. — Never fear, my girl ; thou'rt in safe harbour 
 now. But art hurt ? There's blood upon thee. 
 
 Marah. — No, no, the ball only grazed my cheek — no 
 thanks to them, though. But I know the hand that fired 
 the shot. May the bfight of Eblis wither it ! May 
 
 Martin. — There, there ; no curses, girl ; they're ugly 
 mouthfuls, and they break no bones. But who's in chase 
 of thee ? What hast thou done ? 
 
 Marah. — Done ! why, nothing. I was out yonder, 
 getting dry fuel for the Beacon, when there comes wheeling 
 over my head a bird — this pigeon (showing a pigeon) ; so I 
 let fly at it with my crossbow, and 
 
 Martin. — And brought it down, of course. Well ? 
 
 Marah. — Well, I did but run to pick it up, when 
 Hugh Fletcher, Sir Gilbert Trevannion's serving-man, and 
 three or four more swash-bucklers to back him, bade me 
 leave it alone, for a gipsy thief as I was. " Thief in your 
 teeth," says I ; " the bird's mine !" With that they tried 
 
 to grapple me; I ducked, and ran for it. And then 
 
 But look, look — they're here ! (She runs behind Martin.) 
 
 Enter down the rocks Fletcher, Simon Lynn, and three 
 other retainers of Sir Gilbert Trevannion. They all 
 carry a white cock's feather in their caps, and have 
 small bucklers at their backs. . 
 
 Hugh Fletcher. — There she is, Simon! there she is! 
 Come forth, thou young witch of Egypt ! 
 
 Martin. — Belay there, my masters. This girl is my 
 
6 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 servant, and I'll bring the dust out of the first man's 
 doublet who lays a finger on her without my permission, 
 
 Simon 'Lynn. — Let her give up the bird, then. Throw 
 it here, thou gipsy quean, or' — > — 
 
 Martin.— And why ? The bird is none of thine. 
 
 Hugh Fletcher. — The bird is our master's, Martin 
 Truegold — our master, Sir Gilbert Trevannion. Come, 
 come ! you know me well enough {touching the white 
 feather in his cap). You know my badge. 
 
 Maeah. — Ay, well doth he know it, thou craven knave ! 
 Thou hast shown the- white feather too often for folks not 
 to know how well the badge suits thee. 
 
 Hugh Fletcher (raising the arquebus he carries). — Imp 
 of Satan, curb thy tongue ! Stand aside, Martin Truegold. 
 
 Martin. — Not at thy- bidding. But I. want no brawling. 
 Marah, give me the bird. Now you say this pigeon is 
 your master's? 
 
 Simon Lynn. — Ay ; we saw it flying from his dovecots. 
 
 Marah (to Martin). — He lies, master ! he lies ! The 
 bird came from over the sea— -ever so for away. I saw it, 
 a mere speck, long before I shot it. 
 
 Simon Lynn {drawing his sword). — Seaward or land- 
 Ward, we'll have the bird. Fall on, my masters ! fall on ! 
 
 [Martin tosses the bird to Marah, and snatching the staff 
 from Wallet, keeps them at bay. At this point Danger- 
 field the priest, dressed as a merchant, enters. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Hold, there ! You retainers of Sir 
 Gilbert Trevannion, put up your weapons; and you, 
 Martin Truegold,. brawling on your marriage-day ! For 
 shame ! And for what ? That wretehed bird ! 
 
 Hugh Fletcher (aside to Dangerfield). — We must have 
 it. There are weighty reasons. 
 
 Dangerfield (to Fletcher aside). — I know them. You 
 shall have the bird, but begone ; I command it. 
 
 Hugh Fletcher (sultrily). — As you will. It's your 
 affair now ; we wash our hands of it. (Exeunt Fletcher 
 and the rest.) 
 
 Marah (I'oohing after them). — Ay, go your ways ! By 
 the bright Welkin (raising her crossbow), I've a mind to 
 send a token after- ye, shot for shot. 
 
ACT I.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 7 
 
 Martin. — Avast there, my girl ! Don't waste your 
 bolts on foul birds. You've got your own; let the matter 
 rest (returning the staff to Wallet). 
 
 Dangerfield. — Wisely said. I saw this fray from the 
 beginning, and yonder knaves pressed, I doubt not, an 
 unjust claim. Let me heal this graze upon thy cheek, my 
 girl. Here's a silver angel for thy quarry. Let me have 
 the bird. 
 
 Wallet. — Nay, an it come to purchase, Tve a fency 
 fer the bird, so here are two silver angels for thee, my 
 pretty dark-skin. 
 
 Dangerfield {looking at him). — Why, what wouldst thou 
 do with it, friend. ? 
 
 Wallet (laughing). — Do with it? Why, broil it for 
 supper ! What else should I do with it ? Come, is't a 
 bargain 1 
 
 Martin. — No ; not while she can make a better. Here 
 are three silver angels for thee, my girl. The bird's mine. 
 (Takes the pigeon, and, after examining it, flings it back 
 to Mabah.) And now 'tis pluck'd, keep the bird for 
 thine own supper. I take it, I've got the kernel of the nut. 
 
 Dangeefield (anxiously) . — What ! that slip of parchment ? 
 
 Martin. — Ay, this slip of parchment tied under the 
 bird's wing ! 
 
 Dangerfield. — It bears, I see, some writing. Shall I 
 read the message ? 
 
 Martin. — No, thank ye. I'll read it myself (looking at 
 the parchment, and turning it various ways): Hum ! 
 
 Wallet.— Well ? 
 
 Martin. — Well, there's a shoal in the way. Were it 
 plain English sailing, I think. I'm scholar enough to steer 
 through it; but this is foreign shore. 
 
 Wallet. — Let me see the : scroll. I pretend to no 
 scholarship ; but I've carried my pack in foreign lands, 
 and Yes, this is Spanish tongue. 
 
 Martin (to Wallet). — Spanish ! then render me the 
 matter, friend; and on your life, see you do it truly, or 
 
 Wallet. — A man can but do his best; and this, in 
 plain English, is what I make of it. (Beads.) 
 
 " The sharks are gathering, > but they need a pilot fish 
 to guide them to their prey. Find him, send him, without 
 
8 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 delay. A collar of jewels shall circle his neck, and every 
 scale on his body be turned to gold." 
 
 Martin. — A pilot fish ! A collar of jewels circle his 
 neck ! A hempen cord for the traitor's throat, say I ! See 
 you the gist of this, sirs ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — Why, scarcely. It smacks of Bedlam, to 
 my thinking. Sharks and pilot fishes, and collars of 
 jewels ' 
 
 Martin. — And Spanish ships hovering on our shores, and 
 an English pilot — could so foul a fiend be found? — to take 
 them safely through the rocks and shallows of this coast, 
 that fire and sword may rage over old England through 
 the length and breadth of the land. Thus i" read the 
 riddle. 
 
 Dangeefield. — And if you read it truly, Sir Gilbert 
 Trevannion, as governor of Plymouth Citadel, should at 
 once possess this scroll. Commit it to my keeping. 
 
 Martin. — Under favour, no ; it rests in mine. (He 
 draws from his breast a small leathern bag suspended 
 round his neck by a black ribbon.) There, side by side by the 
 first gift of my own dear Mabel, a lock of her dear hair, 
 lie thou safe. (Folds and places the parchment in the bag.) 
 
 Dangeefield. — As you will (aside). I would he 
 clutched the Upas poison to his breast, but at least we 
 are forewarned. (Retires.) 
 
 Martin (to Marah). — And now, thou wild Will-o'-the- 
 Wisp, is this the way thou gracest my wedding-day? 
 Where is thy new kirtle? Where are thy shoes — thy 
 shoes, to which dear Mabel put the blue roses to make thee 
 smart withal ? 
 
 Marah. — All safe. Don't be angry, master. The kirtle 
 was all too tight ; and for the shoes — you might as well 
 shoe a sea-gull, and expect it to be happy. But don't 
 look grave ; I'll put them on again, though they were 
 made of steel. 
 
 Martin. — Nay, thou shalt have no such hard measure 
 as that, thou brown rogue. (Shouts of laughter heard from 
 the green.) Um ! Dick is forgetting his watch on the black- 
 jack. Slip thee in, girl, amongst the mariners yonder, and 
 if thou see'st the pottle-pot going round too freely, set 
 one or two of the ale casks running, and let the ground 
 
ACT I.] TKUE TO THE CORE. 9 
 
 this thirsty weather, have a share of the liquor. Don't 
 stare, but go. What ! dost fear they'll beat thee ? 
 
 Marah (laying her hand on her knife). — Beat me! 
 they'd best not. 
 
 Martin. — Pshaw! girl, use thy tongue — it's sharp enough. 
 Besides, what if I tell thee to take a cuff or two to please me? 
 
 Marah. — To please you ? Why, then they may scourge 
 the flesh from my bones if they will (kissing his hand). It's 
 your bidding, and it shall be done. (Exit to the green.) 
 
 Wallet. — By the Eood ! your unkempt handmaid, mine 
 host,'is somewhat of a young Saracen'both inmood and visage. 
 
 Martin. — Ay; the neighbours call her " Flash-o'-fire." 
 The girl is of gipsy blood, quick in temper, but would go to 
 the death to serve me. 'Twas my chance some years ago 
 to save her mother from some rabble knaves who would 
 have hanged the poor creature by the roadside. Well, I 
 stopped that gear, and took her and her brown imp home 
 to my fireside. She didn't live long. And I tried to train 
 her brat to — what you see I can't make her do. She can 
 run like a deer, swim like a duck, dive like an otter, climb 
 like a wild cat, split a willow wand at a hundred yards 
 with a bolt from her crossbow ; but I can't make her 
 wear shoes like a Christian ! 
 
 Wallet (laughing). — Nay, if her faith rests with her 
 shoe-leather, the young pagan is treading abetter path 
 already ; for here she comes again, blue roses and all. 
 
 He-enter Marah from the green. 
 
 Marah.— I've done it, master. I've done it ! I've set 
 all the taps running. And see ! I've got 'em on (showing 
 her shoes) ; and — and all for the honour of — your marriage- 
 day. Dick Merry weather, though, flung the black-jack 
 at my head. 
 
 Martin. — Did he ? Not till he'd emptied it, I warrant 
 me. But , save you, master pedler (rustic music) ; I hear 
 the pipes and tabours, and yonder comes my best-man to 
 fetch me. . Look, Marah ! 
 
 Marah (with a sigh). — Yes, yonder they come. (Aside.) I 
 would Hugh Fletcher had sent the bullet through my heart. 
 
 Martin. — Hullo, what ails thee, wench ? I see — the 
 shoes pinch. thee. Well, off with 'em ! 
 
10 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 Maeah. — No, no, master, there's nought the matter. 
 {Aside.) He little knows where the pain lies (platting her 
 hand on her heart). 
 
 Martin. — Well, as you will, lass. And now to don 
 my marriage doublet. (Enters the Inn.) 
 
 [Rustic music. Enter a party of the townspeople of 
 Plymouth in their holiday dresses, headed by Martin's 
 Best-Man ; they form in two Unes, the men on one side, 
 the women on the other. Tliey all carry boughs, which 
 they cross, forming an avenue. Re-enter Martin from 
 the Inn, in his bridegroom's doublet, doffing his hat. He 
 passes with his Best-Man under the avenue. At the 
 same time Dick and the Mariners enter from the 
 green, and follow the party off, cheering and waving 
 their hats. Marah looks after them for a moment — 
 covers her face with her hands — then, with an effort 
 recovering herself, she runs to the porch of the Inn, 
 over which grows a climbing rose, plucks one of the 
 flowers, presses it to her lips, and flings it after the 
 bridegroom. 
 
 Marah (observing Dangerfield's eyes fixed on Iter). — 
 Yes ! the gipsy girl with that flower sends her blessing 
 and the blessing of her tribe on the path o£ him who goes 
 to meet his bride. 
 
 Dangerfield. — And the tears that glitter on those dark 
 lashes, are they tears of joy ? 
 
 Marah (angrily). — What's that to you? Yet mark, 
 you who watch so closely. (She takes a bolt from her pouch 
 and snaps it in two ; ilven going to the table at which Wal- 
 let had sat, she raises a horn partly filled with wine, and 
 pours the contents at her feet.) You saw what I did with 
 that bolt ? May the schemes of all who wish ill to Martin 
 Truegold be so broken and brought to naught. And as I 
 spilled that wine upon the earth, so may their hearts' 
 blood be poured out who would work him evil ! (She looks 
 fixedly at the priest, and enters the Inn.) 
 
 Wallet (looking after her). — By my faith! a very 
 daughter of Mahound and Termagant. But what an eye 
 the girl has ! Were the custom allowed, Will Shakspeare 
 
ACT l] TRUE TO THE COEE. II 
 
 might train her for the stage, and mate her play his 
 Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.* 
 
 Dangerfield (scanning Wallei). — Art thou. as learned 
 in stage-plays, friend, as thou art in foreign tongues? 
 Where didst thou learn Spanish ? 
 
 "Wallet (lowering Ms voice). — At St. Qmer. Pedlers, 
 like Jesuits, wander over many lands. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Fellow, you are not what you seem. 
 
 Wallet. — Well, few of us are now-a-days. Tut ! we 
 lose time ; we are here on the same errand. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Prove it. 
 
 Wallet (producing a ring). — This ring should da so. 
 Methinks I see its fellow on your finger. 
 
 Dangerfield (aside). — 'Tis our . device I This signet 
 bears the symbol of an Arrow, but it wants a motto. Can 
 you suppy it ? 
 
 Wallet (looEing cautiously about Mm). — '* The Bow is 
 bent and the Shaft is eomvag!" Does Geoffrey Dangerfield 
 require further proof? 
 
 Dangeefield (sternly). — Yes t a discreet tongue. Here 
 I am Adam Musgrave, merchant of York, and thou 
 
 Wallet. — Oh ! I too have a travelling name ; it's on my 
 pack : " Mark Wallet, Trader in Velvet, Broadcloth, Laces, 
 Silver Bodkins," and another commodity, in which 
 brother merchant, I think we both have dealings — High 
 Treason, amongst other trifles. 
 
 Dangerfield. — This is no time to jest. Whither goest 
 thou ? 
 
 Wallet (shouldering his pack). — To show my wares — 
 Sir Gilbert Trevannioh, he who is keeper of Plymouth 
 Citadel. Will he traffic with me ? or must I seek else- 
 where for a maarket ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — No ; seek Sir Gilbert. Say to him the 
 hour for which we all wait is at hand. 
 
 Wallet.. — And you ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — I have work to dp here. 
 
 Wallet. — May it prosper, as it deserves ! Will yon 
 
 ■• It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to say that the pedler alludes 
 to the fact of women never appearing on the stage in the days of 
 , Elizabeth. The female characters were, always sustained by boys. 
 
12 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 deign to aid me with this buckle ? And now, in true 
 pedler guise and fashion, the pedler's ditty must help me 
 on my way (singing as he adjusts the straps of his pack). 
 So it's— 
 
 " Over the moorland, and over the lea, 
 
 The packman he comeB from the fair, oh ! 
 I trow never guest is more welcome than he 
 Whenever he calls with his ware, oh !" 
 
 How shall I best gain the citadel ? 
 
 Dangerfeeld (pointing to the rocks at the back). — By 
 that path. Keep to the top of the cliff. 
 
 Wallet (as he ascends the rocks). — 
 
 "For dames must have kirtles and kerchiefs so fine, 
 And their husbands in hosen go share, oh ! 
 While ribbons for headgear and gewgaws that shine, 
 Maidens need for their bonny brown hair, oh 1" 
 
 (Turning as he gains the top.) By this path, then ? (pointing 
 with his staff). 
 
 Dangebfield. — Yes. But be wary, friend ; the footway 
 runs somewhat near the edge of the precipice, so look to 
 your steps. 
 
 Wallet (with a laugh). — Wary ! Never fear. I'll be as 
 wary as a cat, cautious as a mule, and — prudent as a 
 Jesuit. But thanks for the warning. It behoves us both 
 to be mindful of the path we tread. One false step, one 
 stumble, and death yawns for us in the abyss beneath. 
 Farewell ; ere long thou shalt know how the packman has 
 sold his wares. (Exit.) 
 
 "Over the moorland and over the lea," &c. 
 
 [The song dies away in the distance. 
 
 Dangerfield (looking after him). — Is it undue suspicion 
 or truthful instinct bids me mistrust that man ? He bears 
 the token, gives the watchword, knows my holy calling, 
 and yet why is it each time I looked upon him there rose 
 again, through the long mist of years, the pale and awful 
 face of him who perished in the market-place of Oxford — 
 that haunting face so calmly terrible amidst the devouring 
 flames, that even now— — This is weak. He died, as all who 
 
ACT I.] TRUE TO THE COKE. 13 
 
 war against our sacred cause should die, and for this man 
 No matter; fruition is so near, even -were he false, he 
 cannot harm us (looking off). Ay, speed along, master of 
 Chudleigh I Envy and jealousy have fixed their poisonous 
 talons on thy heart, and, fly as thou wilt, thou canst not 
 rid thee from their clutch (retires). So, a fitting instrument 
 to aid the work. 
 
 Enter Sir Maurice Chudleigh hurriedly. 
 
 Sir Maurice (not at once perceiving the priest). — Not 
 here ? Methought I saw him. 
 
 Dangerfield (coming forward). — Of whom is Sir 
 Maurice Chudleigh in search ? 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Of thee, holy father. I sought thee. 
 
 Dangerfield. — And being found But how's this ? 
 
 My son, what moves thee thus ? 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Priest ! thou knowest the secret of my 
 heart. They are wedded. Mabel Langley is 
 
 Dangerfield. — Now the wife of Martin Truegold, our 
 honest pilot of Plymouth Hoe. Kind will to kind. 'Tis 
 fitting the daughter of a churl should wed a churl. 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Ay; 'tis well for thee to smile so calmly. 
 But beware ! there is a frenzy in my brain may tempt me— ^— 
 
 Dangerfield. — Never to forget, I trust, I am Sir Mau- 
 rice Chudleigh's friend. If I look joyful, it is (lowering 
 his voice) that joyful, glorious news has come. 
 
 Sir Maurice. — What ! mean you This marriage, 
 
 then, even now may 
 
 Dangerfield (scornfully). — Now, by my holy order ! this 
 is worthy of a love-sick boy — not of a man. — Sir Maurice 
 Chudleigh, I tell thee by to-morrow's sun the swelling 
 sails of Spain's long-promised Armament will be off these 
 shores (laying his hand on Chudleigh's shoulder). Ay, 
 and our Spanish friends, it seems, require a pilot. 
 
 Sir Maurice. — A pilot ! 
 
 Dangerfield. — And who so rare a one as Martin 
 Truegold? 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Martin ! He aid the Spaniards ! 
 
 Dangerfield.— Not willingly, perhaps; but once safe 
 on board a Spanish, galleon, may not even Martin True- 
 gold yield to— persuasion ? 
 
14 TRUE TO THE COKE. [ACT L 
 
 Sie Maueice {after a slight pause)* — Ay, the persuasion 
 of tlie rack. Father, "this man has robbed me of Mabel's 
 love, yet still 
 
 Dangeefield. — Thou wouldst rather he slept to-night 
 beneath his own roof-tree than between the decks of the 
 Spanish ship, La Santa Fe. Well, his bride might miss 
 him. 
 
 Sib Maueice. — Priest ! what would you ? 
 
 Dangeefield. — That you listen calmly. Moored at the 
 foot of this cliff, and reached by a path .leading from the 
 bowling-green, lies a small vessel, of which thou art the 
 master. 
 
 Sie Maueice.— Well ? 
 
 Dangeefield. — As night draws on, Welford and other 
 faithful gentlemen will join in these revels; then, when 
 Martin's guests have bidden him farewell, we bear him to 
 the boat. 
 
 Sie Maueice. — And if he resist? 
 
 Dangeefield (drawing a small phial from his vest),— 
 Here is a talisman shall tame him, stalwart as he is. A 
 few drops from this phial mingled in his wine shall at 
 once benumb every energy, fetter every limb. Then, ere 
 dawn, with me for helmsman, Martin Truegold awakes 
 amidst the Spanish squadrons. 
 
 Sie Maueice. — And Mabel ? 
 
 Dangeefield. — Well, if she weep for her lost bridegroom, 
 Sir Maurice Chudleigh should know how to console her. 
 
 Sie Maueice {passionately). — Art thou man, or tempt- 
 ing devil, who would mesh me thus within thy net? 
 
 Dangeefield. — A man, Sir Maurice — a man ! frailer in 
 body than thyself, but with a devotion for the cause 
 he serves that gives him a giant's strength to bear him 
 through his task. I tell thee, were it required, I would 
 give this body to the flames as freely as thou wouldst 
 array thyself for a Court Masque. But see {music)) < the 
 bridal troop throngs this way. Let us mingle 'with the 
 crowd. {They retire.) 
 
 [The thorns of the Maeinees is heard without.' Enter 
 in bridal procession Maetin and Mabel, preceded by 
 young girls strewing flowers, Marinees> Townspeople, 
 
ACT I.] TKUE TO THE COKE. 15 
 
 Morris-dancers, male and female, &c. &c. As-the pro- 
 cession enters, Effingham, attended by Sir Francis 
 Drake, Raleigh, and other Captains of the Fleet, ascends 
 from the beach. Martin, leading Mabel by the hand, 
 advances to Effingham. They both kneel to him. 
 
 Martin. — My lord — Mabel, my wife. 
 
 Effingham. — Up, Martin Truegold, up ! And thou too, 
 my pretty mistress (raising her). I had rather so rosy a 
 cheek should be nearer to my lips — With your own and 
 your husband's leave (he hisses her). And now, my host 
 of the " Pelican," ere we begin our bowling-match, lefrme 
 try the merits of your good Canary. 
 
 Martin. — All is prepared, my lord ; the tables are laid 
 upon the green: 
 
 Effingham. — Nay, honest Martin, let me fill a cup here. 
 I.have a health to give before this company. 
 
 [Martin is about to fetch the wine. Mabel stops him. 
 
 Mabel.— -Nay, Martin, if it be his lordship's pleasure, 
 let me begin my duty, as the hostess of the " Pelican," by 
 having the honourable task of serving him ; that is (with 
 a curtsey), my lord permitting. 
 
 [Effingham makes a'sign of assent ; and Mabel, gomginto 
 the Inn, returns quickly with a salver, on which is a 
 flask and one of the old long-necked glasses of the 
 period. She pours out the wine, and offers it to Effing- 
 ham. 
 
 Effingham (taking the glass). — What say you, Captain 
 Raleigh — need a man ever wish for a fairer Cupbearer ? 
 
 Raleigh. — By my word, I think not, my lord. A very 
 Hebe ! who not only presents you Nectar in her cup, 
 but, as your lordship knows, carries it on her lips.- 
 
 Effingham. — Nay, Walter, your courtly phrase calls too 
 deep ■ a blush upon the cheek of our hostess. 'Tis well, 
 Sir Francis (turning to Drake). We all know how 
 Walter Raleigh sails a ship, eke we might scarcely think 
 so rare a poet could be so good a seaman. 
 
 Drake. — I've naught to say against Captain Raleigh's 
 seamanship ; but for our pretty Bride here, all that 
 Frank Drake would say is, that " Good wine needs no 
 bush." And that's a proverb well suited to Martin's calling. 
 
16 TRUE TO THE CORK [ACT I. 
 
 Effingham {raising his glass). — And reminds me that my 
 task is yet undone. Townsmen of Plymouth, mariners of 
 my fleet, I drink this wine to the health of Martin 
 Truegold and his Bride. May they steer through life 
 clear of rock and quicksand, and anchor at last in the 
 smooth waters of a good old age ! 
 
 Mariners, &c, &c. — Hurrah! hurrah ! 
 
 Effingham (turning to his Captains). — And now, gentle- 
 men, have with ye to the bowling-green. And you, lads 
 and lasses, whose bells are tinkling and whose feet are 
 ready for a merry measure, fall to; and foot it your best 
 for the honour of Devonshire. Strike up, Pipe and 
 Tabour ! 
 
 [Effingham and the Captains pass to the Green, amidst the 
 cheering of the Mariners, while Martin leads Mabel to 
 a seat slightly raised, and stands by her side : the seat is 
 decorated with flowers. A party of Morris-dancers 
 then advcmces. After saluting the bride and bridegroom, 
 an old English Morris-dance is gone through. At this 
 part of the action the evening appears to close in. To- 
 wards the conclusion of the dance a shout is heard, the 
 dancers divide, and discover the figure of Fleming, the 
 rover, standing on the rocks at the back of the stage. 
 Martin advances to him. 
 
 Martin. — How now, brother ? You give your Hail with 
 a will, methinks. What would you ? 
 
 Fleming. — Instant speech with my Lord of Effingham. 
 Where is the admiral ? 
 
 Martin. — The admiral ! 
 
 Effingham (enters from the green). — He is here. Who 
 seeks the Admiral of England ? 
 
 [Effingham is followed by Ms Captains. A 11 are without their 
 doublets : some with bowls in their hands. They stand 
 grouped round Effingham, the rays of the setting sun 
 lighting up tlieir figures. 
 
 Fleming. — My Lord of Effingham 
 
 Effingham. — Hold, friend — gain thy breath awhile. 
 Now, who art thou ? 
 
ACT I.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 17 
 
 Fleming. — A Scottish mariner, my lord — Fleming, the 
 Eover. 
 
 Effingham. — Well, sir, thy errand ? 
 
 Fleming. — This : the Fleet of Spain, the, great Armada, 
 is bearing towards this port ! [A murmur and confusion. 
 
 Effingham. — Where away, man ? 
 
 Fleming. — Off the Lizard Point, stretching like a huge 
 Crescent — seven miles from horn to horn ! 
 
 , Effingham. — Is it so ? To your ships then, gentlemen. 
 Our 'bowling-match, it seems, must be played out some 
 other time. 
 
 Drake (advancing with his bowl in his hand). — Under 
 favour, not so, my lord. ' I say, " Play out the game !" 
 There's time enough to finish the match, and beat the 
 Spanish fleet afterwards !" 
 
 Mariners.— Hurrah for England! hurrah for bold 
 Drake ! 
 
 Effingham. — Make the most of your daylight then, Sir 
 Francis. For me, I shall aboard at once. (Exeunt Drake 
 and Ealeigh, &c. &c, back to green.) Here, Martin 
 (tossing his bowl to Martin), take my place, and win for 
 me if you can. .My cloak there ! (A sailor hands ilie 
 Admiral his cloak, which he flings round him.) Good 
 even to ye, men of Devon (turning before he descends 
 to the beach). The King of Spain, it seems, would challenge 
 England to another bowling-match. 
 
 Martin. — To be played out oh the Green Sea, my 
 gracious lord ; and with you to lead the game, I warrant 
 me he gains naught but rubbers. 
 
 Effingham. — Let every landsman make ready his 
 weapon, and muster horse and man; and you, Martin 
 Truegold, when the stars twinkle, let your beacon Blaze. 
 
 Martin. — I warrant you, my lord, no hand but mine 
 shall fire it. (Exit Effingham, followed by a crowd of 
 MARiNERScAeerira<7. The townspeople, morris-dancers, dbc. 
 &c, disperse in various directions, leaving only Martin, and 
 Mabel on the stage.) Now, dear lass, run thee into the 
 house and get me ready a lighted brand. I must try to 
 make the winning cast for my lord's sake, and then the 
 Old Beacon shall kindle a light on every English hill from 
 shore to shore. Eun 
 
18 TRDE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 Mabel. — It shall be the brightest I can find {lingering). 
 Ah, Martin, dear 
 
 Maetin.— "Well ? 
 
 Mabel. — To think, now, that my first service to thee as 
 a wife is to help thee save dear England from the foe. 
 
 Martin. — Thou pretty laggard, run and do my bidding, 
 else I shall think thou art asking for thy wages before 
 they're due. 
 
 Mabel. — What wages, Martin ? 
 
 Maetin (hissing her). — Why, this. Eun, you rogue, run. 
 
 [Exit Mabel into Inn. 
 
 Drake, and others ivithout. — Martin ! Why, Martin, the 
 game waits 1 
 
 Maetin. — I'm coming, your honours — I'm coming. 
 
 [Exit to the howling-green. At the same time, Dan- 
 geefield, Sie Maurice, Welfoed, Teact, and 
 other conspirators enter. They are followed by 
 Wallet, now without his pack : he stands a little 
 apart. 
 
 Dangeefield. — Gentlemen, there is but brief time for 
 action. Sir Maurice, is your vessel ready — the rowers at 
 their posts ? 
 
 Sir Maurice. — All is prepared. 
 
 Dangeefield {looking towards the green). — And see, 
 yonder players have finished their game. {A cheer heard.) 
 They have given the pilot a parting cheer, and don their 
 doublets. 
 
 Sie Maueice. — But the beacon 
 
 Dangerfield. — Must not be fired ; this shall prevent it 
 {holding up the phial he had previously showed to Chudleigh). 
 
 Re-enter from the green, Drake, Ealeigh, &c. &c, followed 
 by Maetin. They shake hands with him, bidding him 
 farewell. 
 
 All. — Good night, honest Martin, good night. 
 
 [Exeunt the Captains. 
 
 Maetin. — Good night to your honours, good night ! 
 Long life to yourselves, and victory to your ships. Now, 
 Mabel, lass, the brand ! the brand I 
 
ACT I.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 1 9 
 
 Mabel {entering with the torch). — Here, Martin, here ; 
 'tis well kindled. 
 
 ["Dangerfield has approached the taUe on which is the 
 flask and glass used by Effingham. He pours wine 
 from tJie flask, and mingles with it the contents of the 
 phial. 
 
 Dangerfield {giving the glass to Sir Maurice). — Now, 
 ere he mounts the ladder ; from you he will not refuse it. 
 
 Sir Maurice {advancing). — Ho, there ! Martin ! 
 
 Martin {surprised). — Your honour ! at this hour ! 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Why, 'tis not too late to wish thee joy, 
 honest Martin. 
 
 Martin. — No, your honour ; never 'too late for that. 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Martin, you are about to give the signal 
 that is to warn all England of her coming danger. Pledge 
 me a health before you mount. 
 
 Martin {preparing to ascend). — When I'm down again, 
 Sir Mauriee, with right good will, but 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Nay, at once. What, man ! when thy 
 foster-brother asks thee ? {Forces the glass into Martin's 
 hand, and Jills another for himself.) To the Glory of Eng- 
 land, and may the Right Cause Triumph ! {raising his glass). 
 
 Martin. — Well, I can't refuse that. "To the Glory of 
 England, and may the Eight Cause Triumph !" {Drinks 
 wine. For a moment he remains motionless ; then returning 
 the glass to Sir Maurice, he makes a step or two towards 
 the beacon.) What's this ? {raising his hand to his fore- 
 head.) A mist gathers before my eyes. Mabel 1 Mabel, 
 
 where art thou, lass ? Take the brand, the — Beacon! — I 
 
 {He drops the brand, which is immediately stamped out by 
 Dangerfield, and staggering back, falls into the arms of 
 one oftlie Conspirators). 
 
 Mabel. — Martin ! husband ! Great Heaven ! speechless, 
 lifeless ! {Turning on Sir Maurice.) Villain ! unknightly 
 caitiff ! this is thy work. Coward ! was it for this I hid 
 from my brave Martin the wrong thou wouldst have done 
 him ? Was it for this I sought to save from shame a noble 
 House thy name" dishonours ? But thou shalt not triumph 
 in thy work. Help, there ! help, I say ! Treason ! treason 
 to England ! Ay, slay me if ye will ! If ye have wrought 
 c2 
 
20 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT I. 
 
 harm to him, to me ye can give no sweeter boon than 
 death ! 
 
 [She falls at Martin's feet. Maeah at this moment 
 shows herself at the window, and disappears. 
 
 Tract (drawing his poniard). — Must she die ? 
 
 Dangeefield (approaching Mabel). — No ; she has 
 swooned. Raise her, and bear her to the boat. 
 
 Sie Maurice (drawing his sword). — With him t Never ! 
 Tracy, release her ! 
 
 Dangerfield. — Peace ! the cause requires Both. Now 
 let them light their beacon if they can. 
 
 [The Conspirators surround Martin and Mabel, keeping 
 with their swords Chudleigh from approaching. At 
 that moment Maeah appears at the window of the Inn, 
 with a lighted brand in her hand; she steps upon the 
 beam, and crossing it, fires the fuel within the cresset of 
 the Beacon. 
 
 Maeah. — Dogs as ye are, 'tis done .' and look, miles 
 away, 'tis answered. See, from point to point the light 
 leaps along the shore. Traitors, ye are baffled ! (As she 
 speaks, the beacons on the distant headlands are seen to start 
 into flame.) 
 
 Welford. — Shoot the witch ! 
 
 Wallet (raising his hand). — Hold ! a shot now were 
 madness ; leave her to me. (The Conspirators crowd round 
 the beacon, brandishing their loeapons.) 
 
 END OF ACT FIRST. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 THE SPANISH SHIP. 
 
 'The Spanish Ships sailed saucily, 
 
 Like Peacocks proud to see ; 
 But their plumes were pluck'd, and their crests were cut, 
 When they look'd at this Couu-trie." 
 
 Devonshire Old Song. 
 
 Daybreak, — The main deck of the Spanish galleon* -of -war, 
 "La Santa Fe." Looking towards the head, showing 
 the fore and mainmasts, the deck ■ is crowded with 
 Spanish Mariners, Soldiers, Monks,. &c. Slightly on 
 the right is a pile of cushions, behind which is planted 
 the Standard of Spain. Near the cushions is a cannon, 
 on the carriage of which is spread an embroidered cloth; 
 on this are flagons and goblets of gold, an hour-glass, 
 &e. Towards the bows of the vessel is a hatchway, 
 supposed to communicate with the lower deck. Near 
 the front, on a coil of rope, Makah lies, apparently 
 asleep. 
 
 HTMN TO THE VIRGIN. 
 
 {Monks, Mariners, Soldiers, &c, kneeling.) 
 
 O sanctissima ! O purissima ! 
 Dulcis Virgo, Maria. 
 Mater amata, intemerata 
 Ora, ora pro nobis. 
 
 * The term " galleon" is given by some writers exclusively to the 
 vessels employed by the Spaniards for the transport of bullion from 
 their possessions in the New World. This is not quite correct. 
 The largest Spanish ships-of-war were entitled galleons, and, being 
 fighting-ships, were selected as efficient protectors of their .precious 
 freights. 
 
22 TEUE TO THE COKE. [ACT II. 
 
 [At the conclusion of the hymn the Mariners, &c, rise, and 
 Valdez, the Admiral, enters from his cabin. He is 
 attired in black velvet, and wears the order of the 
 Golden Fleece. Gomez and Silva, partly in armour, 
 follow him. Me is also attended by two or three Ecclesi- 
 astics in rich vestments, and by Chudleigh, Tbacy, 
 and Welfokd. Valdez advances to the cushions, and 
 throws himself upon them. A Moorish female slave, 
 holding a fan of feathers, stations herself near him. 
 At the same time Wallet a,scends from the lower deck. 
 As he approaches Maeah, she springs up to meet him. 
 
 Maeah. — Now, how fares it with him ? Sleeps he 
 still? 
 
 Wallet. — He hath stirred, and gazed about him, 
 murmured a word or two ; but the power of the drug 
 still weighs him down. 
 
 Maeah {placing her hand on his shoulder). — What is it 
 they would work against him ? Evil, I know, but what 
 evil? Speak! 
 
 Wallet.— Poor wench, to tell thee would avail but 
 little. Thy master is in a net from which no skill of thine 
 can free him. 
 
 Maeah (bitterly). — A net ? Ay, a net thy hands have 
 helped to fling about him. Yet no — I think thou art not 
 his enemy. And, but for thy voice, yonder men would 
 have killed me. 
 
 Wallet. — True, girl, thou ow'st me thus much. There 
 were but two courses — either to slay thee or bring thee with 
 them. Well, I thought thou wert too faithful and too 
 young to die. And thou art here to share the fortunes of 
 thy master. But say, hast thou friends on board this 
 Spanish vessel ? I saw thee hold converse with those slaves 
 in Moorish garb now gathered on the lower deck. 
 
 Maeah. — Slaves they are not ; they are of my own race ; 
 of gipsy blood — Gitanos of the land from whence these 
 Spaniards come. 
 
 Wallet. — Gitanos ? 
 
 Maeah. — Ay, brought here, they and the women of 
 their tribe — wives, sisters, daughters, and for what ? To 
 make sport, with music and with dance, for him (pointing 
 
ACT IT.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 23 
 
 to Valdez) and his brother tyrants. May the curse of our 
 people light upon his head ! 
 
 "Wallet. — Speak lower, girl; yonder Spanish leader 
 hath good knowledge of our English tongue. Should he 
 chance to overhear thee 
 
 Marah (shrugging her shoulders). — He will have me cast 
 to the fishes. What then ? And yet no — I will not fling 
 away my life : 'tis Marah's task to live and watch. Stay — 
 give me thy hand (after scanning it for a short time). Yes, 
 this should be an honest palm, for the lines run as they do 
 in his whose life to me is — no matter. Stranger, we watch 
 together. (She turns away.) 
 
 Wallet (aside). — Ay, live, watch, pursue ! thou teachest 
 me my own task. 
 
 Dangerfield ascends from the lower deck. 
 
 Valdez (raising himself on his cushions). — Well, holy 
 father, what news dost thou bring ? The prisoner ? 
 
 Dangeefield. — Noble sefior, the opiate still holds its 
 influence, but in a brief space I trust 
 
 Valdez (starting up). — Now, by our great patron, St.- 
 Iago ! dost thou play with us, priest ? We have demanded 
 a skilful pilot who shall give present aid to our invincible 
 Armada to descend with speed and safety on these English 
 
 shores; and thou bringest us a drugged slave who 
 
 Or doth the varlet dare deceive us, and feign the Slug- 
 gard? 
 
 Dangeefield. — So please yom, senor,- the stars still 
 glimmer in the east — 'tis hardly morning ; but ere another 
 hour passes, this man shall stand before you ready to prove 
 by his answers that I have not vaunted his skill unduly. 
 If I speak falsely, let my own life pay the forfeit. 
 
 De Silva (to Dangeefield). — Why was this slumber 
 cast upon him ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — For reasons, seflor, which we judged' 
 necessary to insure success. 
 
 Gomez. — Success ! Mother of mercies ! but when i We 
 reckoned by this time the thunder of our cannon would 
 have roused your port of Plymouth from its slumbers. 
 
 Valdez (iisaving his hand). Paciencia, seHors ; it seems 
 that. we must wait. Where are our English guests? 
 
24 TRUE TO THE COKE. [ACT II. 
 
 {turning to Sir Maurice and his companions). Gentlemen, 
 I had hoped ere this to have set my foot on your English 
 shores. 
 
 Tract. — A second visit, as I think, noble senor ? 
 
 Valdez. — Ay, truly, sir. My first was in more peaceful 
 guise. I followed my noble master when he came to wed 
 his English queen. These noble captains (looking towards 
 Gomez and Silva), as I remember, were also in his train. 
 Those were the days when Spain had weight within your 
 councils. Well had it been for England had she ever 
 listened to our voice. 
 
 Welford. — But we, noble seiior, we followers of the true 
 faith, stand here to aid you build the shattered fabric 
 again. 
 
 Valdez. — And you shall see it rise, sirs. For this holy 
 purpose hath Spain sent forth her armaments upon these 
 narrow seas ; for this she gives her treasure and the noblest 
 of her blood ; and to that holy cause Diego de Valdez, by 
 all his hopes of heaven, now dedicates his sword and 
 life ! (He unsheathes his sword, hisses the blade, and raises 
 it in attestation of his vow, the Conspirators and the Spanish 
 Officers doing the same. Valdez turns to Wallet.) 
 
 Valdez. — And thou, friend — thou art silent? 
 
 Wallet. — I am but a poor trader, noble senor, and bear 
 no honourable sword like these cavaliers, on which I could 
 record my vow. 
 
 Valdez. — But thy heart ? 
 
 Wallet (raising his hand). — Prays as earnestly for the 
 ;true cause as thine. 
 
 Valdez (to Dangerfield). — Art thou warrant for this 
 man? 
 
 Dangerfield. — He bears the token, sefior, which should 
 -be warrant for his truth: 'tis time must prove it. 
 
 Wallet. — Does not this hour prove it ? else why should 
 J be here ? 
 
 [Dangerfield descends. 
 
 "Valdez. — Enough! (throwing himself again on the 
 'cushions). By the shrine of Compostella! but the time 
 hangs wearily. How say you, gentlemen ? Shall we 
 beguile the minutes while we wait the coming of your 
 
ACT II.] TRUE TO THE COKE 25 
 
 laggard pilot ? Our Gitanos, our gipsy slaves,* they shall 
 tread you one of the wild measures of their tribe. {He 
 makes a sign to the Moorish slave who stands near him. 
 She descends.) In the meantime honour me by pledging 
 me in this -wine of Alicant. If 'twill add a zest to your 
 draught, know that the gold of your goblets once enriched 
 Peru's proud Temple of the Sun, and that your cup- 
 bearers are captive princes. 
 
 [The wine is poured out, and served kneeling by two 
 Peruvian slaves, richly attired in their dresses of 
 feather-work, bracelets, and anklets of gold. Valdez 
 pledges the Englishmen, which they return. A wild 
 strain of music is heard, and a troop of Gitanos, 
 male and female, ascend from the lower deck. They 
 are dressed in semi-oriental costume, carrying cymbals, 
 tambourines, and castanets. They form a line, bend 
 low before Valdez, and go through a picturesque 
 dance. Suddenly the distant sound of cannon is 
 heard. Valdez rises, and makes a sign for the dance 
 to cease. 
 Valdez (to the Englishmen). — Hark ye, gentlemen! 
 Hear ye that ? Your island mastiffs are barking. Eecaldet 
 must be engaged. Well (to Dangekfield, who has re- 
 ascended), the prisoner — wakes he yet ? 
 
 Dangekfield. — Yes, noble sefior ; the stupor which so 
 long hath bound his senses is shaken off. 
 
 * Our worthy and humorous friend Fun, in a most good-natured 
 notice of this drama, pronounced the introduction of this dance, and, 
 in fact, the presence of gipsy slaves at all on board the Spanish ship, 
 an absurdity. The objection was a very reasonable one ; but there 
 is something to he said on the other side. Our Spanish invaders 
 came with the full expectation of certain victory, and with the 
 express intention of taking up their abode in England. A curious 
 record of what some of the Spanish ships contained is to be found in 
 Creasy's interesting work, "The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the 
 World." It shows that our enemies brought with them everything 
 that could minister to their luxurious desires — their vessels of gold 
 and silver, their costly carpets, and their slaves. Moreover, the 
 treasures of Mexico and Peru had done their enervating work. I 
 therefore considered myself justified in making » luxurious and 
 haughty Hidalgo command the presence of his slaves to beguile the 
 time which hung wearily upon him. 
 
 + The Marquis Recalde was the Admiral- in-Chief of the Armada. 
 
26 TRUE TO THE COKE. [ACT II. 
 
 Valdez. — Bring him forth, then ! (At a signal from 
 Dangerfield, Martin, attended by two soldiers, ascends). — 
 So, at last. Englishman, knowest thou in whose presence 
 thou art standing ? 
 
 [Martin, who is very pale, and somewhat bewildered, 
 pauses a little before he replies. 
 
 Martin. — Presence! Well, I reckon I see the commander 
 of this vessel — and a strange craft she is ! "What would 
 you with me ? 
 
 Valdez. — Thou shaft know presently ; it is for thee to 
 listen and to answer. Thy name ? 
 
 Martin. — Martin Truegold, of Plymouth Hoe. 
 
 Valdez. — Thou art, it is said, a skilful pilot ? 
 
 Martin. — Well, I believe there are worse. 
 
 Valdez. — Now hearken, Englishman ! This flag {point- 
 ing to the standard) is the banner of my master, King 
 Philip of Spain ; and. I, his faithful subject, have sworn to 
 plant it, ere yonder sun has reached its noontide height, 
 within the heart of your good town of Plymouth. 
 
 Martin (looking full at him). — Well, plant it — if you 
 can. 
 
 Valdez. — Ay, but we shall need your counsel. 
 
 Martin. — My counsel ! Well, if you are wise, don't try. 
 
 Valdez. — Ha ! why not ? 
 
 Martin. — Marry, because they who plant that flagstaff 
 in English ground are likely to find it a tree that will 
 bear sour fruit. 
 
 Valdez. — Heretic dog! dost thou bandy words with 
 me? 
 
 Martin. — Nay, you have asked for counsel, and you 
 shall have it. Look ye ! you are a Spanish gentleman. 
 You come of a race whose deeds men speak of as pitiless 
 and bloody; but I have heard that you are proud, and 
 value your honour better than your lives. Well, if that 
 be so, let me tell you your good name is like to suffer by 
 the company you keep (looking towards the Conspirators). 
 
 Valdez. — How now, sirrah ? Rule your tongue ! 
 
 Martin. — Why should I ? It owes thee no allegiance. 
 If you like not my speech, send me back from whence you 
 brought me. But first-'— cleanse your ship from vermin 
 
ACT II.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 27 
 
 {pointing to Dangerfield and the rest), and hang me those 
 four traitors from the yard-arm. One, Heaven send us 
 grace {pointing to Sir Maurice Chudleigh), writes himself 
 " Knight .'" so give him a halter of silk to mark his title.! 
 
 Valdez. — Your patience {to Sir Maurice, who lays his 
 hand on his sword). Thou art a bold knave ; but remember 
 where thou art Thou standest on the deck of La Santa 
 Fe ! Thou speakest to Diego de Valdez, to whose com- 
 mand is given full twenty galleons of this armament. I 
 have vow^ed this ship shall be the first of my squadron to 
 enter your port ; and you, who know every sunken rock, 
 every sandbank that may throw peril in our way, must 
 guide us safely through them. 
 
 Martin. — And if I said " yes" to your bidding, what 
 think you should be my reward ? 
 
 Valdez. — Thyself shalt name it. 
 
 Martin {fiercely). — A halter, then — a halter, only twenty 
 feet higher than those of your friends there : such were 
 fitting wage for such a service. 
 
 Valdez. — Nay, thou shalt have better guerdon. ■ See'st 
 thou this jewel on my finger ? This gem is worthy of a 
 prince's coronet. With it {touching the collar round his 
 neck), this chain of gold and pearl is thine. These will I 
 bestow at once upon thee, with future honours and 
 rewards, so thou perform thy service faithfully. All these 
 I promise thee on the faith, the -honour of a Castilian 
 gentleman. 
 
 Martin.— Ay, I have often heard of that same Castilian 
 honour ; but what's to become of mine, I'd like to know ? 
 
 Valdez. — Thy honour, churl ! 
 
 Martin. — Ay, thy honour. I hope I've got such a thing 
 about me, even though I don't write Don before my 
 name. 
 
 Valdez {sternly). — Thy answer ! 
 
 Martin. — My answer ! Well, if you want to get into 
 Plymouth Port, it wont be with my seamanship, and that's 
 a plain answer. 
 
 Valdez. — Beware, slave ! What if I stretch thee on the 
 rack, and wrench from thee compliance ? We have such 
 engines with us. 
 
 Martin {half aside). — Oh, the devil doubt you {to 
 
28 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT II. 
 
 Valdez). Well, if you have them, 'tis better you try their 
 strength on these joints than work your cruel will on 
 friends at home. 
 
 Valdez. — Then thou defiest me ? 
 
 Martin. — Defy thee ! No ; but if you will torture me, 
 you must. For me, I must pray Heaven to give me strength 
 to bear the pain. Better I die under it than give you 
 help to light again our Smithfield fires. 
 
 Valdez. — We will try thy courage. (He turns and 
 makes a sign; several soldiers advance to seize Martin.) 
 
 Dangerfield (to Valdez). — A moment yet. His wife — he 
 knows not of her presence. Command that she ascend — it 
 may avail us much. 
 
 Valdez (motioning the soldiers back). — True, I had for • 
 gotten her. (He gives a command to the Moorish slave, who 
 descends.) 
 
 Marah (who has watched the wliole of the interview, 
 addresses Wallet). — What is't they purpose ? Had they 
 laid hands on him, yonder proud Spaniard's life should 
 have paid the forfeit (laying her hand on her lcnife). 
 
 Wallet. — Silence ! 'tis Heaven alone can aid him. 
 Watch and wait. 
 
 [Tlie Moorish slave re-ascends, followed by Mabel, 
 guarded : she advances slowly, until Martin, sud- 
 denly perceiving lier, staggers bade. 
 
 Mabel (rushing to him). — Martin ! husband ! 
 
 Martin (suddenly grasps a battle-axe, which lies on a 
 coil of ropes and catches Mabel to his breast). — Mabel ! 
 Mabel ! cling close to me, lass, close ! Stand back ! The first 
 man who comes to take her from me, I'll cleave him to the 
 shoulder ! 
 
 Valdez (to the soldiers). — Fuego ! 
 
 \The soldiers present their arquebuses. 
 
 Martin (dropping the axe). — Hold, Spaniard, hold ! 
 there, there, take her. I know you wont harm her ; you 
 couldn't ; a mere girl, you see ; you couldn't have the 
 heart to — my wife — your honour — my wife 
 
 Valdez. — Thy wife. 
 
 Mabel (falling on her Jcnees to Valdez). — Yes, noble 
 
ACT II.] TRUE TO THE COKE. 29 
 
 sir, his wife ; married but yesterday ; and oh, so happy ! 
 What hath my husband done to you or yours, that you 
 should drag him from his home ? Ah, send him back, 
 noble senor, or hold him to fair ransom. He hath friends, 
 noble friends, who will redeem him; indeed, indeed they 
 will. 
 
 Valdez. — He may redeem himself and thee if he so 
 will it. Woman, dost thou love thy husband ? 
 
 Mabel. — Ah, selior ! 
 
 Valdez. — If thou wouldst have him live, bid him be 
 speedy to do the task that I have set him. 
 
 Mabel (rises and approaches Martin). — Martin, Martin 
 dear, this task — what is it ? 
 
 Maettn. — Mabel, they — they would (He turns away, 
 
 and buries his face in his hands.) 
 
 Dangebfield (to Mabel). — All that is asked of him is 
 this — that he should guide this vessel's course 
 
 Maettn (recovering himself). — To our home, Mabel, to 
 . our home. They would ask rne — me, an English pilot— to 
 bring this ship to anchor in our roadstead ; and for what ? 
 To lay, perchance, our town in ashes — to be the leader of all 
 that fleet of Spain — of Spain ! whose soldiers, if they land, 
 will work on English men and women what they have 
 worked on those poor Hollanders, whose misery thou hast 
 so often wept for. This is the task they set me, Mabel. 
 This is the deed they ask of Martin Truegold : to play the 
 traitor to the land tha't gave him birth, and yield it up to 
 fire, sword, and shame ! Mabel ! wife ! This is the ran- 
 som he must pay to buy his life. What think you should 
 have been his answer ? 
 
 Mabel (half bewildered). — Husband ! Martin ! thy 
 answer ? 
 
 Martin (looking intently at her). — Well ? 
 
 Mabel (passionately). — Martin, thou hast answered. I 
 Jcnow thou hast. And answered — God help me ! — as I 
 would have thee do. Yes ! better thy Life than peril 
 on thy Soul ! (She rushes to him, and flings herself on 
 his breast.) 
 
 Valdez. — Heretic, I have proffered thee fair terms. 
 Now mark (raising an hour-glass from the gun-carriage). 
 Some few grains of sand have yet to run their course 
 
30 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT II. 
 
 within this hour-glass. Watch well these glittering atoms : 
 if, when they cease to glide, I find thee obstinate, I fling 
 that woman over my ship's side into the waves ; yet that 
 were too great a grace. What if I bind her to the mast, 
 and bid my archers make her fair body a target for their 
 shafts ? 
 
 [The shy up to this time has gradually become overcast, 
 flashes of lightning are occasionally seen, and the 
 thunder mutters in the distance. 
 
 Sir Maubice {laying his hand on his sword). — Don 
 Diego, Seiior de Valdez, this must not be. Gentlemen 
 (turning to Welford and Tract), permit not so foul a 
 deed. 
 
 Valdez (to Sir Maurice). — Sir, on the deck of La 
 Santa Fi no will is heard but mine. 
 
 [A vivid flash, succeeded by the loud roll of thunder, 
 follows his words. 
 
 Mabel (turning to him). — Not so, not so, Man ! the 
 voice of Heaven is raised against thy wickedness. Martin, 
 think not of me ; think of our poor England ; think of dear 
 friends, of poor helpless creatures, old men, women 
 slaughtered by these ravening wolves ; think of dear 
 little children tossed from pike to pike. What we know 
 these men have done they will do again. Keep thy heart 
 strong, Martin, and Mabel Truegold will show these 
 Spaniards how an English wife can die. 
 
 Valdez (turning the hour-glass). — Is thy choice made ? 
 Speak, and quickly ! Is it death or life ? 
 
 Martin (in a low voice). — Mabel, Mabel, how sayest 
 thou, lass ? Shall it, shall it be death for England ? 
 
 Mabel. — Yes ; let their arrows come, so that I meet 
 them here — here, upon thy breast ! 
 
 Valdez. — Thy choice ! 
 
 Martin (fiercely). — It is made ! Death for England, 
 death! Now, Spaniard, let your bowmen loose their 
 shafts, and reach her heart through mine ! 
 
 Valdez. — No, not together ; that were to mar the work. 
 Drag her to the mast ! 
 
ACT II.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 31 
 
 Mabtin (as Gomez and Silva move to take Mabel from 
 him). — Hold, Spaniard, hold ! I — I will take charge— I 
 will direct thy helmsman, but let her stay by me : it's not 
 much to ask. 
 
 Valdez. — To thy task, then. To Plymouth ! English- 
 man 
 
 Martin (with a bitter smile).— Ay, straight for Ply- 
 mouth. Never fear ; thy ship shall run upon her proper 
 course. Starboard your helm there ! You English traitors, 
 make me understood. 
 
 Dangerfield (to De Silva, who keeps directing the helms- 
 man). — Al baborde ! al baborde ! 
 
 Martin. — Helm a-starboard I say! So — so ! Now she 
 goes ! Mabel, lass, rouse thee, rouse thee ; 'tis Martin 
 has thee on his heart. ' 
 
 Mabel (faintly). — Oh, Martin dear, better, better let me 
 die. 
 
 Martin. — Starboard ! starboard! keep her well away ! 
 Mabel (lowering his voice to a deep whisper), Mabel, look 
 yonder ahead, a little to the left, my girl — wait for the 
 next flash — there ! there ! — where the sea was boiling 
 with foam, and the white spray flew so high into the air. 
 It is the Bock of Eddystone ! Kiss me ; 'tis the last that we 
 shall take. 'Tis death, my girl ! but death in each other's 
 arms ! 
 
 Mabel. — With thee 'tis welcome. [Thunder. 
 
 Valdez. — Englishman, I like not the white crests of 
 yonder billows. Santa Maria ! how they gleam through 
 the darkness ! To the helm — to the helm thyself, I say ! 
 
 Martin. — No ! the helm hath done its duty; thy helms- 
 man needs no aid. I tell thee thy ship is on her proper 
 course 1 And may all thy fellow-bloodhounds follow on 
 thy track ! 
 
 Valdez (half drawing his sword). — Dog ! what meanest 
 thou? 
 
 Martin. — That you and every soul on board this ship 
 are running on the jaws of Death ! Spaniard, within your 
 vessel's length lies the black reef Of Eddystone ! 
 
 Dangerfield (rushing to the wheel). — The helm ! the 
 helm ! or we are lost ! 
 
32 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT II. 
 
 Martin (laughing wildly). — Too late ! too late ! She 
 strikes ! slie strikes ! 
 
 [Valdez rushes on Martin with his sword uplifted ; but 
 Marah, springing between them, plunges her poniard 
 into the Spaniard's breast. At the same moment the 
 ship strikeslvith a tremendous crash. Almost all those 
 on deck are thrown down. A cry ofJwrror rises. The 
 lightning striking the mast, it falls ; and as the sea 
 pours over the bulwarks of the vessel, the curtain falls. 
 
 END of act II. 
 
ACT III. 
 
 THE EEBF OF EDDYSTONE. 
 
 1 Oh, a terrible place was the Eddy-stone, 
 When thunder'd the surge on that Bock so lone, 
 And never a Lighthouse upon it shone, 
 To save poor souls from drowning !" 
 
 " The Dangers of the Sovmd," a Ballad. 
 
 The Reef of Eddy stone ; the Sea heaves sullenly around it. 
 A mid shy, and lurid sunset. A portion of one of the 
 masts of " La Santa Fe," with part of its rigging, lies 
 across the rock. Towards the left of the reef Martin 
 Truegold is kneeling by the side of Mabel, who is 
 sleeping, her head pillowed by the doublet of Martin : 
 her temples are bound by a kerchief. Marah, her arms 
 folded on her breast, leans against a fragment of rock. 
 Wallet stands near her. Behind, upon an elevated 
 part of the reef, are several Gitanos ; and lower down 
 are huddled together some half-dozen of the crew of the 
 wrecked ship. Dangerfield, Chudleigh, Welford, 
 and Tracy form another group on the right. 
 
 Wallet (to Martin). — How fares it with her now? 
 Doth she still sleep ? 
 
 Martin (laying his finger on his lip). — Yes, but 'tis a 
 troubled slumber. The poor lass is dreaming of the wreck, 
 and murmurs in her sleep. 
 
 Wallet. — No marvel that she does so. 'Twas a fearful 
 sight : eight hundred souls in all their strength and pride 
 thronging that ship but some few hours past, and now 
 
 D 
 
34 TEUE TO THE COKE. [ACT III. 
 
 (pointing to the Gitanos and sailors) yonder miserable, 
 shivering wretches all that remain. May Heaven show 
 mercy to those gone to their account ! 
 
 Martin (solemnly). — Amen to that ; and may my deed 
 find mercy too ! 
 
 Wallet. — Speak no more of it. Thou wert but faith- 
 ful to thy country — faithful unto death ! 
 
 Martin. — Thou speakest kindly, pedler. Speak do I say ? 
 I owe thee far more than fair words. I saw thee strive to 
 ward my Mabel here from sword and pike when the 
 maddened Spaniards closed around us. I saw thee take 
 upon thine own arm the thrust which grazed her temple. 
 And, traitor or true man, may Heaven reward thee for it ! 
 
 Wallet. — Hist ! it may be thou wilt one day But 
 
 thy wife (pointing to Mabel) : she speaks .again. 
 
 Mabel (speaking in her sleep). — Martin ! Martin ! hold 
 me close. Hark ! how they shriek for help! Must they all 
 perish — perish in their guilt? And the waves, the waves ! 
 Martin ! Martin ! loose not thy hold ! let us die together — 
 
 but not (She wakes suddenly, and flings her arms rowud 
 
 Martin's neck). Husband ! hold me, hold me ! 
 
 Martin (soothing her). — I have thee, Mabel, dear girl, I 
 have thee. Why, so, so — thou hast been dreaming, lass. 
 'Tis Martin speaks to thee. All's safe now. (Aside.) 
 Heaven forgive me ! for that's not true ! 
 
 Mabel (partly raising herself and looking round her). — 
 Safe! Where are we, then ? The waves still heave around 
 
 us, and Ah! I remember now. Oh me! oh me! Martin, 
 
 that gallant ship, with all that stirring crowd upon her 
 deck ; those proud* men in their glittering armour. And 
 
 now, oh now 
 
 Martin. — -Mabel, they were the enemies of our land ; 
 they came to plunder and to slay, to waste our harvest 
 fields, and give our homesteads to the flames ; but to this 
 single hand the power was given to crush them in their 
 
 pride, and wer't to do again But that's over now ; and 
 
 may their souls find mercy ! (Sadly!) May Heaven have 
 mercy on. us all! 
 
 Mabel (looking earnestly at him). — Martin, thou lookest — 
 this black ridge of rocks — and sea, sea on every side. 
 Surely I should know this place ? 
 
ACT IIL] TRUE TO THE CORE. 35 
 
 Martin. — Recall thee, Mabel. Remembeiesfc thou not 
 my words when, clasped in each other's arms, we knelt 
 upon the deck of the Spanish ship ? 
 
 Mabel.— Yes, yes ! thau saidst the ship was speeding on 
 ■tike Rock of Eddystone — -that dreadful rock on which so 
 many poor mariners halve found their graves. 
 
 Martin. — Yes, the Reef of Eddystone. Upon this rock, 
 from whose sharp sides it has been rny task, boy and man 
 (and that's a comfort now), to keqp clear many a good 
 
 English craft— MabeL.it may be that Odsme! one 
 
 mustn!t be down-hearted. Marah, girl! thou hast an eye 
 like a hawk. What see'st thou — there away ? 
 
 Marah. — Nothing, master ! nothing but the flash of the 
 billows' foam in the xed sunlight. 
 
 Wallet (to Martin).— How fax is this Reef of Eddystone 
 from the mainland ? 
 
 Martin. — The Ram's Head is the nearest point, and 
 that's a good nine miles, away. 
 Mabel (in a low voice). — Martin ! 
 Martin. — Well, lass, what is.it ? 
 
 Mabel. — Martin, don't chide me— perhaps 'tis wrong 
 in me to utter .what, perchance, is ,& vain fear — but the 
 tide? 
 
 Martin (as if hesitating to answer). — The tide ! Well, 
 lass, the saying runs that " Time and Tide wait for no 
 man,'.' nor woman either for that matter — not even ibr 
 Queen Bess herself — God bless her I 
 
 Mabel. — Martin, I have heard thee say that at high tide 
 the waters zise above this rock. Are. they not rising now? 
 Martin ! skilful swimmer as thou art, why should we both 
 perish ? Wilt thou premise me to try and save thyself if 
 
 —if I should 
 
 Martin. — Wilt thou promise to keep a brave heart ? 
 Save myself, forsooth ! and But there — I daren't be 
 
 angry with thee. Courage, lass ; through Heaven's mercy 
 we've weathered one .storm, and we shan't be deserted now. 
 
 So let us keep trustful .hearts, and There ! there ! 
 
 iUdn'f I say so ? Look yonder! thereaway! (pointing). 
 
 Mabel. — There ! Where that distant sea-bird wheels so 
 near .the waves.?. 
 
 Marxin. — Sea-bird 2 Ay ! a.aea-bird that brings help ! 
 d 2 
 
36 TRUE TO THE CORK [ACT III. 
 
 life ! on its white wings. A sail ! a sail ! and bearing to- 
 wards us, too ! 
 
 Dangerfield (approaching Martin). — A sail say'st 
 thou ? What is she ? Can you make her out ? 
 
 Martin. — Well, I may be wrong, but to my thinking, 
 to some of us on this rock she won't bring a large cargo of 
 comfort. 
 
 Dangeefield. — What mean you by that ? 
 
 Martin. — Well, if we do gain the deck of yonder vessel, 
 we shan't put our feet this time on Spanish timber. 
 
 [The priest glances keenly at Martin, and turns away. 
 
 Dangerfield (aside to Chudleigh and the rest). — Gentle- 
 men, a ship is making towards us : a brief space will show 
 us what she is. It may be she will prove to be one of the 
 Spanish tempest-driven host. If so, well ; but should she 
 be an English bark 
 
 Welford. — What then ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — Then, gentlemen, 'twere well we make 
 our peace with Heaven; for ere another sun is down, 
 there is some danger that our heads may be set on the 
 battlements of Plymouth Castle. 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Not while Trevannion holds the fortress. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Ay, but his own head may grace the 
 party. 
 
 Tracy. — Who shall accuse us ? 
 
 Dangerfield (glancing towards Maetin). — Is it needful 
 you should ask ? 
 
 Tract. — The pilot, Truegold, will he denounce us ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — Most surely will he ; and, what is worse, 
 he will be believed. 
 
 Sir Maurice. — Not if we repel the charge. Is the 
 single word of this seaman to outweigh the denial of a 
 Welford, a Tracy, or a Chudleigh ? 
 
 Dangeefield (with irony).— They are noble names, but 
 they are borne by men who will be found in dangerous 
 company. The Spanish sailors — the fragments of the 
 wreck that heave for miles around this rock — yea, the very 
 bodies of the drowned may witness against us. Yet I fear 
 not these, if yonder man be silent ; but if he reveal your 
 share in last night's work, though your lineage were traced 
 even to a royal stock, your graves are already dug ! 
 
ACT III.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 37 
 
 Welfoed. — Will gold secure his silence ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — Gold! What answer did he give the 
 Spaniard ? What was his deed ? Look you, sirs : this 
 man hath deceived my expectations, blighted my hopes, 
 perilled the cause for which I would lay down my life; 
 yet would I give my right hand to win him for a friend ; 
 but as it is 
 
 Wallet (who has joined the conspirators). — Well, as 
 it is? 
 
 Dangerfield (sinking his voice). — I may esteem the 
 tempered and unsullied steel of a good Damascus blade ; 
 but if it be raised against my heart, I snap it — if I 
 can. 
 
 Tract. — But there are other witnesses. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Their unsupported voices might harm 
 us little, the real peril is with Martin Truegold. He is the 
 very idol of the fleet. If he accuse us to Effingham, his 
 word will be taken ; ay, though it were weighed against 
 a belted Earl's 
 
 Wallet (looking at Dangerfield). — Or, the expectant 
 of a Cardinal's hat. But why slay this man ? This is 
 weak, I know; but then I have not had thy holy training. 
 Still, 1 say his death avails us nothing. We shall be still 
 accused. 
 
 Dangerfield (with a quick glance). — By whom ? 
 
 Wallet. — By all the witnesses thyself hath named. 
 Our presence here condemns us. We are in the snare, 
 but to stain the meshes with innocent blood will not free 
 us from the net. And I believe not even the teachings of 
 St. Omer counsel useless murder. 
 
 Dangerfield. — For our presence here, be that my task : 
 our errand to this reef was one of mercy ; we came to bear 
 away the survivors of the wreck, and our boat was lost in 
 the attempt. Who shall gainsay this, if Truegold's voice 
 be silenced ? 
 
 Tracy. — They who are with him: his wife, the girlMarah. 
 
 Dangerfield. — If you fear them, your poniards, gentle- 
 men, must secure your safety ; yet stay, 'twere speedier, 
 surer work to have the Spaniards with us. 
 
 Welford. — And they will need small urging to revenge 
 their comrades' fate. 
 
38 TBTJE TO TH0 COEE [ACT lit 
 
 Dangebfield. — True. I have watched their glances; 
 and, if their hands be ready and sufficient, why, let the 
 task be theirs. 
 
 Chudleigh. — Nay, but hear me. Welford, Tracy, is 
 there mo way but this ? 
 Tract. — None, none ! 
 
 Wallet {fiercely). — Yes, I say yes ! Try the fortune of 
 the waves, gentlemen ; swim for it ! Nay, I'M be warrant 
 for your lives. 
 
 Welford.— -Thou ! 
 
 "Wallet. — -Ay, from drowning. Trust to the proverb, 
 sirs, musty from age, but true : " They who are born for 
 the Hope need never fear the Water /" 
 
 Dangerfield. — Fool, or traitor, obstruct us not. 
 
 [Dangerfield advances to the Spaniards, followed by 
 
 Chudleigh, &c. &e. Wallet returns to Marten. 
 
 Marah (who has keenly watched the conspirators).-^ 
 
 Master, there is evil boding — evil to thee. Yonder men, I 
 
 have marked them closely, and death is in their eyes. See 
 
 how they whisper ! 
 
 Martin. — Well, there is foul weather in their looks, 
 sure enough. Thy knife, girl, thy knife. I'll show them 
 some play, if they mean to grapple with us. 
 
 Marah (wringing her hands). — Woe ! woe, the while! 
 Gone, master, gone ! My weapon rests within the heaart of 
 Mm who would have slain thee. Gone ! gone ! 
 
 Martin. — Belay, belay, lass? if these gallants will show 
 their- teeth, why (snatching up a long fragment of a 
 spmr), why, here's' a toothpick for their dainty mouths. 
 Mabel, darling, don't tremble. Why, see now, there are 
 but four of 'em,i for I don't eount the Spanish jackets a 
 broken eoekle"-shell : . Keep up 1 your heart, my girl'! I 
 think I can- show them a bout of English quartern-staff 
 that shall keep our heads till yonder craft overhauls us. 
 
 Mabel (rising). — Martin, 'tis thee they fear. Care not for 
 me, husband' ! They will kill thee if thou stayest. Swim 
 towards the coming ship ; remember 1 thou art but one 
 against so many. Save thyself while there is- yet time ; 
 for see, they point towards thee, and draw their knives. 
 Martin, to thee- at least these men will show no mercy. 
 Martin, if thou lov'st me, go ! 
 
ACT HI.] TEDE TO THE CORE. S9 
 
 Martin. — If I love thee ! That would be a pretty way 
 of showing it, wouldn't it ? Leave thee, eh..!: amongst the 
 jaws of these land-sharks ? Now, Mabel, don't thee be a 
 little fool. Keep close and qtiiet, and trust in Him wko 
 has already brought us through the breakers. 
 
 Marah. — Ay, master, and there, are those her© whose 
 aid. I have a right to claim.. 
 
 Wallet. — True,, the Gitanos ; speak to them, girl. 
 
 [Marah mounts quickly to tlie Gttomos; to whom she 
 appeals with earnest gestures. 
 
 Martin. — Nay, please Heaven, we'll get into smooth 
 water without the help of the brown-skins; though (tb 
 Wallet), for the sake of this dear wench, I — I would 
 rather we didn't come to hard knocks. (Marah returns.) 
 Well,, what say they ? 
 
 Marah (with a despairing gesture). — They will render 
 help to me ; but they will strike no blow for you or yours. 
 Yet see ! {showing a poniard). They have given me this.. 
 
 Martin. — Keep it, gpod lass, and take the aid thy friends 
 have proffered thee. If we must go down, there's no mead 
 to draw thee with us. Stand clear ; they're coming. 
 (The conspirators, who have drawn their poniards, advance 
 towards Martin, who keeps them at bay with the spar, 
 Marah standing prepared with her weapon to, assist 
 him.) Now, which among ye wishes to have his brains 
 scattered on these rocks ? The first who comes within 
 the swing of this timber dies, as surely as. my name is 
 Martin Truegold. 
 
 Wallet (to the conspirators). — Hold, sirs I if it be the 
 coming of yonder vessel which urges you to take the life 
 ©£ this man, pause in your intent : her course is stopped. 
 
 Tracy. — By Heaven ! he speaks truth. See, she stands 
 ©ff from us. 
 
 Martin (lowering the spar). — Eight, she does so. And 
 now, my masters, you may spare yourselves the pains 
 ami the sm of killing any one, for the tide will save you 
 the trouble. 
 
 Dangerfield. — The tide ! 
 
 Martin.— Yes ; the tide ! Ere yonder sun sinks— -and 
 .there's not much of him left — the sea will make a dean 
 
40 TBTJE TO THE COBE. [ACT III. 
 
 breach over this rock. The Eddystone at high water lies 
 two fathoms below the waves ! So fling aside your poniards, 
 and let us all pray for that mercy which we shall all soon 
 need. (A pause.) 
 
 Dangerfield. — Martin Truegold, men speak of , you as 
 a swift and skilful swimmer. The crew of that ship, 
 believing that Spaniards only are clustered on this rockj 
 may refuse to aid us ; but she still hovers in the distance : 
 could you reach her ? 
 
 Martin. — And if I could ? 
 
 Dangerfield. — Martin Truegold, pledge to me — to all — 
 your solemn word, your faith as a true Englishman, if we 
 be rescued from these advancing waters, that your lips 
 will ne'er reveal aught that may put our lives in peril ; 
 that no danger to yourself shall tempt you, even by a 
 word, to draw suspicion on me, or those whose cause is 
 mine. Swear this, and we will guard your wife from 
 danger till succour comes. Refuse — and these men (point- 
 ing to the Spanish sailoi-s), who hunger for revenge, shall 
 be loosed to wreak their vengeance ere the waves en- 
 gulf us. 
 
 Martin. — Mabel, thou hearest ; I — I may save thee. 
 
 Mabel. — Yes, yes ; for thyself, Martin, not for me, 
 pledge them the word they ask. 
 
 Martin (raising his hand). — Then witness all : I, Martin 
 Truegold, on the faith of an Englishman, do pledge my 
 word never to reveal by word or deed, whatever may 
 betide me, aught that can draw down peril on thy head or 
 those who league with thee. 
 
 Dangerfield (holding out his hand). — Thy hand upon it. 
 
 Martin (after a moments hesitation). — Must I grasp 
 thine ? Well, my hand upon it ! there (grasping Danger- 
 field's hand) ; but mark, if evil comes to her (pointing to 
 Mabel), though it be but a hair of her head, my tongue 
 is loosed. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Be it so. Now leap, ere it be too late. 
 
 Martin.— Mabel (kissing her), God bless thee! And 
 thou (to Dangerfield), keep thou thy word, or woe upon 
 thy head ! (He springs on a projecting portion of the reef, 
 and leaps into the sea.) 
 
 Dangerfield (as a cry rises from the Spaniards).— 
 
ACT III.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 41 
 
 Gentlemen, ring round this woman ! Keep we our faith ; 
 there is no fear for his. And you, girl (to Makah, who has 
 mounted to the highest point), say, how speeds he ? 
 
 •Makah (watching). — Gallantly, gallantly ; already is he 
 an arrow's flight on his way, and now a boat puts off to 
 meet him. 
 
 Welford. — But the waves, they gain on us with fearful 
 speed. 
 
 Dangerfield. — No matter ; our task is to protect the 
 hostage he has left us : look to -your weapons. Well (to 
 Marah), how goes it now ? 
 
 Marah (gazing earnestly). — I can scarce tell now, the 
 light fades so fast. Yes ; now I see him ; he rises upon 
 a wave far away. And the boat — -joy ! a few more strokes 
 and he will gain it. 
 
 Dangerfield. — He hath done his part, then : for us it 
 is to wait. 
 
 Mabel (raising her hands). — And hope ! 
 
 [Marah unwinds the scarf from her head and waves it. 
 The sea appears to advance rapidly round the rock ; 
 and as the disc of the sun is fast disappearing the 
 curtain falls. 
 
 end of act third. 
 
ACT IT.— Scene I. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 " Guard well this ring Ianthe, in its circle, 
 So tiny it might form the Elf- King's diadem, 
 The mighty question of a Life is oompass'd ! 
 So little, yet so large, have it in jealous keeping." 
 
 Old Play* 
 
 The battlements of Old Plymouth Castle,, by sunrise. On 
 am upper range of ramparts a sentinel is pacing. In 
 the foreground is a turret udth a grated door (l.)>; the 
 ramparts are much overgrown with ivy. As the curtain 
 rises, Marah is seen climbing iher ramparts from the 
 exterior of the castle. She gains the top of the battle- 
 ments, and avoiding the observation of the sentinel, who 
 appears and disappears during the progress of the 
 scene, approaches the grated door of the turret, listens 
 for a moment, and hastily conceals herself. 
 
 Enter from the turret, Shackle, a gaoler, followed 
 by "Wallet. 
 
 Shackle. — Nay, nay, spare thy breath and use thy legs. 
 Daybreak will soon be here. I shall but make a turn or 
 two round the walls ; and then fast again must I have 
 thee under lock and key. 
 
 Wallet. — But hear thee — hear thee, now, good Master 
 Shackle, 'tis but little I ask thee — naught but an answer to 
 a question. 
 
 Shackle. — Ay, ay, but prisoners may not ask questions 
 — at least, they must expect but short answers, if they 
 do. 
 
 Wallet. — Who says that I am a prisoner ? 
 
ACTTV.] TRtTE TO THE CGKE. • 43 
 
 Shackle. — Marry ! they who placed fee Tmcler my 
 wardship, mark you. Aid yet,, like a soft-hearted old 
 fool as I am, I 1 suffer thee to take the- air for some 
 minutes' space upon these ramparts. It is weak, most weak, 
 only 
 
 Wallet. — Only I have given thee license to take to 
 thyself the contents of my pack, Master Shackle. Think 
 of the three piled Genoa velvets, the brocades from Lyons, 
 of which thou art now the- master. Ay, and consider 
 further the reward which I have promised thee if thou 
 wilt but 
 
 Shackle. — Give thee freedom — that is, put my neck into 
 the hempen noose, whioh they say is waiting' for thee, 
 which, of a; surety, would be my guerdon. And yet in 
 good sooth I'm sdrry for thee. 
 
 Wallet.: — Thou art ? 
 
 Shackle. — Ay, in my younger days, I carried a pack 
 and a good ell wand myself, and that's one reason why I 
 should stretch a point or two for thee, brother chapman. 
 But what the plague hadst thou to. be meddling with wares 
 fit only for thy betters? Treason forsooth ! High treason! 
 Pish! that's a ware fit only for dukes, and earls, and 
 queens, and such like, to deal in. 
 
 Wallet (aside). — So, this ia their drift then. And 
 charge they this offence- on me ? 
 
 §HA<JELE. — Ay, truly ; they say thow art as great a 
 traitor as he who will swing- this morning from his own 
 Beacon on Plymouth Hoe. 
 
 Wallet (anxiously). — The- beacon ! Mean you True- 
 gold — Mai?tm Truegold ? 
 
 Shackle. — Surely do I. Martin, the pilot, of Plymouth 
 H©e: He who? was tried yesterday in the great hall of the 
 castle, and condemned to die the death of- a traitor to-<iay. 
 
 Wallet. — To-day ! (Aside.) Villains ! remorseless v«- 
 laittB, thus to warder him !' And I — I, whom they cage 
 here, so powerless to help him: Good Master Shaekle, I 
 think thou told'st me, yesterday, tliat our good Queen was 
 on her way to visit this town of Plymouth ? 
 
 Shackle. — And I told thee truth. The Q>een, Heaven 
 save her Grace! rested yesterday at Creditoa. Ay 3 and 
 wMi a rare company of gentlemen in her train. 
 
44 TBTJE TO THE CORK [ACT IV. 
 
 Wallet. — And with them, as I think, Walsingham — 
 Sir Francis Walsingham ? 
 
 Shackle. — Ay, I heard his name amongst them. 
 
 Wallet. — Knowest thou when the queen may be ex- 
 pected ? 
 
 Shackle. — Not before noon. 
 
 Wallet. — And — and he, the prisoner, at what hour 
 does he suffer death ? 
 
 Shackle (testily)^— And how does that concern thee ? 
 Thou art not to bear him company, at least, not to-day. 
 
 Wallet. — But it doth concern me, thou must answer 
 me. 
 
 Shackle. — Must, forsooth ! But there, my good nature 
 will be the ruin of me. At ten o'clock Martin Truegold 
 will — eh ! what's that ? (Marah, who has endeavoured to 
 overhear the conversation, makes an involuntary movement, 
 arousing the attention of Shackle ; as he turns, she conceals 
 herself.") Methought I — Umph ! the wind, muttering 
 through the ivy. But (turning to Wallet) I've wasted 
 too much time with thee [going to the door of the turret, 
 which he locks). There ! between this and yonder grating 
 (pointing b.) thou may'st stretch thy legs. And make the 
 best use of them, for I shall be back anon. 
 
 Wallet. — Nay, but good brother o' the wand, sweet 
 Master, Shackle, but one word 
 
 Shackle. — Tut, tut ! there have been over many words 
 already; hold thy peace,, with a murrain to thee! else 
 I'll lock thee fast before I go. 
 
 Wallet. — A messenger, good Shackle ; procure me but 
 a messenger, thou shalt have the weight of thy keys in 
 gold. 
 
 Shackle (angrily). — Thou shalt have the weight of my 
 keys over thy pate. Hold thy peace, I say : a pretty coil 
 this. [Exit Shackle (e.) 
 
 Wallet (despairingly).— \J$&[mi ! useless— ras well appeal 
 to, these granite walls. And this brave man to die thus ! 
 die! with rescue so near, yet so hopeless! (Marah 
 approaches him, and lays' her hand upon his shoulder.) 
 Marah ! you ! 
 
 Marah (raising her hand to her lips). — Hush 1 Yonder 
 man's footsteps still fall upon my ear. So, he hath passed 
 
ACT IV.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 45 
 
 and locked the grating ; this way, this way. More in the 
 shadow of this turret, lest the sentinel observe us. Now, 
 where is he ? 
 
 Wallet. — Whom mean you ? 
 
 Maeah. — My master. Tell me in what part of this 
 stronghold lies Martin Truegold ? 
 
 Wallet. — Alas ! I know not. I am myself a prisoner. 
 But you, girl, how gained you entrance ? 
 
 Maeah. — Enough that I am here. And yet, perhaps, 
 'tis better you should know. See (pointing over the ram- 
 parts), by that path I came. 
 
 Wallet (looking over). — Mean you that you have 
 climbed that wall — that wall, at least some eighty feet 
 from the moat beneath 1 
 
 Maeah. — Ay, and do you marvel I should have done 
 so ? Man ! I have climbed the straight face of many a 
 cliff of doable height with little else to aid me but the 
 fissures of its sides. And for what ! to take the eggs of 
 the sea-eagle, because he prized them to deck his chamber. 
 This I have done to win a smile from him. Is it strange, 
 then, that I have found these ramparts an easier task when 
 they hold him within them a prisoner ? — a prisoner doomed 
 to No ; my lips shall not utter it. 
 
 Wallet. — Thou know'st his peril, then ? 
 
 Maeah. — Ay, none so well as I. Stranger, I saw him, 
 my master, Martin Truegold, stand yesterday before his 
 judge, accused — mark you — accused of treason to his 
 Queen. 
 
 Wallet. — And his answer — gave he none ? 
 
 Maeah. — None ! none ! he stood and heard the slander ; 
 stood mute amidst the murdering hounds who bayed the 
 lie against him. 
 
 Wallet. — But his wife, Mabel ; and thou, too, Marah ? 
 
 Maeah. — Ay ! thou would'st ask were we silent ? / 
 was not ; but when I hurled the lie against them the gipsy 
 was thrust forth with scoff and blow. And for his wife, 
 the law, forsooth, permitted not her voice to be heard in 
 his behalf. 
 
 Wallet. — He keeps, then, his oath of silence — keeps it 
 even unto death. 
 
 Maeah (passionately). — No, no; I tell thee, no! I 
 
46 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 have watched through the Bight, and if the lore s£ our 
 tribe my mother taught me fails me not, the dark hour 
 will be 'scaped — the silver thread be found again. And 
 
 yet, oh me ! if I should have read untruly But 
 
 thou ! (turning suddenly on Wallet) why hast thou .made 
 no effort to free him from these snares ? 
 
 Wallet. — Because I myself am feared, distrusted, held 
 a prisoner, by those who seek Martin Truegold's life. For 
 five days I have not been without my dungeon. Had not 
 Trevannion himself been on board the ship that bore us 
 
 from the reef I had found means to Yet stay ! if 
 
 thou hast climbed these walls — yes ; there's still a hope — 
 Marah, thou may' at save thy master. 
 
 Maeah. — May the bright stars bless him who tells me 
 so. Speak ! what must I do ? 
 
 Wallet. — 'Gould'st thou descend from these ramparts? 
 
 Maeah. — By the way I came ? 
 
 Wallet. — Would thy heart fail thee ? 'Tis a fearful 
 
 Maeah (impatiently). — Fail ! Go on ; thy bidding. 
 Shackle (without, singing). — 
 
 " Over the moorland and over the lea." 
 
 Wallet. — Hist ! the gaoler returns. Quick — to -thy 
 hiding-place. [Re-enter Shackle. Maeah conceals herself. 
 
 Shackle. — a Over the moorland " Now my bird 
 
 o' the moors, art thou ready for thy cage ? 
 
 Wallet. — Eeady ! not I, I promise you ; a few minutes 
 more grace. Come now, what matters five minutes or £0, 
 more or less ? 
 
 Shackle. — What matters it! It may matter the losing 
 of my place. In, I say (unlocks the grating in the turret). 
 
 Wallet. — Come, come, for the sake of old days. Why 
 I heard, thee singing the pedler's ditty e'en now, and rarely, 
 too. What a voice thou must have had when thou trod'-si 
 the road, singing— 
 
 " Over the moorland and over the lea, 
 
 The packman lie comes from the fair, oh i 
 I trow never guest is more welcome than he, 
 Wherever Tie calls with his ware, oh !" 
 
 Therela another verse. Hum ! how goes It? 
 
ACT IV.] TEUE TO THE GORE. 47 
 
 Shackle.— How goes it 1 Why thus — . Ods bodikins I 
 many's the mile I've trolled it over the heather,. 
 
 " For dames must have kirtles and kerchiefs so fine, 
 And — and " 
 
 Wallet (prompting him)* — 
 
 "And their husbands in hosen go Bhare, oh !" 
 
 Shackle. — Thou hast it : — 
 
 " While ribbons for head-gear— and^and 
 
 Wallet. — 
 
 " And gewgaws that shine." 
 
 Together. — 
 
 "*' Maidens need for their bonny brown hair, oh !" 
 
 Wallet. — Ha ! a rare song ; and how thou must have 
 trolled it. Ah ! thou must have been the man to take the 
 measure of thy customers' feet, more especially the maidens. 
 And. — and thau'lt give me the five minutes ? 
 
 Shackle (softening). — Go to, go to ! thou'rt a wheedling 
 rogue ; but there, thou shali have them, and I!ll stay .and 
 keep thee company. 
 
 Wallet. — INay, nay ; that were asking too much ; and 
 in good truth, I would weave some thoughts out of this 
 loom here (tapping his forehead) to meet this charge of 
 treason : the morning sea-breeze will quicken my brain ; 
 but let me be alone. 
 
 Shackle. — Well, well, as thou wilt ; but mark ! only &v& 
 minutes ; the guard will be here anon to change the watch. 
 And then I must have thee away. . (He enters the turret, 
 closing and locking the grating iehind Mm, as he sings the 
 last lines of the song) — 
 
 "While ribbons for head-gear and gewgaws that shine, 
 Maidens need for their bonny brown hair, oh 1" 
 
 Wallet (listening at the grating, then turning to Marah). 
 — Now approach ; every moment is precious. 
 
 Marah — Use them then, I listen. 
 
 Wallet. — Know'st thou the road to Crediton ? 
 
 Marah. — Yes, and the shortest path to it. 
 
 Wallet. — Ay, but it is the broad high road can alone 
 lead to safety. See ? st :tho.u this ring ? (taking the ring he 
 
48 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 showed in Act 1st from the inner pocket in his doublet?) 
 Take it — guardit. Speed towards Crediton; turnnot from 
 thy course till thou meetest a proud array of horsemen ; 
 in the midst of the throng will ride the Queen of this 
 realm — Elizabeth — and by her side her trusty servant, 
 Walsingham ; care not for threat or blow (but what need 
 to tell thee that) ; place the ring in the hands of him I 
 have named. Tell him the pedler, "Wallet, is in peril, a 
 prisoner in this castle. Tell him that cruel wrong will be 
 done in Plymouth Town this morn, unless he speeds to 
 stop it. Why dost thou gaze upon me ? Quick — to the 
 wall ! no hand or foot can do this errand but thine own. 
 
 Maeah. — And while I do it, they may lead him forth 
 to — no — let another bear the message (returning the ring.) 
 If he must die {with a bitter smile), why I must be near 
 to reckon with his slayers ! 
 
 Wallet (seizing her wrist). — Girl, thou hast held within 
 thy hands the only means of rescue. Marah, thou lov'st 
 this man. It needs not the burning crimson on thy cheek 
 to show me the secret of thy heart — thou lov'st him. 
 
 Marah. — Think what thou wilt. At least, were every 
 hair upon my head a life, I'd give them all to save him. 
 Methinks his fair wife could do no more. 
 
 "Wallet. — And yet thou dalliest with the moments on 
 which his life depends. Hark ! I hear the returning foot- 
 steps of my gaoler, if he behold thee, every shred of hope 
 is lost. Eesolve, ere it be too late. 
 
 Maeah (gazing at him).— I have scanned thy hand. 
 And there is that within thy face which tells me I may 
 trust thee — and I will trust thee. Give me the ring! 
 Thy errand shall be done. (She takes the ring, and gaining 
 that part of the ramparts by which she came, prepares to 
 descend.) 
 
 "Wallet (watching her as she descends). — Remember 
 Walsingham ! So, so ; be not too rash ! My heart turns 
 sick to see her — how swiftly she descends, clinging to ivy 
 
 stem and roughened stone. And yet how surely (As 
 
 she makes her way down, a stone, loosened by her foot, 
 is detached, and falls.) Ah, Heaven shield her ! yet 
 she clings still — but the sentinel — he ■ pauses on his 
 round. Ho there, soldier ! for pity's sake, fire not ! 'tis 
 
ACT IV.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 49 
 
 but a girl. (The sentinel levels his arquebus, and fires. 
 Marah clings for a moment, and falls.) Lost, lost' I the 
 waters of the moat have closed above her head ! 
 
 [A drum beats an alarm. 
 Shackle (re-entering hastily from the turret).— In, in. 
 What work is here 1 get thee in, I say ! 
 
 Wallet (striving with Shackle, who endeavours to drag 
 him away). — No, no ! let me gaze from these ramparts, 
 but for a moment. Loose thy hold — loose it, old man ; I 
 would not harm thee. Nay, then (he flings Shackle from 
 him). Better / dare the task, than stay here to perish. 
 \He rushes towards the rampart 
 Shackle (calling). — Ho there ! Guard, I say, — guard ! 
 \_An officer, attended by arquebusiers, enters from the 
 turret, the soldiers present their pieces at Wallet, 
 tJie upper ramparts being, at the same time, filled by 
 armed men. 
 Wallet (turning from the ramparts). — I yield me, sirs. 
 (Aside.) "Tis over, then. And Heaven's hand, not mine, 
 must shape the rest. 
 
 [He passes out guarded. The scene changes to the 
 court-yard of the citadel. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 THE HEAET OF GOLD. 
 
 "The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 The man's the gowd for a' that." 
 
 Burks. 
 
 The Courtyard oj Plymouth Citadel, in. the centre is 
 a large gateway with portcullis, &c. On each side of the 
 Quadrangle is an archway, with a short flight of steps. 
 
50 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 On tlte right is an antique stone bench or seat. Enter 
 from the archway on the left, Sm Gilbert Teevan- 
 nion, followed by Dangeefield. Teevannion carries' 
 an open letter in Ms hand. 
 
 Teevannion (turning to DANGEBFIELD).^-Well, your 
 counsel ? Shall we accede to this request ? 
 
 Dangeefield. — -So please you, let me read the letter ? 
 
 [Teevannion gives the letter. Dangeefield reads— 
 
 "Howaed of Effingham to Sie Gilbeet Teevannion, 
 Governor of Plymouth Castle, greeting — 
 
 " Forasmuch as I learn it is your purpose to execute 
 as a traitor Martin Truegold — known as the Pilot of 
 Plymouth Hoe-^now know, that it is my wish to have 
 speech with »the prisoner before he dies. Be sure that 
 I have good reasons for demanding this. I am on my 
 way, and, in brief space, shall by my own presence sup- 
 port the claims I make for this delay." 
 
 [Returns the letter. 
 
 Teevannion. — How say you ? Sounds not this like a 
 command ? 
 
 Dangeefield. — I read it so. But Howard of Effingham, 
 though holding chief command of the Fleet, hath no 
 warrant to cdmpel obedience from the Governor of 
 Plymouth Citadel. Martin Truegold hath had open 
 trial; is condemned. "Delays," saith the proverb, "are 
 dangerous;" trebly so are they to us. If" you will listen 
 to my counsel, it is this : hasten the hour of this man's 
 death rather than protract it. 
 
 Teevannion. — And yet to defy Effingham might work 
 nte evil. The Earl is all powerful with the Queen, and 
 might 
 
 Dangeefield. — Displace you from the post you hold ! 
 And for what? Because you were over zealous to send 
 a traitor to the scaffold. Sir Gilbert Trevannion ! the 
 stake we play for is Life, and we must count no petty risks 
 to win the game. 
 
 Teevannion. — Yet by thy advice, the pilot's wif e- - -"■ 
 
 Dangeefield. — Is free. But to have menaced her had 
 
ACT IV.J TRUE TO THE CORE. 51 
 
 been at once destruction ; let him but suspect that she is 
 perilled, and the seal is taken from his lips. 
 
 Trevannion. — Enough ! {Enter from the tower on the 
 left, an officer of the Citadel, carrying m his hand a belt to 
 which is attached a pouch.) Now, sir, the alarm we heard 
 upon the western ramparts, hast learned the cause ? 
 
 Officer. — Some mad creature was seen by the sentinel 
 clinging midway on the wall — he fired on her. 
 
 Trevannion. — How ? A woman, say you ? 
 
 Officer. — So 'tis thought. 
 
 Dangerfield (anxiously). — Did the bullet reach its 
 mark ?' 
 
 , Officer. — The poor' wretch dropped into the moat,, and 
 doubtless lies dead within it. 
 
 Dangerfield. — What have you there ? 
 
 Officer. — A leathern belt found floating on the Wateiv — 
 as yet, the only trace of her who wore it. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Let me see it. (Officer hand's him the 
 girdle.) Methinks I should know this belt. So (examining 
 the pouch), a cross-bolt ! As I thought, 'tis Marah's. 
 
 Trevannion. — Marah's ! 
 
 Dangerfield (aside to Trevannion).— The gipsy-serving 
 wench at Truegold's hostel. A very savage both in love 
 and hate. The girl hath met her death in this wild at- 
 tempt to gain access to her master. 'Tis better so 
 
 (Returns the belt to. the offieer.) 
 
 [A loud shout and tumult is heard beyond the port- 
 cullis. 
 Trevannion (to the offieer).~^-Wka.t means this tumult ? 
 Hasten and bring me word. 
 
 [The officer bows, goes out by the centre gateway, and. 
 
 returns. 
 
 Officer. — My Lord of Effingham has entered the 
 
 Castle, and with him — bearing down all restraint — a 
 
 crowd of mariners and townsmen. See ! they are 
 
 here! 
 
 Enter, through the centre archway, Effingham, 
 leading by the hand Mabel Truegold, followed by 
 several officers of his ship, mariners, townspeople r 
 &c. dsc. 
 
 e 2 
 
52 TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Effingham (raising his plumed bonnet). — A fair good 
 morrow to Sir Gilbert Trevannion. I trust that he will 
 forgive my unbidden presence thus surrounded. A some- 
 what unruly following, I own, but the knaves are well nigh 
 mad with joy for the great victory over our Spanish foes, 
 which Heaven hath been pleased to give to our arms. 
 
 Trevannion (returning the salute). — My Lord of Effing- 
 ham, at least, must ever be a welcome guest within this 
 castle. In what way can I serve him ? 
 
 Effingham. — By granting the request with which my 
 letter has already made him acquainted. 
 
 Trevannion. — My lord, pardon me if I say, to yield it 
 can answer no good purpose. Martin Truegold hath been 
 found guilty of foul treason to his Queen ; treason which 
 he denied not before me, his judge. 
 
 Mabel. — Ay, through false accusers ! 
 
 Mariners. — Ay, ay, false accusers. Justice ! justice ! 
 
 Effingham (raising his hand). — Peace there! Sir 
 Gilbert Trevannion, the streets of Plymouth are thronged 
 by multitudes who threaten the peace of her Majesty's 
 town. I have pledged my word to the people that Martin 
 Truegold shall be questioned by myself. If you refuse me, 
 on your head will rest the riot and bloodshed that will 
 most surely follow. But give me the privilege I ask, and 
 if I find no cause to stay his sentence, my own sword — ay, 
 were he of my own blood — shall aid you see it executed. 
 
 Trevannion (to Dangerfield). — You hear ? 
 
 Dangerfield (aside). — It is the lesser evil to accede. 
 You must yield. 
 
 Trevannion (to Effingham). — Be it as you will, my 
 lord. (To the officer.) Conduct the prisoner hither. 
 
 [Exit officer by the gateway on the left. 
 
 Effingham. — And his accusers ? are they present ? 
 
 Trevannion. — They stand beside me. (Pointing to 
 Chudleigh, Welford, and Tracy," who have just entered.) 
 These gentlemen, whose names are not unknown in Devon- 
 shire. 
 
 Effingham (returning the salute of the conspirators). 
 
 And you, sir (to Dangerfield) — you, as I think, are not of 
 Devon ? 
 
ACT IV.] TRUE TO THE COKE. 53 
 
 Dangerfield. — No, my good lord, I am of York, a mer- 
 chant of that city. 
 
 Effingham. — By name Adam Musgrave. And some- 
 time a guest of Sir Gilbert Trevannion ? 
 
 [Dangerfield bows. 
 
 Trevannion. — An honoured guest, my lord. I pledge 
 my -word for the truth of Adam Musgrave. 
 
 Mabel. — Then is thy word pledged for a foul traitor. 
 And thou as false a judge, as lie a lying witness ! 
 
 Effingham. — Peace, Mabel Truegold, thy husband 
 comes. Be sure both he and thou shalt have full 
 hearing. 
 
 [Effingham seats himself on the stone bench ; at the 
 same time Martin Truegold enters from the gate- 
 way on the right, guarded. Murmurs from the 
 mariners, &c. &c. 
 
 Mabel. — Martin ! Martin ! speak and clear thyself. 
 
 Effingham. — Silence, I say! Have I not said that 
 justice shall be done ? Martin Truegold ! 
 
 Martin. — Here, my honoured lord. 
 
 Effingham. — Martin Truegold, yesterday thou wert 
 arraigned upon the charge of high treason to thy Queen 
 and country. And upon the evidence of thy accusers 
 condemned to die. Now mark, I have come hither to hear 
 thee if thou canst, prove thyself what I have always thought 
 thee, a true and loyal Englishman. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Martin {with a burst of feeling). — Say ! Why I say, 
 God bless your honour for trying to lend a helping hand 
 to a brother sailor in distress. 
 
 Effingham. — Martin, here stand the witnesses against 
 thee. Where are thy own ? 
 
 Martin. — Your honour, there is but one witness who 
 can speak for me. 
 
 Effingham. — And where is he ? 
 
 Martin {reverently). — Watching us all! My Master, 
 my lord, and yours. 
 
 Mabel. — Not so, not so, my lord. I am here to speak 
 for him. Not he, but they (pointing to Dangerfield and 
 the rest) are guilty of the crime with which they charge 
 him. I do accuse 
 
54 TBJJE TO THE CORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Martin (interrupting her). — Mabel — My lord, I pray you 
 let me speak -with her, ere yon proceed ; your patience 
 stall be taxed but for a short space (Effingham makes a 
 sign to Mabel, who runs to Martin), and, so please you, out 
 of earshot. 
 
 Effingham. — Let lit be so. 
 
 [All retire some distance from Martin and Mabel. 
 
 Martin. — Mabel, lass, dost remember thy promise, 
 when, five days ago, we plighted our troth within the 
 church ? 
 
 Mabel. — To love thee, Martin dear, to love thee with all 
 my heart and soul, to honour thee 
 
 .Martin. — And to obey me. Mabel, my own darling, thou 
 must listen to me ; twice have we stood, yea ! upon the 
 very brink of the grave, and twice have we been snatched 
 from the peril. Well, let us still trust in that mercy 
 already shown us. But if it be ordered that I should die, 
 I must die a true man ! 
 
 Mabel. — And hast thou not kept thy faith ? Too well, 
 too well thou hast. But 7, / took no oath. / pledged no 
 faith,, and I must speak, Martin ! Martin, 'tis not only life, 
 'tis good fame these fiends would rob thee of ; Oh let me 
 Speak and baffle them. 
 
 Martin. — No, no, that were to break my oath, break 
 it through thee ; and be a trickster with my word. 
 Would' st have me be one, Mabel? would' st have me juggle 
 with the faith I pledged to Heaven ? That were indeed to 
 be a traitor. No ! let them say their worst. Truth is 
 sure to come to light, my lass, whate'er betide, and 
 then 
 
 Mabel (bitterly). — Truth ! truth ! but when? When 
 thou art lying in thy grave, and I am mad with grief, or 
 dead beside thee. 
 
 Martin (wildly). — Mabel ! Wife ! Would'st thou have 
 me die a craven ? a drivelling coward ? Thou art striving 
 hard to make me one. 
 
 Mabel (flinging her arms round Awi).~^No! no! Martin, 
 thou art right. I will obey thee, whate'er the pang. There ! 
 (laying her head on his breast) there ! thus lying on thy 
 heart, methinks I share its strength to meet my agony. 
 
ACT IV.J TRUE TO THE CORE. .55 
 
 Martin (hissing Aer).— That's my own darling lass. 
 Bless thee, my own dear lamb ! To thee most surely shall 
 this sharp wind be tempered {stroking her hair). And 
 now, my lord, I'm ready. Let these men speak. 
 
 Trevannion (aside to Dangerfield). — Will he fail us ? 
 
 Dangerfield (aside).- .-Fear not ; the steel within thy 
 scabbard is not so true. 
 
 Effingham. — Martin, these witnesses have sworn that on 
 the day the Spanish ship La Santa FS was lost upon the 
 reef of Eddystone, they put off for the rock to save the 
 remnant of her crew; and that amidst the Spanish 
 mariners they found thee and her who clings to thee. 
 
 Martin. — Your honour, they best know how they found 
 themselves upon the Eddystone. For myself 
 
 Effingham. — Well, man ? 
 
 Martin. — For fifteen years, my lord, boy and man, have 
 I plied a pilot's calling upon this coast of Devon. How 
 I've done it is not for me to say ; but I think there are 
 some here who'll bear witness that Martin Truegold hasn't 
 yet to learn how to steer a ship. 
 
 The CROWD.-^-Ay, none like thee, Martin— none like 
 thee ! 
 
 Martin. — I am accused, your honour, of being aboard 
 that Spanish vessel. Well, that's true. I was upon her 
 deck ; I did direct her helm ; but seeing that she ran her 
 bows right upon the rock of Eddystone, and that eight 
 hundred of England's foes perished in the wreck, I say 
 that might be bad seamanship for King Philip of Spain, 
 but, to my thinking, Elizabeth of England — (long life to 
 her !) — hasn't much reason to find fault with the steering. 
 
 Merryweather.*— ■ Hurrah, Martin ! That's a shot 'twixt 
 wind and water for 'em. 
 
 Effingham. — Silence, thou knave. (To Martin.) How 
 earnest thou, an English pilot, amidst the Spanish fleet ? 
 
 Martin. — Well, not because I loved it. Be sure of 
 that. 
 
 EFFiNGHAM.~~Hast thou no other answer ? Wert thou, 
 entrapped, forced to the service ? Speak I I will uphold 
 thee against the highest noble of the land. Silent ! What 
 shall assure me 'twas not the tempest drove the Spanish 
 ship upon the reef, and not thy guidance ? 
 
56. TRUE TO THE CORE. [ACT IV. 
 
 Martin. — My past life. Your honour has known me 
 since I was scarce higher than your knee, and if you and 
 those who stand about you can believe me so foul a traitor, 
 and so black a liar, why, the sooner you put the halter 
 round my neck the better. 
 
 The Ceowd. — No, Martin, no ; we believe thee, we be- 
 lieve thee. 
 
 Dangeefield (aside to Teevannion). — The scroll. 
 Produce it. 
 
 Teevannion. — There is yet another proof against him. 
 This parchment scroll, written in Spanish, and found 
 upon him. My friend, the merchant here, hath skill in 
 foreign tongues. Shall he read it ? 
 
 [Effingham makes a sign of assent. Dangeefield 
 
 takes the parchment from Teevannion, and reads. 
 
 " The sharks are gathering, but they need a pilot fish to 
 
 guide them to their prey. Find him, send him without 
 
 delay. A collar of jewels shall circle his neck, and every 
 
 scale on his body be turned to gold." 
 
 Effingham. — Let me see the writing. (It is passed to 
 him. To Maetin.) How came this parchment in thy 
 
 Martin. — I took it from the wing of a carrier pigeon. 
 Marah, my gipsy serving-wench, brought down the bird 
 with her crossbow on — that day your honour drank your 
 wine to my health as an honest man. 
 
 Effingham. — Know you for whom this message was 
 intended ? 
 
 Maetin. — Mayhap I do. 
 
 35ffingham. — Reveal their names, then. 
 
 Martin. — Heaven may. / can't. 
 
 .Effingham (impatiently). — Now, by my hope of grace ! 
 "thou triflest with thy life. One more question — look well 
 to' thy reply. My last charge, ere I sought my ship, was 
 to bid thee kindle thy Beacon. Martin Truegold, was my 
 bidding done ? Was it thy hand that warned England of 
 Jber coming peril ? 
 
 Martin (sadly). — No. 'Twas not my hand. 
 
 .Effingham. — Not thine ! - By whose, then ? 
 
 Dangerfielp (stepping forward). — By mine, my lord. 
 
ACT IV.] TRtJK TO THE COKE. 57 
 
 Finding the cliff deserted, and that man's task undone, I 
 seized a newly-lighted brand which had been flung aside, 
 and gave the warning signal. 
 
 A Voice from the Crowd. — Thou liest ! "Way there ! 
 "Way, I say ! 
 
 [Maeah rushes through the throng. 
 
 Maeah {confronting Dangerfield). — I say thou liest ! 
 'Twas I who fired the beacon. 'Twas I who saw thee give 
 drugged wine to Martin Truegold ; who saw thee and thy 
 fellow-traitors bear him away a senseless, helpless man on 
 board the Spanish ship. 'Twas I who, on that ship, beheld 
 him rend the snare you cast around him ; beheld him choose 
 death — death for himself and for his new-made bride — 
 rather than swerve a foot to do the bidding of thy Spanish 
 friends. 
 
 Trevannion. — Seize on this wretched mummer ! Scourge 
 her from the gates ! 
 
 Maeah. — No, no ! Not a finger dare they lay upon me ! 
 Hark ! (The sound of trumpets and distant shouts are 
 heard). Hear you those joyous cries? Sir Gilbert Tre- 
 vannion, it is your Queen ! your Queen ! who comes to 
 judge thee for thy evil deeds. (To Martin.) Master ! 
 (kneeling ' at his feet and kissing his hand), she comes to 
 save thee ! 
 
 [The shouts swell louder ; the sound of cannon is 
 heard ; and surrounded by her attendant nobles, 
 guards, &c, Queen Elizabeth, mounted on her 
 palfrey, appears at the centre archway. The royal 
 standard is borne behind her. The Queen rides 
 forward a few paces ; she is met by Effingham, who 
 bends his knee; then rising, he assists her to dis- 
 mount, and leads her to the seat he had occupied, 
 and over which he throws his cloak. 
 
 (Chorus.) 
 
 Fling to the wind our Standard, 
 
 Set free its Lions bold ; 
 Our banners' stately warders, 
 
 In all their regal gold. 
 
58 TRUE %Q THE CORE. [ACT,!?. 
 
 For peerless Una* cometh, 
 
 "lis fitting they attend, 
 Her stern and faithful guardians, 
 
 Wherever she may wend. 
 
 Uplift the silver Lilies 
 
 Above her virgin head : 
 What foes, with such a ruler; 
 
 Need England ever dread ? 
 
 All hail ! great Tudor's daughter, 
 
 Wise scion of thy race ; 
 Long may'st thou live, Elizabeth, 
 
 The sceptre's sway to grace ! 
 
 In Heart the Lion of our shield, 
 
 In Soul its-Lily pure ; 
 With England's fame entwined thy name 
 
 For ever shall endure. 
 
 The Queen (seated). — Sir Francis Walsingham, perform 
 your duty. Yet stay ; first command at once the presence 
 of the man you seek. 
 
 [Walsingham bows, and advancing to an Officer of 
 the garrison, gives him a paper. The Officer 
 receives it respectfully, and enters the gateway on 
 the left. 
 
 The Queen. — See there be no delay. And now your 
 task. 
 
 Walsingham (advancing to Teevannion). — Sir Gilbert 
 Trevannion, by warrant of our gracious Sovereign, I do 
 attach thee as a traitor to this realm. Also you, Maurice 
 Ohudleigh, Giles Tracy, and Stephen Welford, I do attaint 
 ye as aiders and abettors in this man's treason. Your 
 swords. 
 
 [Sir Gilbert Trevannion and the others give up their 
 swords to an Officer of the Queen. 
 
 Trevannion. — My liege, my offence I know not ; but I 
 trust that proo£™^«. 
 
 * The allegory of Una (or Virtue), with her attendant lion, in 
 Spenser's " Faery Queen," was , often, by. courtly poets, associated 
 with the name of Elizabeth. 
 
ACT IV.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 59 
 
 The Queen. — Proof! Ay, by my troth, sir, full .and 
 sufficient proofs have we against thee. Long hath our 
 faithful Walsingham suspected thee, and by a most trusty 
 agent made himself master of thy most secret schemes.* 
 Now — Our patience tires. Where is this witness ? 
 
 [Enter Wallet, attended by an Ofeicek. 
 
 Walsingham (indicating Wallet, who kneels to the 
 Queen). — Here,, my liege. 
 
 The Queen. — Stand up, man ! So this, then, Sir 
 Francis, is the trusty ferret that hath unearthed yonder 
 vermin 1 
 
 Walsingham. — A trusty friend to England, your Majesty. 
 
 The Queen. — And therefore friend to me. (To Wallet.) 
 Now- — thy charge against these men. 
 
 Wallet. — Communion with our enemies, the Spaniards, 
 and intent to deliver up this castle of Plymouth into their 
 hands. But I see one traitor who, as I think, stands 
 unattainted. My liege, I do accuse this man, Geoffrey 
 Dangerfield ! 
 
 The Queen— Dangerfield ! 
 
 Wallet (advancing to the Priest). — Yes, Geoffrey Dan- 
 gerfield, Jesuit priest of St. Omer ! falsely calling thyself 
 Adam Musgrave, of York ; arch-traitor and false accuser 
 of this most true and loyal man (pointing to Maetin), I do 
 denounce thee ! (laying his hand on the Priests shoulder.) 
 
 Dangerfield (shaking off his touch). — Spy ! reptile ! 
 crawl hence to those who hired thee ; thy touch defiles me ! 
 
 Wallet. — No, priest ! no hireling ! Avenger — Avenger 
 of a kinsman's blood ! 'Tis Eichard Cranmer tells thee so ! f 
 'Tis Eichard Cranmer, whose grandsire's dying pangs were 
 mocked by thee within the market-place of Oxford. I 
 
 * Walsingham, certainly one of the most astute of Elizabeth's 
 statesmen, was renowned for the subtle modes by which he foiled 
 lie domestic enemies of his sovereign. One of the principal weapons 
 he used was the employment of agents, who, pretending to join the 
 disaffected, made themselves master of their schemes, and by timely 
 warning enabled the minister to avert the many dangers with which 
 at this period England was threatened. 
 
 f It is well known that Cranmer was married in early manhood. 
 His wife died in childbirth, and it is believed the infant (a son) sur- 
 vived. This the author trusts will be a sufficient apology for intro- 
 ducing a descendant of the Archbishop in this drama. 
 
fiO TRUE TO THE CORK [ACT IV. 
 
 marked thee, priest, boy as I was : I marked thy cruel 
 smile, thy bitter words, amidst thy fellow-fiends the worst 
 of all. i" marked thee ; and as the flames rose over the 
 white head of Thomas Cranmer, I swore to track thee 
 through life, nor leave thee till the headsman's axe repays 
 the pile of Oxford. 
 
 The Queen. — Peace, Cranmer ! fair trial shall these 
 men receive, and be judged by their offences. Kemove 
 them. 
 
 Dangerfield. — Fiat voluntas Dei ! 
 
 \Tlie Conspirators are removed, guarded. 
 
 The Queen (to Cbanmek). — But where is thy dusky 
 messenger, the gipsy girl ? So (to Maeah, who advances 
 and kneels) we owe thee something, girl, for thy share in 
 unmasking treason. Hast thou no boon to ask of us ? 
 Let it be one that we can reasonably grant, we pledge 
 our royal word it shall be thine. 
 
 Maeah (rising and pointing to a group of the Gitanos, 
 who have mingled in the crowd). — Great Queen, be this, 
 then, the boon I ask of thee. These people are of my own 
 race, brought hither from their own land against their 
 will. Give them the means of rejoining their kindred. 
 
 The Queen. — It shall be done ; but for thyself ? 
 
 Maeah. — For herself, thy servant asks but to depart 
 with them. 
 
 Maettn. — Depart, Marah ! My brave, my faithful 
 wench ! Pardon me, your Majesty, if I speak unbidden — 
 but to her I owe my life, my 
 
 Maeah. — Master, it must be so ! I have sworn it by 
 an oath no daughter of my race can break. The stars 
 have heard my vow. Master, farewell ! (She retires to the 
 Gitanos.) 
 
 The Queen. — And now for thee, Martin Truegold. We 
 have heard thy story on our way ; we know what England 
 owes to thee. Speak : how shall thy Queen repay thee ? 
 
 Maetin. — Eepay me ! So please your Grace, Martin 
 Truegold requires nothing but your Majesty's kind words. 
 And yet — if 'twere not too great a boon to ask,'if I might 
 kiss the fair and dainty hand that governs us so well a 
 proud man should I be to my dying day. 
 
ACT IV.] TRUE TO THE CORE. 61 
 
 The Queen (smiling). — Ah, ha ! thou art a bold fellow 
 to refuse our bounty, and yet crave a favour we accord 
 only to those of gentle blood. This merits chastisement. 
 Approach ! Kneel down ! My Lord of Effingham, thy 
 sword. (She takes the Earl's sword, and lays the blade on 
 Martin's shoulder.)- Rise up, Sir Martin Truegold ! Now 
 thou may 1 st kiss our hand. 
 
 [Martin springs up, kisses the Queen's hand; then 
 turns to Mabel, who advances. He takes his wife's 
 lhand, and they both kneel. 
 
 The Queen. — With fitting lands for thy condition will 
 I endow thee ; but being a knight, thou need'st a blazon 
 for thy Maiden Shield. Be thine a — 
 
 heart of gold. 
 
 And for the motto-' Thyself shall choose it. Up 
 
 man ! to thy feet ! Now, what shall our grateful England 
 write upon thy 'scutcheon ? Speak ! 'tis thy Sovereign's 
 will. 
 
 Martin. — Ah, my good Liege, were it to choose a fitting 
 motto for thyself, how easy were the task ! 
 
 The Queen. — Ha! say 'st thou for myself? Then be 
 that motto thine. Come, let me hear it. 
 
 Martin. — This let it be, then : what every man must 
 pray to be when trial and temptation gather round him ; 
 what our Queen is, and England ever shall be. Thus let 
 the Legend run upon the Scroll : — 
 
 €xm to tfic (&oxt. 
 
 [Martin again kneels, and the Queen, taking a chain 
 of gold from one of her pages, places it round his 
 neck. All wave tJieir hats, and amidst loud shouts 
 of " Long live Elizabeth our Queen /" 
 
 the curtain falls. 
 
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