150
CHARLES THE SECOND
ACT TWO.
Scene 1. Outside of Copp's Tavern, the Grand Admiral. A view of the Thames and Wapping.
(Enter Mary from the House.)
(Voices, within.) Wine! wine! house!—waiter!—more wine, ho! Huzza! huzza! huzza!
Mary. What a noise those sailors make in the bar-room—nothing but singing, and laughing, and shouting—I should like to take a peep at them—but no—my uncle forbids me to show myself in the public rooms—he scarcely lets me be seen by the guests—he brings me up more like a young lady than the niece of a tavern keeper—(walks about restless). Heigho! what a tiresome long day! what shall I do with myself? What can be the matter with me? I wonder what can keep Mr. Georgini away? For three days he has not been here to give me a lesson—no matter—(pettishly)—I don't care—I shall forget all my singing, that's certain—he was just teaching me such a pretty song, too—all about love—I'll try it—(attempts to sing)—no, I can't—it's all out of my head—well, so much the better! I suppose he is teaching it to some fine lady scholar—let him, I don't care—I don't believe he'll find her so apt a scholar.
Song.
Oh! not when other eyes may read
My heart upon my cheek,
Oh! not when other ears can hear
Dare I of love to speak—
But when the stars rise from the sea.
Oh then I think of thee, dear love!
Oh then I think of thee.
When o'er the olives of the dell
The silent moonlight falls,
And when upon the rose, the dew
Hangs scented coronals,
And buds close on the chestnut tree,
Oh then I think of thee, dear love!
Oh then I think of thee.
(Enter Copp.)
Copp. What, Mary, my little blossom, what cheer? what cheer? Keep close, my little heart—why do you stir out of port? Here be cruisers abroad.
Mary. Who are those people, uncle, that make such a noise?
Copp. Two hearty blades—mad roysters—oons how they drink. I was obliged to part company, old cruiser as I am, or they would soon have had me on my beam ends.
Mary. Are they sailors, uncle?
Copp. To be sure they are: who else would fling about money as they do, and treat a whole bar-room? The tallest in particular is a very devil. Hollo, Captain Copp, cries he every minute, another bottle to treat my brother tars.
Mary. By their swaggering about so, they must be very rich.
Copp. Pho, child, 't is n't the deepest laden
ships that make the most rolling.
Mary. But they spend their money so freely.
Copp. A sure sign that it's running out. The longest cable must come to an end. He that pays out fastest, will soonest be brought up with a round turn.
Mary. To what ship do they belong?
Copp. That's more than I can say. Suppose they're a couple of man of war's men just paid off, who think they've a Spanish mine in each pocket—(shout of laughter from within). Ah, the jolly tars! I was just the same at their age.
Mary. I should like to have a look at them.
Copp. Avast, there—what, trust thee in the way of two such rovers? No, no, I recollect too well what it was to get on shore after a long voyage. The first glimpse of a petticoat—whew! up boarding pikes and grappling irons!—(Recollecting himself.) Ahem—no, no, child, mustn't venture in these latitudes.
Mary. Ah, my good uncle, you are always so careful of me.
Copp. And why not? What else have I in the whole world to care for, or to care for me? Thou art all that's left to me out of the family fleet—a poor slight little pinnace. I've seen the rest, one after another, go down; it shall go hard but I'll convoy thee safe into port.
Mary. I fear I give you a great deal of trouble, my dear uncle.
Copp. Thou'rt the very best lass in the whole kingdom, and I love thee as I loved my poor brother; that's because you're his very image. To be sure, you have n't his jolly nose, and your little mouth is but a fool to his. But then, there are his eyes, and his smile, and the good humoured cut of his face—(sigh-
