Rich.
Rose.
Rich.
Rose.
Rich.
Rose.
Both.
For she is such a smart little craft
Such a neat little, sweet little craft—
Such a bright little—
Tight little—
Slight little—
Light little—
Trim little, slim little craft!
Chorus
For she is such a smart little craft, etc.
[Exeunt all but Robin.
Rob. For a week I have fulfilled my accursed doom! I have duly committed a crime a day! Not a great crime, I trust, but still, in the eyes of one as strictly regulated as I used to be, a crime. But will my ghostly ancestors be satisfied with what I have done, or will they regard it as an unworthy subterfuge? [Addressing Pictures.] Oh, my forefathers, wallowers in blood, there came at last a day when, sick of crime, you, each and every, vowed to sin no more, and so, in agony, called welcome Death to free you from your cloying guiltiness. Let the sweet psalm of that repentant hour soften your long-dead hearts,
and tune your souls to mercy on your poor posterity! [Kneeling.
[The stage darkens for a moment. It becomes light again, and the Pictures are seen to have become animated.
Chorus of Family Portraits
Painted emblems of a race
All accurst in days of yore,
Each from his accustomed place
Steps into the world once more.
[The Pictures step from their frames and march round the stage.
Baronet of Ruddigore,
Last of our accursed line,
Down upon the oaken floor—
Down upon those knees of thine.
