Public-domain ebook
The Scape-Goat: A Farce in One Act
by John Poole
Language: en258 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Humour·Plays/Films/Dramas·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #52717.
The opening · free to read
Poly. Ignatius.—But what atonement can you make for this?
Molly. Atonement! I’ve done nothing to atone for.
Poly. Nothing! Do you call that nothing? Did I not see? Did I not hear? Nothing! _O tem_—but you don’t understand Latin.
Molly. Latin, indeed! no, nor Greek neither; and I’m sure ’tis all Greek you are talking to me. What did you see? what did you hear? You heard Robin say good bye, that was all.
Poly. Peace! I’m a linguist, and in none of the seventeen languages I’m acquainted with, does that mean good bye.
Molly. Then I wouldn’t give seventeen figs to be as learned as you are, and your seventeen languages are not worth talking.
Poly. To what is the poor youth exposed! Mischief! Serpent! Woman! I pity, and tremble for, the unfortunate lad.
Molly. ’Tis a misfortune not likely to happen to you.
Poly. But ’tis I alone who am to blame. I ought not to have allowed one of the deluding sex to approach those innocent and unsuspecting youths. Had my pupil, Charles, beheld this, it might have put things into his head, which—But there will yet be time to save them. To-morrow, at day-break, you will quit this house.
Molly. Nay, and you wouldn’t be so cruel, Mr. Poll-parrot.
Poly. Polyglot.—I have said it; reply not.
Molly. I have not done any harm, and I’m sure I did not think any harm. ’Tis no fault of mine if Robin is in love with me: he fell in love of his own accord, indeed he did.
Poly. Love! (looks fearfully about.) Silence!—If Charles should hear that dangerous word—Retire—Withdraw—begone.
Molly. (Bursting into tears.) O dearee me! Pray, good, kind Mr. Ignoramus, forgive me this once. Would you have it upon your conscience to turn a poor lass out of her service, and send her upon the wide world without a friend to protect her? Would’ee now, Mr. Ignoramus, would’ee?
Poly. Go away, my dear, and—No, I will not give way to the weakness of our common nature, but prove myself, in the discharge of my duty, inflexible as the first Brutus!
Molly. And well you may call him so, if he was as stony-hearted as you are. Will you forgive me?
Poly. No!
Molly. You won’t? Nay, then, I’ll tell you a bit of my mind; I’ll do that, an’ I die for it. For all your grave looks, I’ll be sworn you are no better than your neighbours; I know you arn’t. I’ll pass my days in watching you, I will; and if ever I catch you saying “good bye,” as I know I shall, then, when you are in trouble, and in need of indulgence, you shall find me as pityless as yourself. There; carry that bundle upon your shoulders, and now—I’ll go and pack up mine.
Poly. The little serpent! Her tears, her imploring looks, had well nigh—But I must be firm: I see the danger, and must protect my pupil against the snares of these pernicious creatures. Poor lad! he is innocent, and knows not the seductive power of love. My example and instructions have so fortified his mind, so hardened his heart against all silly, soft impressions, that, thanks to me, he may hope to pass through life as becomes a philosopher—in a happy indifference to all its joys, its pleasures, and its cares. He comes!—My dear disciple!
Enter CHARLES, in violent agitation.
Charles. My dear sir, I’m glad you are returned.
Poly. Your impatience pleases me. Come, is it to be Sophocles this evening?
Charles. No:—it is not that, sir,—but—
Poly. Well, well; we must sometimes relax,—make holiday; so, instead of Sophocles, we’ll amuse ourselves with a problem in Euclid.
Charles. Confound Euclid! as he has often confounded me. No, sir; I—in short, you see me in the greatest distress.
Poly. In distress! You alarm me! My dear boy, my dear child, what is the matter?
Charles. My father is returning; he is now galloping up the avenue, and I see no refuge from my difficulties but in death.
Poly. Mercy on me! what do you mean? No refuge but in—and in his father’s absence too! Consider, that for all that concerns you, I am responsible. Wait, at least, till he arrives, and—
Charles. No, I am resolved; the matter is pressing, and there’s no time for deliberation.
Poly. And he has not half finished his studies! (Rushes into his arms) Charles—my dear boy—be composed—look at me—who am I? have I not been your guide, your protector, your friend, since the hour you were born. You know I love you; that there is nothing on earth I would not do to see you happy; tell me, then, what it is afflicts you.
Charles. You will betray me to my father, and I dread his displeasure worse than death.
Poly. Betray you! Never; be it what it may.
Charles. Swear!
Poly. I never swear.
Charles. Swear, or this instant will I—
Poly. Hold! your danger inspires me with the devotion of an antique Roman: I swear, (raising his hand) Per Jovem! By Jupiter! I swear.
Charles. Enough! I will trust you. (Aside) And yet I dare not tell him the whole.—I—I am in love.
Poly. O, horror! In love! ’Tis epidemic—’tis running through the house! Robin, Molly, and now—How, sir! and at your age, only just turned of four-and-twenty; the thing is incredible, and—
Charles. Do but hear me, sir.
Poly. In love! it cannot be: why, he has Greek, Latin, algebra, and mathematics at his finger’s ends. And is this the termination of my hopes? You, whom I destined for a philosopher; you, whose name I fondly hoped to see placed side by side with the glorious names of Archimedes and Aristotle! Did love find out the square of the hypothenuse? Did love—
Charles. O, sir, if the bare avowal of my affection so displease you, what will you say when I confess to you that—but here comes my father. (Aside.) Where shall I conceal my dear Harriet?
Poly. Be composed; he must not observe our agitation.
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