The Toy Shop (1735) The King and the Miller of Mansfield (1737)

1 C. But, my Lord, this is no time for Preaching methinks. And for all your Morals, Day-light would be much preferable to this Darkness I believe.

3 C. Indeed wou'd it. But come, let us go on, we shall find some House or other by and by.

4 C. Come along.

[Exeunt. Enter the King alone

No, no, this can be no publick Road that's certain: I am lost, quite lost indeed. Of what Advantage is it now to be a King? Night shews me no Respect: I cannot see better, nor walk so well as another Man. What is a King? Is he not wiser than another Man? Not without his Counsellors I plainly find. Is he not more powerful? I oft have been told so, indeed, but what now can my Power command? Is he not greater and more magnificent? When seated on his Throne, and surrounded with Nobles and Flatterers, perhaps he may think so, but when lost in a Wood, alas! what is he but a common Man? His Wisdom knows not which is North and which is South; his Power a Beggar's Dog would bark at; and his Greatness the Beggar would not bow to. And yet how oft are we puff'd up with these false Attributes? Well, in losing the Monarch, I have found the Man.

[The Report of a Gun is heard.

Hark! Some Villain sure is near! What were it best to do? Will my Majesty protect me? No. Throw Majesty aside then, and let Manhood do it.

Enter the Miller

Mil. I believe I hear the Rogue. Who's there?

King. No Rogue, I assure you.

Mil. Little better, Friend, I believe. Who fir'd that Gun?

King. Not I, indeed.

Mil. You lie, I believe.

King. Lie! lie! How strange it seems to me to be talk'd to in this Stile. [Aside.] Upon my Word I don't.

Mil. Come, come, Sirrah, confess; you have shot one of the King's Deer, have not you?

King. No indeed, I owe the King more Respect. I heard a Gun go off, indeed, and was afraid some Robbers might have been near.

Mil. I am not bound to believe this, Friend. Pray who are you? What's your Name?

King. Name!

Mil. Name! yes Name. Why you have a Name, have not you? Where do you come from? What is your Business here?

King. These are Questions I have not been us'd to, honest Man.

Mil. May be so; but they are Questions no honest Man would be afraid to answer, I think: So if you can give no better Account of your self, I shall make bold to take you along with me, if you please.

King. With you! What Authority have you to —

Mil. The King's Authority, if I must give you an Account, Sir. I am John Cockle, the Miller of Mansfield, one of his Majesty's Keepers in this Forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspected Fellow pass this Way that cannot give a better Account of himself than you have done, I promise you.

King. I must submit to my own Authority. [Aside.] Very well, Sir, I am glad to hear the King has so good an Officer: And since I find you have his Authority, I will give you a better Account of myself, if you will do me the Favour to hear it.

Mil. It's more than you deserve, I believe; but let's hear what you can say for yourself.

King. I have the Honour to belong to the King as well as you, and, perhaps, should be as unwilling to see any Wrong done him. I came down with him to hunt in this Forest, and the Chace leading us to Day a great Way from Home, I am benighted in this Wood, and have lost my Way.

Mil. This does not sound well; if you have been a hunting, pray where is your Horse?

King. I have tired my Horse so that he lay down under me, and I was oblig'd to leave him.

Mil. If I thought I might believe this now.

King. I am not used to lie, honest Man.

Mil. What! do you live at Court, and not lie! that's a likely Story indeed.

King. Be that as it will. I speak Truth now I assure you; and, to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, if I am near it; or give me a Night's Lodging in your own House, here is something to pay you for your Trouble, and if that is not sufficient, I will satisfy you in the Morning to your utmost Desire.

Mil. Ay, now I am convinc'd you are a Courtier; here is a little Bribe for to Day, and a large Promise for To-morrow, both in a Breath: Here, take it again, and take this along with it —John Cockle is no Courtier, he can do what he ought – without a Bribe.

King. Thou art a very extraordinary Man I must own; and I should be glad, methinks, to be further acquainted with thee.

Mil. Thee! and Thou! Prythee don't thee and thou me; I believe I am as good a Man as yourself at least.

King. Sir, I beg your Pardon.

Mil. Nay, I am not angry, Friend, only I don't love to be too familiar with any-body, before I know whether they deserve it or not.

King. You are in the Right. But what am I to do?

Mil. You may do what you please. You are twelve Miles from Nottingham, and all the Way through this thick Wood; but if you are resolv'd upon going thither to Night, I will put you in the Road, and direct you the best I can; or if you will accept of such poor Entertainment as a Miller can give, you shall be welcome to stay all Night, and in the Morning I will go with you myself.

King. And cannot you go with me to Night?

Mil. I would not go with you to Night if you was the King.

King. Then I must go with you, I think.

[Exeunt. Scene changes to the Town of MansfieldDick alone

Well, dear Mansfield, I am glad to see thy Face again. But my Heart aches, methinks, for fear this should be only a Trick of theirs to get me into their Power. Yet the Letter seems to be wrote with an Air of Sincerity, I confess; and the Girl was never us'd to lie till she kept a Lord Company. Let me see, I'll read it once more.

Dear Richard,

I am at last (tho' much too late for me) convinc'd of the Injury done to us both by that base Man, who made me think you false; he contriv'd these Letters, which I send you, to make me think you just upon the Point of being married to another, a Thought I could not bear with Patience, so aiming at Revenge on you, consented to my own Undoing. But for your own sake I beg you to return hither, for I have some Hopes of being able to do you Justice, which is the only Comfort of your most distrest but ever affectionate,

Peggy.

There can be no Cheat in this sure! The Letters she has sent are, I think, a Proof of her Sincerity. Well, I will go to her however: I cannot think she will again betray me: If she has as much Tenderness left for me, as, in spite of her Ill-usage, I still feel for her, I'm sure she won't. Let me see, I am not far from the House, I believe.

[Exit.Scene changes to a RoomPeggy and Phœbe

Phœ. Pray, Madam, make yourself easy.

Peg. Ah! Phœbe, she that has lost her Virtue, has with it lost her Ease, and all her Happiness. Believing, cheated Fool! to think him false.

Phœ. Be patient, Madam, I hope you will shortly be reveng'd on that deceitful Lord.

Peg. I hope I shall, for that were just Revenge. But will Revenge make me happy? Will it excuse my Falshood? Will it restore me to the Heart of my much-injur'd Love? Ah! no. That blooming Innocence he us'd to praise, and call the greatest Beauty of our Sex, is gone. I have no Charm left that might renew that Flame I took such Pains to quench.

[Knocking at the Door.

See who's there. O Heavens 'tis he! Alas! that ever I should be asham'd to see the Man I love!

Enter Richard, who stands looking on her at a Distance, she weeping

Dick. Well, Peggy (but I suppose you're Madam now in that fine Dress) you see you have brought me back; is it to triumph in your Falshood? or am I to receive the slighted Leavings of your fine Lord?

Peg. O Richard! after the Injury I have done you, I cannot look on you without Confusion: But do not think so hardly of me; I stay'd not to be slighted by him, for the Moment I discover'd his vile Plot on you, I fled his Sight, nor could he e'er prevail to see me since.

Dick. Ah, Peggy! you were too hasty in believing, and much I fear, the Vengeance aim'd at me, had other Charms to recommend it to you: Such Bravery as that [Pointing to her Cloaths] I had not to bestow; but if a tender, honest Heart could please, you had it all; and if I wish'd for more, 'twas for your sake.

Peg. O Richard! when you consider the wicked Stratagem he contriv'd to make me think you base and deceitful, I hope you will, at least, pity my Folly, and, in some Measure, excuse my Falshood; that you will forgive me, I dare not hope.

Dick. To be forc'd to fly from my Friends and Country, for a Crime that I was innocent of, is an Injury that I cannot easily forgive to be sure: But if you are less guilty of it than I thought, I shall be very glad; and if your Design be really as you say, to clear me, and to expose the Baseness of him that betray'd and ruin'd you, I will join with you with all my Heart. But how do you propose to do this?

Peg. The King is now in this Forest a hunting, and our young Lord is every Day with him: Now, I think, if we could take some Opportunity of throwing ourselves at his Majesty's Feet, and complaining of the Injustice of one of his Courtiers, it might, perhaps, have some Effect upon him.

Dick. If we were suffer'd to make him sensible of it, perhaps it might; but the Complaints of such little Folks as we seldom reach the Ears of Majesty.

Peg. We can but try.

Dick. Well, If you will go with me to my Father's, and stay there till such an Opportunity happens, I shall believe you in earnest, and will join with you in your Design.

Peg. I will do any thing to convince you of my Sincerity, and to make Satisfaction for the Injuries which have been done you.

Dick. Will you go now?

Peg. I will be with you in less than an Hour.

[Exeunt.Scene changes to the MillMargery and Kate Knitting

Kate. O dear, I would not see a Spirit for all the World; but I love dearly to hear Stories of them. Well, and what then?

Mar. And so, at last, in a dismal, hollow Tone it cry'd —

[A Knocking at the Door frights them both; they scream out, and throw down their Knitting

Mar. and Kate. Lord bless us! What's that?

Kate. O dear, Mother, it's some Judgment upon us I'm afraid. They say, talk of the Devil and he'll appear.

Mar. Kate, go and see who's at the Door.

Kate. I durst not go, Mother; do you go.

Mar. Come, let's both go.

Kate. Now don't speak as if you was afraid.

Mar. No, I won't, if I can help it. Who's there?

Dick without. What, won't you let me in?

Kate. O Gemini! it's like our Dick, I think: He's certainly dead, and it's his Spirit.

Mar. Heaven forbid! I think in my Heart it's he himself. Open the Door, Kate.

Kate. Nay, do you.

Mar. Come, we'll both open it.

[They open the Door Enter Dick

Dick. Dear Mother, how do ye do? I thought you would not have let me in.

Mar. Dear Child, I'm over-joy'd to see thee; but I was so frighted, I did not know what to do.

Kate. Dear Brother, I am glad to see you; how have you done this long while?

Dick. Very well, Kate. But where's my Father?

Mar. He heard a Gun go off just now, and he's gone to see who 'tis.

Dick. What, they love Venison at Mansfield as well as ever, I suppose?

Kate. Ay, and they will have it too.

Miller without. Hoa! Madge! Kate! bring a Light here.

Mar. Yonder he is.

Kate. Has he catch'd the Rogue, I wonder?

Enter the King and the Miller

Mar. Who have you got?

Mil. I have brought thee a Stranger, Madge; thou must give him a Supper, and a Lodging if thou can'st.

Mar. You have got a better Stranger of your own, I can tell you: Dick's come.

Mil. Dick! Where is he? Why Dick! How is't my Lad?

Dick. Very well, I thank you, Father.

King. A little more and you had push'd me down.

Mil. Faith, Sir, you must excuse me; I was over-joy'd to see my Boy. He has been at London, and I have not seen him these four Yerrs.

King. Well, I shall once in my Life have the Happiness of being treated as a common Man; and of seeing human Nature without Disguise. [Aside.]

Mil. What has brought thee Home so unexpected?

Dick. You will know that presently.

Mil. Of that by-and-by then. We have got the King down in the Forest a hunting this Season, and this honest Gentleman, who came down with his Majesty from London, has been with 'em to Day it seems, and has lost his Way. Come, Madge, see what thou can'st get for Supper. Kill a Couple of the best Fowls; and go you, Kate, and draw a Pitcher of Ale. We are famous, Sir, at Mansfield, for good Ale, and for honest Fellows that know how to drink it.

King. Good Ale will be acceptable at present, for I am very dry. But pray, how came your Son to leave you, and go to London?

Mil. Why, that's a Story which Dick, perhaps, won't like to have told.

King. Then I don't desire to hear it.

Enter Kate with an Earthen Pitcher of Ale, and a Horn

Mil. So, now do you go help your Mother. Sir, my hearty Service to you.

King. Thank ye, Sir. This plain Sincerity and Freedom, is a Happiness unknown to Kings. [Aside.]

Mil. Come, Sir.

King. Richard, my Service to you.

Dick. Thank you, Sir.

Mil. Well, Dick, and how do'st thou like London? Come, tell us what thou hast seen.

Dick. Seen! I have seen the Land of Promise.

Mil. The Land of Promise! What dost thou mean?

Dick. The Court, Father.

Mil. Thou wilt never leave joking.

Dick. To be serious then, I have seen the Disappointment of all my Hopes and Expectations; and that's more than one would wish to see.

Mil. What, would the great Man thou wast recommended to, do nothing at all for thee at last?

Dick. Why, yes; he would promise me to the last.

Mil. Zoons! do the Courtiers think their Dependants can eat Promises!

Dick. No, no, they never trouble their Heads to think, whether we eat at all or not. I have now dangled after his Lordship several Years, tantaliz'd with Hopes and Expectations; this Year promised one Place, the next another, and the third, in sure and certain Hope of – a Disappointment. One falls, and it was promis'd before; another, and I am just Half an Hour too late; a third, and it stops the Mouth of a Creditor; a fourth, and it pays the Hire of a Flatterer; a fifth, and it bribes a Vote; and the sixth, I am promis'd still. But having thus slept away some Years, I awoke from my Dream: My Lord, I found, was so far from having it in his Power to get a Place for me, that he had been all this while seeking after one for himself.

Mil. Poor Dick! And is plain Honesty then a Recommendation to no Place at Court?

Dick. It may recommend you to be a Footman, perhaps, but nothing further, nothing further, indeed. If you look higher, you must furnish yourself with other Qualifications: You must learn to say Ay, or No; to run, or stand; to fetch, or carry, or leap over a Stick at the Word of Command. You must be Master of the Arts of Flattery, Insinuation, Dissimulation, Application, and [Pointing to his Palm] right Application too, if you hope to succeed.

King. You don't consider I am a Courtier, methinks.

Dick. Not I, indeed; 'tis no Concern of mine what you are. If, in general, my Character of the Court is true, 'tis not my Fault if it's disagreable to your Worship. There are particular Exceptions I own, and I hope you may be one.

King. Nay, I don't want to be flatter'd, so let that pass. Here's better Success to you the next Time you come to London.

Dick. I thank ye; but I don't design to see it again in haste.

Mil. No, no, Dick; instead of depending upon Lords Promises, depend upon the Labour of thine own Hands; expect nothing but what thou can'st earn, and then thou wilt not be disappointed. But come, I want a Description of London; thou hast told us nothing thou hast seen yet.

Dick. O! 'tis a fine Place! I have seen large Houses with small Hospitality; great Men do little Actions; and fine Ladies do – nothing at all. I have seen the honest Lawyers of Westminster-Hall, and the virtuous Inhabitants of 'Change-Alley. The politick Mad-men of Coffee-Houses, and the wise Statesmen of Bedlam. I have seen merry Tragedies, and sad Comedies; Devotion at an Opera, and Mirth at a Sermon; I have seen fine Cloaths at St. James's, and long Bills at Ludgate-Hill. I have seen poor Grandeur, and rich Poverty; high Honours, and low Flattery, great Pride, and no Merit. In short, I have seen a Fool with a Title, a Knave with a Pension, and an honest Man with a Thread-bare Coat. Pray how do you like London?

Mil. And is this the best Description thou can'st give of it?

Dick. Yes.

King. Why, Richard, you are a Satirist, I find.

Dick. I love to speak Truth, Sir; if that happens to be Satire, I can't help it.

Mil. Well, if this is London, give me my Country Cottage; which, tho' it is not a great House, nor a fine House, is my own House, and I can shew a Receipt for the Building on't.

King. I wish all the great Builders in the Kingdom could say as much.

Mil. Come, Sir, our Supper, I believe, is ready for us, by this time; and to such as I have, you're as welcome as a Prince.

King. I thank you.

[Exeunt.Scene changes to the Wood Enter several Keepers

1 K. The Report of the Gun was somewhere this Way I'm sure.

2 K. Yes, but I can never believe that any-body would come a Deer stealing so dark a Night as this.

3 K. Where did the Deer harbour to Day?

4 K. There was a Herd lay upon Hamilton-Hill, another just by Robin Hood's Chair, and a third here in Mansfield Wood.

1 K. Ay, those they have been amongst.

2 K. But we shall never be able to find 'em to Night, 'tis so dark.

3 K. No, no; let's go back again.

1 K. Zoons! you're afraid of a broken Head, I suppose, if we should find 'em; and so had rather slink back again. Hark! Stand close. I hear 'em coming this Way.

Enter the Courtiers

1 C. Did not you hear some-body just now? Faith I begin to be afraid we shall meet with some Misfortune to Night.

2 C. Why, if any-body should take what we have got, we have made a fine Business of it.

3 C. Let 'em take it if they will; I am so tir'd I shall make but small Resistance.

The Keepers rush upon them.

2 K. Ay, Rogues, Rascals, and Villains, you have got it, have you?

2 C. Indeed we have got but very little, but what we have you're welcome to, if you will but use us civilly.

1 K. O, yes! very civilly; you deserve to be us'd civilly, to be sure.

4 C. Why, what have we done that we may not be civilly us'd?

1 K. Come, come, don't trifle, surrender.

1 C. I have but three Half-Crowns about me.

2 C. Here is Three and Six-pence for you, Gentlemen.

3 C. Here's my Watch; I have no Money at all.

4 C. Indeed I have nothing in my Pocket but a Snuff-box.

4 K. What, the Dogs want to bribe us, do they? No, Rascals; you shall go before the Justice To-morrow, depend on't.

4 C. Before the Justice! What, for being robb'd?

1 K. For being robb'd! What do you mean? Who has robb'd you?

4 C. Why, did not you just now demand our Money, Gentlemen?

2 K. O, the Rascals! They will swear a Robbery against us, I warrant.

4 C. A Robbery! Ay, to be sure.

1 K. No, no; We did not demand your Money, we demanded the Deer you have kill'd.

4 C. The Devil take the Deer, I say; he led us a Chace of six Hours, and got away from us at last.

1 K. Zoons! ye Dogs, do ye think to banter us? I tell ye you have this Night shot one of the King's Deer; did not we hear the Gun go off? Did not we hear you say, you was afraid it should be taken from you?

2 C. We were afraid our Money should be taken from us.

1 K. Come, come, no more shuffling: I tell ye, you're all Rogues, and we'll have you hanged, you may depend on't. Come, let's take 'em to old Cockle's, we're not far off, we'll keep 'em there all Night, and To-morrow-morning we'll away with 'em before the Justice.

4 C. A very pretty Adventure.

[Exeunt.Scene changes to the MillKing, Miller, Margery, and Dick, at Supper

Mil. Come, Sir, you must mend a bad Supper with a Glass of good Ale: Here's King Harry's Health.

King. With all my Heart. Come, Richard, here's King Harry's Health; I hope you are Courtier enough to pledge me, are not you?

Dick. Yes, yes, Sir, I'll drink the King's Health with all my Heart.

Mar. Come, Sir, my humble Service to you, and much good may do ye with your poor Supper; I wish it had been better.

King. You need make no Apologies.

Marg. We are oblig'd to your Goodness in excusing our Rudeness.

Mil. Prithee, Margery, don't trouble the Gentleman with Compliments.

Mar. Lord, Husband, if one had no more Manners than you, the Gentleman would take us all for Hogs.

Dick. Now I think the more Compliments the less Manners.

King. I think so too. Compliments in Discourse, I believe, are like Ceremonies in Religion; the one has destroy'd all true Piety, and the other all Sincerity and Plain-dealing.

Mil. Then a Fig for all Ceremony and Compliments too: Give us thy Hand; and let us drink and be merry.

King. Right, honest Miller, let us drink and be merry. Come, have you got e'er a good Song?

Mil. Ah! my singing Days are over, but my Man Joe has got an excellent one; and if you have a Mind to hear it, I'll call him in.

King. With all my Heart.

Mil. Joe!

Enter Joe

Mil. Come, Joe, drink Boy; I have promised this Gentleman that you shall sing him your last new Song.

Joe. Well, Master, if you have promis'd it him, he shall have it.

SONGIHow happy a State does the Miller possess?Who wou'd be no greater, nor fears to be less;On his Mill and himself he depends for Support,Which is better than servilely cringing at Court.IIWhat tho' he all dusty and whiten'd does go,The more he's be-powder'd, the more like a Beau;A Clown in this Dress may be honester farThan a Courtier who struts in his Garter and Star.IIITho' his Hands are so dawb'd they're not fit to be seen,The Hands of his Betters are not very clean;A Palm more polite may as dirtily deal;Gold, in handling, will stick to the Fingers like Meal.IVWhat if, when a Pudding for Dinner he lacks,He cribs, without Scruple, from other Men's Sacks;In this of right noble Examples he brags,Who borrow as freely from other Men's Bags.VOr should he endeavour to heap an Estate,In this he wou'd mimick the Tools of the State;Whose Aim is alone their Coffers to fill,As all his Concern's to bring Grist to his Mill.VIHe eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he's dry,And down when he's weary contented does lie;Then rises up chearful to work and to sing:If so happy a Miller, then who'd be a King.

Mil. There's a Song for you.