Puff. What before the play began?—how the plague could he?
Dang. That’s true, i’faith!
Puff. But you will hear what he thinks of the matter.
| “Sir Christ. | Alas! my noble friend, when I behold |
| Yon tented plains in martial symmetry |
| Array’d; when I count o’er yon glittering lines |
| Of crested warriors,
where the proud steeds neigh, |
| And valour-breathing trumpet’s shrill appeal, |
| Responsive vibrate on my
listening ear; |
| When virgin majesty herself I view, |
| Like her protecting Pallas, veil’d in steel, |
| With graceful
confidence exhort to arms! |
| When, briefly, all I hear or see bears stamp |
| Of martial vigilance and stern
defence, |
| I cannot but surmise—forgive, my friend, |
| If the conjecture’s rash—I cannot but |
| Surmise the
state some danger apprehends!” |
Sneer. A very cautious conjecture that.
Puff. Yes, that’s his character; not to give an opinion but on secure grounds.—Now then.
| “Sir Walt. | O
most accomplish’d Christopher!”— |
Puff. He calls him by his christian name, to show that they are on the most familiar terms.
| “Sir Walt. | O
most accomplish’d Christopher! I find |
| Thy staunch sagacity still tracks the future, |
| In the fresh print of the
o’ertaken past.” |
Puff. Figurative!
| “Sir Walt. | Thy fears are just. |
| Sir Christ. | But where? whence? when? and what |
| The
danger is,—methinks I fain would learn. |
| Sir Walt. | You know, my friend, scarce two revolving suns, |
| And three revolving moons, have closed their course |
| Since haughty Philip, in despite of peace, |
| With
hostile hand hath struck at England’s trade. |
| Sir Christ. | I know it well. |
| Sir Walt. | Philip, you know, is
proud Iberia’s king! |
| Sir Walt. | His subjects in base bigotry |
| And Catholic oppression
held;—while we, |
| You know, the Protestant persuasion hold. |
| Sir Walt. | You know,
beside, his boasted armament, |
| The famed Armada, by the Pope baptized. |
| With purpose to invade these
realms— |
| Sir Christ. | Is sailed, |
| Our last advices so report. |
| Sir Walt. | While the Iberian admiral’s chief
hope, |
| His darling son— |
| Sir Christ. | Ferolo Whiskerandos hight— |
| Sir Walt. | The same—by chance a
prisoner hath been ta’en, |
| And in this fort of Tilbury— |
| Sir Christ. | Is now |
| Confined—’tis true, and oft from
yon tall turret’s top |
| I’ve mark’d the youthful Spaniard’s haughty mien— |
| Unconquer’d, though in chains. |
| Sir Walt. | You also know”— |
Dang. Mr. Puff, as he knows all this, why does Sir Walter go on telling him?
Puff. But the audience are not supposed to know anything of the matter, are they?
Sneer. True; but I think you manage ill: for there certainly appears no reason why Sir Walter should be
so communicative.
Puff. ’Fore Gad, now, that is one of the most ungrateful observations I ever heard!—for the less inducement
he has to tell all this, the more, I think, you ought to be obliged to him; for I am sure you’d know nothing
of the matter without it.
Dang. That’s very true, upon my word.
Puff. But you will find he was not going on.
| “Sir Christ. | Enough, enough—’tis plain—and I no more |
| Am
in amazement lost!”— |
Puff. Here, now you see, Sir Christopher did not in fact ask any one question for his own information.
Sneer. No, indeed: his has been a most disinterested curiosity!
Dang. Really, I find. that we are very much obliged to them both.
