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He that would snare John Cumming must get up Betimes i' th' morning. [Chorus of Admirals and Colonels, shouting " Ha! ha! ha! Well
done, Cumming!" The Romish priests and others also shout “Ha! ha! ha!" ironically, and in a tone of triumph, which makes Dr. Cumming and his friends turn pale. The Cardinal claps his hands, and there issue from behind the tapestry hanging on the walls four-and-twenty black slaves, with turbans on their heads and bow-strings in their hands. They approach Dr. Cumming and his supporters, who form themselves into the Macedonian phalanx, presenting their pistols and brandishing their swords. The Romanists attempt to seize them, but in vain. Grand Tableau: Dr. Cumming, with his Admirals and Colonels, stand defying their adversaries, who appear petrified with dismay. Suddenly the Cardinal again claps his hands, when trapdoors open under the feet of the Cumming party, the brass band strikes “All in the Downs," and the whole of the Protestants are precipitated headlong into the abyss below. They discharge their pistols as they fall, but hit no one.
The Romanists congratulate one another; tea and coffee are handed round, and the scene closes.]
SCENE III. [The same apartment as before in the Jesuits' Palace at Rome.
Astolfo, the General, discovered, in a figured satin dressinggown, lying on a richly brocaded sofa, with a small round table of carved ivory by his side, on which stand ice-creams and glasses of sherry.cobbler and Soyer's nectar. He partakes of the refreshments alternately, and serenely contemplates several large money
bags placed on another table near him. At length he speaks.) Astolfo. This Roman summer is unbearable. Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Ah, the pains of power, the sleepless nights, The loss of appetite: I am a-weary; I would that I were dead! Fie, fie, Astolfo! Shake off these coward fears, and be a man; Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!
[One of the telegraphic bells rings.] That tinkling bell again! This time from France. Those tinkling bells, those tinkling bells; How many a tale their music tells, Of secret thoughts and hopes sublime, Of vows, and pangs, and deeds of crime ! [He rises, and goes to the telegraph, and replies to the Provincial of
the French Jesuits that he is all attention. The Provincial replies, that one of the members of the Society in Paris, the Père
Beauvais, shows symptoms of refractoriness, and that he will be
at the Parisian terminus.]
Beauvais. Nay, reverend father, that is not the case.
Astolfo. Ha, say'st thou so?
Beauvais. I do perceive here a divided duty.
Astolfo. Hang your conscience !
Astolfo. I say, sir, will you do what you are told;
Beauvais. My father, that I will ;
Astolfo. Then do it, and let's hear no more Of this confounded nonsense
Beauvais. Father, hear me!
Astolfo. Well, then, be quick,
Beauvais. Well, father, to the point:
Astolfo. Sir, no more!
tenderness Gives you a chance. Beauvais. Father, I thank
Astolfo. Deeper and deeper still thy goodness, child,
slave for ever,
Beauvais. Oh, murder! murder!
Astolfo. Nay, nay, my son, obedience is the first
Beauvais. Oh! oh! oh! What shall I do?
Astolfo. Nay, do not fear. It is a consummation
Beauvais. True, indeed, too true;
[Hé breathes his last sigh along the telegraphic wires, and dies.] Astolfo. So much for Buckingham ! [Returns to his sofa, drinks some sherry-cobbler, takes up the Times
newspaper of that morning, laughs heartily at a leading article showing up the Cathedral Commissioners, and falls fast asleep.] First Coalheaver. 'Tis strange; unless my memory plays
SCENE IV. [A street near the Jesuits' Church in Street, London. A coalwaggon
close to the pavement. Two sound Protestant Coalheavers engaged in examining the apertures by which coals are let down into the London cellars.]
Second Coalheaver. Try it again.
First Coalheaver. It yields at last; holloa !
Second Coalheaver. I'm never merry when I hear soft music; For I've been taught upon the Hullah system.
First Coalheaver. 'Iis a sweet art, my friend, a lovely art; The man that hath not music in his soul Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. Trust no such man.
Second Coalheaver. I will not.
First Coalheaver. Hush ! be still!
[Stoops down and listens. ] First Coalheaver. He's quoting Scripture, singing Watts's
hymns. Second Coalheaver. The deuce he is ! First Coalheaver. Holloa ! you there! hi! hi!
[He whistles loud.] Voice groans within. Where should this music be? i' the
air, or the earth ? It sounds no more. 'Tis gone! ah, well-a-day ! If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. First Coalheaver. Holloa, you sir! why don't you answer
The Voice. Is't possible? or do I dream again?
First Coalheaver. I say, old fellow, speak a little louder;
The Voice. The Jesuits !
The Voice. For five-and-twenty dismal years have I
That I would read my Bible. Let me out,
First Coalheaver. Good heavens, it is the very thing
Second Coalheaver. Ay, indeed:
[First Coalheaver gets into the hole and disappears.]
of the land Have I marched on without impediment.
Second Coalheaver. Then here go I; and so, 'twixt you
We'll set the miserable captive free. [He gets into the hole, singing, “ Confound their politics, frustrate
their knavish tricks," with other loyal and patriotic airs, and the scene closes.]
[The interior of the Jesuits' Church in Street, London.
Father Hildebrand discovered, walking up and down.]
[Takes out his tablets and reads.]