CHATTERTON Ernest Lacy DRAMATIS PERSONÆ Thomas Chatterton, "the marvelous boy" Henry Burgum, a rich Bristol pewterer Bertha Burgum, his daughter Mrs. Angell, keeper of the lodging house Two Ribalds, man and woman SCENE.--A Garret in Brooke Street, London. Casement at back C. opening on the street; door, L. 3. E.; rough bedstead R. of window; rude chairs and table, with candle, manuscripts, and writing materials on it, L. C.; old washstand, on which are a glass, a basin, and a broken jug of water, R. 2. E. The Garret is in the house of Mrs. Angell, and is the lodging of the Poet Chatterton. It is the night of August 24th, 1770. Music on rise of curtain. A distant bell is heard tolling the hour. Mrs. Angell. [Knocking from without.] Mr. Chatterton! [Knocking.] Mr. Chatterton! [Knocking.] Mr. Chatterton! Enter Mrs. Angell with lamp. Lights up. Mr. Chatterton, a gentleman--[Looking around.] Alack! the boy is out. [Places lamp on table, and goes back to door.] Come in, sir. Enter Burgum and Bertha. Mr. Chatterton is not in. Will you wait, Mr.--, Mr.-- Burgum. [Pompously.] Mr. de Burgum, Madam. I trust that I shall have a more honorable title soon;--eh, daughter? Bertha. There is no more honorable title, father. Burgum. Bah! romantic. Mrs. Angell. He surely will return soon: he is seldom out in the evening. Burgum. I'll await his coming. I must see him on a matter connected with the de Burgum Pedigree, which he was fortunate enough to discover. I say "fortunate enough," since otherwise some one else would have discovered it--birth, like murder, will out. Mrs. Angell. Pray be seated, sir. [Burgum sits R. of table; Bertha, L.] Burgum. [Looking around the room.] The rewards of poetry, my dear. Bertha. The rewards of poetry, father, only poets know. Burgum. Another romantic speech! If you must worship a poet, worship my collateral ancestor, Master John de Bergham, a Cistercian monk, one of the greatest ornaments of his age--so the Pedigree reads--and a translator of the Iliad. This boy never can be a poet: he knows no Latin and Greek. Bertha. He is not writing Latin and Greek. Burgum. I regret that I permitted you to come. You are a sentimental girl likely to fall in love with such a vagabond as Chatterton. Bertha. Do not call him a vagabond, father: you owe so much to him. Burgum. For what? Bertha. Your Pedigree. Burgum. He has been paid. Bertha. Yes--a crown. Burgum. Hem! He shall have more after the College of Heralds has passed upon my claims--not before. Bertha. In the meantime he may starve. Mrs. Angell. Indeed, lady, he is starving now. Burgum. Nonsense! One-half the troubles in life are due to gorging. Besides, I heard before we left Bristol that he had sent his mother some china and dress patterns--even British herb-tobacco and a pipe for his grandmother. Starving?--nonsense!