Farewell! The hand of death is heavy on my heart, The little lamp of life is dying out. It matters not--the dreary Night is past, And Daylight is at hand! [_She raises her hands towards the rising sun, which is seen through the window. Her hand falls slowly and she dies, as the light at her head goes out, and the sky is filled with the splendour of the coming day. ANSELM, consoling FAUSTUS, raises his crucifix in the air. MEPHISTO, at door, cowers before it. During GRETCHEN’S speech, the music of an organ is heard faintly; it swells into a loud peal as GRETCHEN dies._ TOM COBB; OR, FORTUNE’S TOY. _AN ENTIRELY ORIGINAL FARCICAL COMEDY_, IN THREE ACTS. _First produced at St. James’s Theatre, under the management of MISS LITTON, on Saturday, 24th April, 1875._ DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. COLONEL O’FIPP, _an Irish Adventurer_ MR. C. COOPER. TOM COBB } _Young { MR. ROYCE. WHIPPLE } Surgeons_ { MR. BRUCE. MATILDA O’FIPP, _the Colonel’s Daughter_ MISS E. CHALLIS. MR. EFFINGHAM } { MR. DE VERE. MRS. EFFINGHAM } _Members of a { MRS. CHIPPENDALE. BULSTRODE EFFINGHAM } romantic family_ { MR. HILL. CAROLINE EFFINGHAM } { MISS LITTON. BIDDY MISS DOYNE. FOOTMAN MR. RUSSELL. TOM COBB; OR, FORTUNE’S TOY. ACT I. SCENE.--_A shabby but pretentious sitting-room in COLONEL O’FIPP’S house. Breakfast laid. Enter TOM COBB, with open letter in his hand._ _Tom._ I haven’t a penny--I haven’t the ghost of a prospect of a penny. In debt everywhere, and now I’m told that judgment’s been signed against me for £250 by the cruellest Jew in Christendom! Upon my soul, it’s enough to make a fellow shy things about, I swear it is! But everything always _did_ go wrong with me, even before I was born, for I was always expected to be a girl, and turned out something quite different, and no fault of mine, I’m sure! (_Producing pistol._) Oh, if I was only quite, quite sure I knew how to load it, I’d blow my brains out this minute! I would, upon my word and honour! _Enter MATILDA._ _Mat._ Eh! and what good ’ld that do, dear? _Tom._ It would rid the world of an unhappy wretch. The world’s a beast, and I hate it. _Mat._ Then if you hate it, what d’ye want to be doing it a good turn for? Sure it would be a bad bargain, lovey, for _you’d_ lose the world, whereas the world ’ld only lose _you_. (_Takes pistol away from him._) _Tom._ There’s truth in that. _Mat._ If I was you, dear, I’d go on living to spite it. _Tom._ Oh, ain’t that small! Oh, ain’t that like a woman! _Mat._ And, after all, ye’re not so badly off. Don’t ye board and lodge on nominal turr’ms with a rale cornel? _Tom._ Yes, that’s true enough.