CASHEL. Never. I do embrace my doom with joy. With Paradise in Pentonville or Portland I shall feel safe: there are no mothers there. ADELAIDE. Ungracious boy-- CASHEL. Constable: bear me hence. MELLISH. Oh, let me sweetest reconcilement make By calling to thy mind that moving song:-- [_Sings_] They say there is no other-- CASHEL. Forbear at once, or the next note of music That falls upon thine ear shall clang in thunder From the last trumpet. ADELAIDE. A disgraceful threat To level at this virtuous old man. LYDIA. Oh, Cashel, if thou scorn'st thy mother thus, How wilt thou treat thy wife? CASHEL. There spake my fate: I knew you would say that. Oh, mothers, mothers, Would you but let your wretched sons alone Life were worth living! Had I any choice In this importunate relationship? None. And until that high auspicious day When the millennium on an orphaned world Shall dawn, and man upon his fellow look, Reckless of consanguinity, my mother And I within the self-same hemisphere Conjointly may not dwell. ADELAIDE. Ungentlemanly! CASHEL. I am no gentleman. I am a criminal, Redhanded, baseborn-- ADELAIDE. Baseborn! Who dares say it? Thou art the son and heir of Bingley Bumpkin FitzAlgernon de Courcy Cashel Byron, Sieur of Park Lane and Overlord of Dorset, Who after three months' wedded happiness Rashly fordid himself with prussic acid, Leaving a tearstained note to testify That having sweetly honeymooned with me, He now could say, O Death, where is thy sting? POLICEMAN. Sir: had I known your quality, this cop I had averted; but it is too late. The law's above us both. _Enter_ LUCIAN, _with an Order in Council_ LUCIAN. Not so, policeman I bear a message from The Throne itself Of fullest amnesty for Byron's past. Nay, more: of Dorset deputy lieutenant He is proclaimed. Further, it is decreed, In memory of his glorious victory Over our country's foes at Islington, The flag of England shall for ever bear On azure field twelve swanlike spots of white; And by an exercise of feudal right Too long disused in this anarchic age Our sovereign doth confer on him the hand Of Miss Carew, Wiltstoken's wealthy heiress. [_General acclamation._ POLICEMAN. Was anything, sir, said about me? LUCIAN. Thy faithful services are not forgot: In future call thyself Inspector Smith. [_Renewed acclamation._ POLICEMAN. I thank you, sir. I thank you, gentlemen. LUCIAN. My former opposition, valiant champion, Was based on the supposed discrepancy Betwixt your rank and Lydia's. Here's my hand.