_Old Man._ She has had no nourishment these four days. _Eust._ [_Affected._] Death! and--well? _Old Man._ I care not for myself;--I should soon go, In nature's course;--but my poor darling child! Who fifteen years has been my prop--to see her Thus wrested from me! then, to hear her bless me; And see her wasting!---- _Eust._ Peace! peace! I have not ate, old man, since--Pshaw! the wind Affects my eyes--but yet I--'Sdeath! what ails me? I have no appetite.--Here, take this trash, and-- [_The OLD MAN takes the Wallet, falls upon his Knees, and attempts to speak._ Pr'ythee away, old soul;--nay, nay, no thanks;-- Get home, and do not talk--I cannot.-- [_Exit OLD MAN._ Out on't! I do belie my manhood; and if misery, With gentle hand, touches my bosom's key, I bellow straight, as if my tough old lungs Were made of organ-pipes. [_Huzza without._ Hey! how sits the wind now? _Enter CITIZENS, crying_ Huzza! _and_ Succour! _LA GLOIRE, in the midst of them, loaded with Casks of Provision, &c._ _La Gloire._ Here, neighbours! here, here I am dropt in among you, like a lump of manna. Here have I, following my master, the noble Count Ribaumont, brought wherewithal to check the grumbling in your gizzards. Here's meat, neighbours, meat!--fine, raw, red meat!--to turn the tide of tears from your eyes, and make your mouths water. _All._ Huzza! _2 Cit._ Ah! mon Dieu! que je suis gai!--meat and sun too!--tal lal lall la! _La Gloire._ Silence! or I'll stop your windpipe with a mutton cutlet. _All._ Huzza! _Eust._ Peace, ho! I say; can ye be men, and roar thus? Blush at this clamour! it proclaims you cowards, And tells what your despair has been. Peace, hen hearts! Slink home, and eat. _La Gloire._ Ods my life! cry you mercy, father; I saw you not;--my honest, hungry neighbours, here, so pressed about me. Marry, I think they are ready to eat me. Stand aside, friends, and patience, till my father has said grace over me. Father, your blessing. [_Kneels._ _Eust._ Boy, thou hast acted bravely, and thou follow'st A noble gentleman. What succour brings he? _La Gloire._ A snack! a bare snack, father; no more. We scudded round the point of land, under the coast, unperceived by the enemy's fleet, and freighted with a good three days' provender: but the sea, that seems ruled by the English--marry, I think they'll always be masters of it, for my part--stuck the point of a rock through the bottom of our vessel, almost filled it with water, and, after tugging hard for our lives, we found the provision so spoiled, and pickled, that our larder is reduced to a luncheon. Every man may have a meal, and there's an end;--to-morrow comes famine again.