Bertha. He is as nature made him: full of pride And fierce resentment 'gainst a callous race. Give him but patience to endure neglect-- Quell his rebellious spirit, and you take From his tossed soul God's gift of poesy.
Chatterton. [Coming forward.] Lady, were I the poet of my dreams, Instead of Chatterton, I could not word My gratitude to you.
Chatterton. Well, Burgum, what's the news?
Mrs. Angell. [To Chatterton.] Be seated, sir; you must be very tired; You have not been at home since ten o'clock. The day--
Chatterton. [Sinking upon a chair.] Clouds, sunshine, rain--I'll sleep to-night.
Mrs. Angell. Is there not something I can get you, sir?
Chatterton. Ah, yes: go purchase me another heart; The world has worn this out--'tis like my shoes.
Mrs. Angell. When through with business you must dine with us: I have some sheep tongues I would have you try.
Chatterton. What use are sheep tongues when I needs must roar? I'd eat a lion's litter.
Mrs. Angell. [Aside.] The boy talks very wildly.
Chatterton. [Impatiently.] Madam, go! You'd make a helpless invalid of me. [Exit Mrs. Angell.] She is a noble woman and a bore. Now, Norman blood, what's wrong in Bristol that Brings you to town?
Chatterton. First let me borrow Lord North's goggle eyes, And have the modish stare: my fiery orb Disquiets men of birth. Go on, go on.
Chatterton. Should antedate the flood: I'll read your partner's brother's silly book On the Noachian Deluge, and report What I can glean.
Burgum. [Aside.] Did I not need his help, I'd cane the rogue. [To him.] I've brought my quarterings And pedigree that you did kindly trace To be examined and attested by The Herald's College.
Chatterton. [Aside.] George! He'll find 'tis all a hoax!
Burgum. They have them now. I must solicit you to go with me, And answer certain questions. I'll pay you well.
Chatterton. Not for the wealth of Soho Square, my lord. I am the Duke de Garret: they must come To interview me here.
Chatterton. Then let them nose among their dusty tomes To solve the riddles.
Burgum. [Indignantly.] 'Tis an outrage, sir! I am a lineal descendant from--
Chatterton. [Laughing.] I copied that, and know it all by rote. Your ancestor, in reign of Henry Sixth, Obtained a royal patent to transmute All the inferior metals into gold; And now, while George the Fat squats on the throne, You, by that charter, deal in pewter, sir. From gold to pewter--'tis a fearful fall; And yet you glory in it. O for shame!