SIR JOSEPH. Captain Corcoran, I am much...

SIR JOSEPH. Captain Corcoran, I am much disappointed with your daughter. In

fact,don’t think she will do.

CAPT. She won’t do, Sir Joseph!

SIR JOSEPH. I’m afraid not. The fact is, that although I have urged my suit with as

much eloquence as is consistent with an official utterance, I have done so hitherto without

success. How do you account for this?

CAPT. Really, Sir Joseph, I hardly know. Josephine is of course sensible of your

condescension.

SIR JOSEPH. She naturally would be.

CAPT. But perhaps your exalted rank dazzles her.

SIR JOSEPH. You think it does?

CAPT. I can hardly say; but she is a modest girl, and her social position is far below

your own. It may be that she feels she is not worthy of you.

SIR JOSEPH. That is really a very sensible suggestion, and displays more knowledge

of human nature than I had given you credit for.

CAPT. See, she comes. If your lordship would kindly reason with her and assure

her officially that it is a standing rule at the Admiralty that love levels all ranks, her

respect for an official utterance might induce her to look upon your offer in its proper

light.

SIR JOSEPH. It is not unlikely. I will adopt your suggestion. But soft, she is here.

Let us withdraw, and watch our opportunity.

(Enter JOSEPHINE from cabin. SIR JOSEPH and CAPTAIN retire.)

SCENA – JOSEPHINE.

The hours creep on apace,

My guilty heart is quaking!

Oh, that I might retrace

The step that I am taking!

Its folly it were easy to be showing,

What I am giving up and whither going.

On the one hand, papa’s luxurious home,

Hung with ancestral armour and old brasses,

Carved oak and tapestry from distant Rome,

Rare “blue and white” Venetian finger-glasses,

Rich oriental rugs, luxurious sofa pillows,

And everything that isn’t old, from Gillow’s.

And on the other, a dark and dingy room,

In some back street with stuffy children crying,

Where organs yell, and clacking housewives fume,

And clothes are hanging out all day a-drying.

With one cracked looking-glass to see your face in,

And dinner served up in a pudding basin!

A simple sailor, lowly born,

Unlettered and unknown,

Who toils for bread from early morn

Till half the night has flown!

No golden rank can he impart–

No wealth of house or land –

No fortune save his trusty heart

And honest brown right hand!

And yet he is so wondrous fair

That love for one so passing rare,

So peerless in his manly beauty,

Were little else than solemn duty!

Oh, god of love, and god of reason, say,

Which of you twain shall my poor heart obey!

(SIR JOSEPH and CAPTAIN enter.)

SIR JOSEPH. Madam, it has been represented to me that you are appalled by my

exalted rank. I desire to convey to you officially my assurance, that if your hesitation is

attributable to that circumstance, it is uncalled for.

JOS. Oh! then your lordship is of opinion that married happiness is not inconsistent

with discrepancy in rank?

SIR JOSEPH. I am officially of that opinion.

JOS. That the high and the lowly may be truly happy together, provided that they

truly love one another?

SIR JOSEPH. Madam, I desire to convey to you officially my opinion that love is a

platform upon which all ranks meet.

JOS. I thank you, Sir Joseph. I did hesitate, but I will hesitate no longer. (Aside.) He

little thinks how eloquently he has pleaded his rival’s cause!