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diff --git a/7840.txt b/7840.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3956716 --- /dev/null +++ b/7840.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3674 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Female Gamester, by Gorges Edmond Howard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Female Gamester + +Author: Gorges Edmond Howard + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7840] +Posting Date: July 28, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEMALE GAMESTER *** + + + + +Produced by Oliver Walden + + + + + +THE FEMALE GAMESTER + +A TRAGEDY + + +By Gorges Edmond Howard + + + Et quando uberior vitiorum copia? quando + Major avaritiae patuit sinus? alea quando + Hos animos? neq; enim loculis comitantibus itur, + Ad casum tabulae, posita sed luditur arca. + Juv. Sat. I. + + Sure none in crimes could erst beyond us go! + None such a lust for sordid avarice show! + Was e'er the Die so worn in ages past? + Purses, nay Chests, are now stak'd on a cast. + + + + To the + Countess of Charlemont, + the Lady Viscountess Southwell, + and Lady Lifford. + + +As the example of Persons of rank and quality, must ever have +a powerful influence upon all others in society, and as I know +none among the many eminently virtuous characters of your sex, +(for which this kingdom is above all others distinguished) with +whom I have the honour of being acquainted, more conspicuous +than your Ladyships, for excellence of conduct in every female +department in life, I, therefore, thus presume in taking the +liberty of presenting the following DRAMATIC ESSAY to your +patronage, and am, with the highest respect, + + Your Ladyships' + + Most obedient servant, &c. + The Author. + + + + +To the Reader. + + +I have always been of the same opinion with the Author of +the Preface to the translation of Brumoy's Greek Theatre; +in which, speaking of Tragedy, he hath expressed himself +in the following lines: "In England, the subject is frequently +too much exalted, and the Scenes are too often laid too high. +We deal almost solely in the fate of Kings and Princes, as if +misfortunes were chiefly peculiar to the great. But our Poets +might consider, that we feel not so intensely the sorrows of +higher powers, as we feel the miseries of those who are nearer +upon a level with ourselves. The revolution and fall of empires +affect us less, than the distresses of a private family. Homer +himself had wandered like Ulysses, and although by the force +of imagination he so nobly described the din of battle, and +the echoing contests of fiery princes, yet his heart still +sensibly felt the indigence of the wandering Ithacan, and +the contemptuous treatment shewn to the beggar, whose soul +and genius deserved a better fate." + +This having confirmed me in my opinion, I set about the following +dramatic attempt upon that horrid vice of Gaming, of all others +the most pernicious to society, and growing every day more and +more predominant amongst all ranks of people, so that even the +examples of a Prince, and Princess, pious, virtuous, and every way +excellent, as ever a people were blessed with, contrary to the +well-known axiom, + + Regis ad exemplum totus componitur orbis, + have had but small effect. + + +I finished it, part in prose, and part in blank verse, in about six +weeks, and having shewn it to several of my literary acquaintance, +the far greater part were of opinion, that it should be entirely +one, or the other; but, as the scene was laid in private life, and +chiefly among those of middling rank, it ought to be entirely prose; +and that, not much exalted; and accordingly, with no small labour, +I turned it all into prose. But in some short time after, having +communicated this to Dr. Samuel Johnson, his words (as well as I +remember) were, "That he could hardly consider a prose Tragedy as +dramatic; that it was difficult for the Performers to speak it; +that let it be either in the middling or in low life, it may, +though in metre and spirited, be properly familiar and colloquial; +that, many in the middling rank are not without erudition; +that they have the feelings and sensations of nature, and every +emotion in consequence thereof, as well as the great, and that +even the lowest, when impassioned, raise their language; that +the writing of prose is generally the plea and excuse of poverty +of Genius." And some others being of the same opinion, I have +now chang'd it all into metre. + + + Fired is the Muse! and let the Muse be fired. + Who's not inflam'd, when what he speaks he feels? + Young. + + +The introduction by the moderns of confidents, those friends +in Tragedy, to whom the chief personages discover their secrets +and situation, has been also objected to by critics. The discovery +is indeed purposely made to the audience, and supplies the want of +a chorus. But to speak in Monsieur Brumos's own stile: "If Homer, +in his Epic poem, found a Patroclus necessary to his Achilles, and +Virgil an Achates to Aeneas, such examples may well justify the +Dramatic Poets in calling in the assistance of associates, who +generally appear of more use than ornament to the piece." Besides, +were it not for them, long and disgusting soliloquies must be +innumerable, especially if there be any plot in the piece of +either love, ambition, or conspiracy. In short, as he again says, +"they are the mortar which forms the proper cement to fix the +corner stones of the building." + +But I declare, that the avoiding on the one hand, a style too high, +as on the other, too mean and vulgar for the subject, or the persons +concerned therein, has been a talk far more difficult to me than +any of the best formed lines in either of my other Tragedies, +so that I tremble at the thought of the reception this may meet with; +and had it not been on account of the moral it inculcates, and the +solicitation of some of my friends, I never should have published it. + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +By Mr. R. Lewis, + +Author of the Candid Philosopher, &c. &c. + + + The Muse prolific of a Vet'ran Bard + Again brings forth;--but yet with labour hard. + Nor is it strange, that such a Muse feels pain, + When her child starts, like Pallas, from the brain, + Arm'd at all points; when bold, she dares engage, + With Truth's bright arms, the monsters of the age; + When with just aim she points keen Satire's dart, + And stabs the foul fiend GAMING to the heart. + + Yet has our Bard, to simple Nature true, + Not brought up scenes of grandeur to your view; + Not sought by magic arts to strike your eyes, + Nor made the gods descend, or fiends arise: + His plan is humble, and his fable plain, + The town his scene, and artless is his strain: + Yet in that strain some lambent sparks still glow + Of that bright flame which shew'd Almeyda's woe, + Which far-fam'd Tamor's Siege so well display'd, + To fire each hero, and to charm each maid. + + Attend, ye Fair and Brave!--Our daring Bard + Hopes in your smiles to meet his best reward. + And you, ye Critics! if to censure bent, + Think on this fact, and scorn the harsh intent; + Our Bard would fain discordant things unite, + As hard to reconcile as day and night: + He strives within chaste Hymen's bands to draw + The tuneful maids and sages of the law; + Or, what's alike--nor think he means a joke-- + Melpomene to wed with old judge Coke. + Yet still, if you'll not let his faults pass free, + The Grecian rev'rence pay to sixty-three. + + + + +PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. + + +Men. + + ANDREWS, merchant and banker. + WILSON, + GOODWIN, merchants, his neighbours. + Lord BELMOUR, an English peer. + Lord WESTON, nephew to lord BELMOUR. + JEFFERSON, first clerk and cashier to Mr. ANDREWS. + THOMAS, steward to Mr. ANDREWS. + + +Women. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. + Lady BELMOUR. + CONSTANTIA, daughter to Mr. ANDREWS, by a former wife. + LUCIA, her kinswoman. + MARIA, waiting-woman to Mrs. ANDREWS, and wife to THOMAS. + + +Attendants and other servants, bailiffs, &c. + + +Scene, London. + + + + + +THE FEMALE GAMSTER. + + + + +ACT I. + + + + SCENE I. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Enter MARIA and THOMAS. + + MARIA. But why these moping, melancholy looks? + Each eye observes and marks them now unseemly, + Whilst every countenance but your's speaks joy, + At the near wedding of our master's daughter. + Sure none so well deserv'd this noble prize: + And young lord Weston will be bless'd indeed. + + THOMAS. It has been countermanded. + + MARIA. What again? + This is the second time. What can this mean? + Then, his unusual absence, now a month, + Nor any cause assign'd. + + THOMAS. Some accident. + I know a truer flame was ne'er profess'd: + A fondness which commenced in his apprenticeship, + Here in this house, then but the late lord's nephew, + Nor next in heirship to estate or title. + + MARIA. And sure all must approve his well-judg'd choice! + In charms and virtues there are none surpass her. + + THOMAS. Heav'n grant my fears are groundless! but, Maria, + To think on what of late I daily see, + Afflicts my soul. + + MARIA. What is't your fears suggest? + + THOMAS. A wasted fortune and a sinking credit, + With the near ruin of this worthy family; + The thought materially concerns us both. + + MARIA. But, why again, should we distress ourselves + For that we cannot help? + + THOMAS. Ungenerous thought! + Duty and love and gratitude demand it. + 'Twas here we met each other; here we wedded, + And ever have receiv'd the kindest treatment. + But what disturbs me most--I have been privy + To matters which I should not have conceal'd + From our good friend her father. + + MARIA. Think not of it. + It is not possible to save them now. + + THOMAS. Would in his second marriage he had met + With one more suited to his years and rank! + + MARIA. But are not all things for the better alter'd? + Our house fill'd often with the best of company? + + THOMAS. The best saidst thou? O! no, the worst of all, + A shameless crew of fashionable pillagers; + So that this bank house, by their nightly riot, + Might rather seem a rake-frequented tavern; + And ruin is their sport. Is not each servant + A worn-out victim to those midnight revels, + Without a sabbath's rest? (For in these times, + All sanctity is scoff'd at by the great, + And heaven's just wrath defy'd.) An honest master, + Scarcely a month beyond his fiftieth year, + (Heart-rent with trouble at these sad proceedings,) + Wears to the eye a visage of fourscore: + Nor to be wondered at. + + MARIA. You dream too much. + + THOMAS. O! it is seen by all. Oft through his groves, + With folded arms and downcast looks he saunters, + Ev'n 'midst the dank inclemency of night. + + MARIA. You're too severe, too scrupulous; why, man, + My mistress is a perfect saint, compar'd + With some of those I formerly have serv'd. + + THOMAS. Her conduct has of late been foully censur'd. + But I've disclos'd the whole to our kind neighbours + Wilson and Goodwin, his most faithful friends-- + + MARIA. For which ten thousand blisters scald your tongue! [Aside] + + THOMAS. Who are resolv'd (the task howe'er ungrateful) + Quickly to lay his desp'rate state before him. + + MARIA. But pray, why should not we as well as others, + Avail ourselves of something, whilst all's going? + + THOMAS. Think'st thou to tempt me by a thought so vile? + No; I defy ev'n Envy's cankering tongue + To brand me with the name of faithless steward + Still steady to my trust, nor love, nor fear, + Shall reason from my soul, its inbred honesty. + What then would be the transport of the thought, + That I, from wreck had sav'd this shatter'd bark, + Though poverty and want were my reward! + + MARIA. I see you are as obstinate as usual, + And still persist in your old-fashion'd ravings. + Does not experience daily prove that wealth + Alone gives honour; poverty disgrace? + + THOMAS. All this concerns this transient world alone; + Nor is it worth a single moment's thought. + A slender pittance, earn'd by honest industry, + Surpasses mines of wealth acquir'd by fraud. + + MARIA. It cannot sure be wrong to make reprisals! + Hath she not got in loan from us our earnings + From time to time, nor heeds our pressing calls? + + THOMAS. Ay, as she wastes the honest tradesman's dues, + Which from her husband she receives to pay. + But would her crime be an excuse for ours? + Were that the rule, 'twould be a desp'rate world. + + MARIA. 'Tis not a wonder he should be distress'd. + Six months are scarcely past since one cashier, + In whom you know he plac'd the highest confidence, + Absconded with some thousands. + + THOMAS. So 'tis said, [Bell rings] + But time will quickly shew the truth of all. + + MARIA. Heard you the bell? 'tis he, just come to town. + + THOMAS. And well he came so late, or he had met + On their retreat, that group of restless rioters, + Who day and night pursue this misled woman. [Bell rings again.] + It is the bell again. I am resolv'd + To speak my fears, receive them as he may. + + MARIA. Prithee, forbear till you revolve it further. [He, goes off] + Doubtless she's daily plunging into ruin + The poor infatuated man her husband, + Whom fondness hath made blind to her misconduct. + But I must hear what passes at this meeting; + Wherefore, I'll to the closet next the chamber, + Where usually they meet for private conference. [She goes off.] + + + + SCENE II. + + Another room in Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Mr. ANDREWS and THOMAS. + + ANDREWS. What strange disorder runs thro' all this house! + It seems more like a place of midnight revelling, + Than habitation of a sober family, + And every servant in it looks a spectre. + + [A servant delivers Mr. ANDREWS a letter, which he reads; + servant retires.] + + "This from your late unfortunate cashier, serves + to inform you that he never wrong'd you; 'tis true, + he was deficient much when he departed, yet, by + that Power to whom all thoughts lie open! he knows + not how it happened; but, if the present rumours + are not false, your greatest foe is nearest to + your heart." + + Such secret notices of late are frequent. + When was this letter brought? + + THOMAS. 'Twas left last night. + + ANDREWS. Is my wife up? + + THOMAS. She's not long gone to rest. + + ANDREWS. Too much her practised course. Unthinking woman! + Thus she precipitates our common ruin. [Aside.] + Did not you tell me that my neighbour Wilson + Had been enquiring for me here to-day? + + THOMAS. He was three times, and now I hear his voice. + + ANDREWS. 'Tis opportune; return when he departs. [THOMAS goes off] + + Enter WILSON. + + Welcome! thrice welcome! truest, best of friends. + + WILSON. I hope 'twill speedily be in my power, + As 'tis my wish sincere, to give you joy + On the most happy marriage of your daughter. + + Andrew. A thousand thanks! 'twas to have been to morrow, + But is postponed a while. + + WILSON. There is no prize, + Wealthy, or noble, which she doth not merit. + + ANDREWS. Again I thank my friend; but tell me wherefore, + We meet not now as we were wont? time was + When scarce a single day knew us asunder; + Of late we're so for weeks. + + WILSON. Where lies the blame? + You then were us'd to join your happy friends, + In all their harmony and mirthful innocence; + But you and yours have quite estrang'd yourselves, + Scorning to mingle in our humble circles. + + ANDREWS. And is this mode of life to us peculiar? + The tide of fashion, in these days of riot, + Sweeps all before it that its torrent meets. + + WILSON. To our eternal shame!--All sense is fled, + And ev'ry social pleasure with their virtues. + Nor boast we more that wholesome plain economy + Which made our ancestors so justly fam'd + For honestly, and every gen'rous deed; + But in its stead a splendid, wasteful vanity + (Regardless of the toiler's hard-earn'd claims,) + Pervades each rank, and all distinction levels: + Too sure fore-runners of the loss of freedom. + + ANDREWS. Your picture is as just as it is gloomy. + But you can firmly stem th' infection's tide, + And 'scape the censure we so justly merit. + Yet you'd not blame your friend, if you knew all. [He walks to + and fro.] + + WILSON. I cannot longer justify myself, + To be a mute spectator of such ruin, + As hourly threatens this respected family. [Aside.] + To flatter, or conceal would ill become + That friendship you have said you so esteem. + My heart is open then, and can't acquit you. + You've lost that fortitude you once possess'd. + + ANDREWS. O Wilson! I confess your charge is just. + The truth is, I'm no longer master here, + Nor of my family, nor of myself; + And yet you may remember, no man liv'd + More happily than I with my first wife. + + WILSON. She had all the virtues that adorn her sex. + + ANDREWS. And was withal of such a gentle nature, + That I could ne'er conceive that ev'n in thought, + She would impede or contradict my wish. + + WILSON. The loss was great. 'Tis now about ten years? + + ANDREWS. Not more: you also know, that shortly after, + (Full short indeed!) I wedded with the present. + + WILSON. Not with the approbation of your friends. + Our women even then were greatly alter'd, + Their manners as their education different. + Their beauties too, are as their hearts deceitful, + While art supplies the spoil of their excesses. + I'm happy in the thoughts of being single. + + ANDREWS. Condemn not all for some; and prize their worth. + By them we are refin'd; by them inspir'd; + For them, we ev'ry toil and danger court, + That lead to glory and make fame immortal. + Trust me, my friend, there's no terrestrial blessing + Equals the union of two souls in virtue. + + WILSON. Your wife was then but Young? + + ANDREWS. About sixteen, + And I in years superiour to her father. + Yet she appear'd of such congenial manners + With my first wife, whose intimate she was, + It led me to this early second marriage. + And ev'n long after, such was her behaviour, + That I insensibly forgot my loss; + For tho' by birth and family allied, + To several of the first in rank and fortune, + Yet did not that the least affect her conduct, + Which she still suited to our humbler station; + A tender parent and a loving wife. + + WILSON. And such might have remain'd, had she not quit + The innocent society of those, + Who best were suited to her state in life. + + ANDREWS. O! 'tis most true; and I have often thought + My happiness too great for long continuance. + The toil, fatigue and numerous disappointments, + (The sure attendants on a life of business) + Were sooth'd and sweeten'd by the fond endearments, + With which she met me in the hours of leisure. + Oft hath she vow'd, that she despis'd the profit, + How great soe'er, that sunder'd us at times. + But all the halcyon days I once enjoy'd, + Do but conspire to aggravate the misery, + Which now quite weighs me down. + + WILSON. Nor is it strange. + Your house is grown a nuisance to its neighbours, + Where twice in every week, if not more frequent, + A motley crowd at midnight hour assembles; + Whose ruffian-like attendants in the street, + Alarm the peaceful, and disturb their quiet. + + ANDREWS. I know, I feel it all. + + WILSON. Its inside too + Is not less riotous; where this same medly + Waste the whole night, destroying health and fortune, + Of ev'ry social duty quite regardless. + + ANDREWS. They've been unseen by me. My health's weak state + Will not admit my sleeping in the city; + Whence also, I am often whole days absent; + As my neglected finances disclose. + Have you at any time beheld these scenes? + + WILSON. Once, on the invitation of your spouse. + + ANDREWS. Relate them, if not irksome. + + WILSON. At your instance. + Then, the first object 'midst this wild assembly, + (For such the night's proceedings fully prov'd it) + That urg'd my wonder, was the heavy purses + Which were display'd there, even by the women, + Without remorse or shame. + + ANDREWS. Ay, there!--Proceed. + + WILSON. After the night had been near three part wasted, + Full half the meeting more like spectres seem'd + Than of this world. The clamour then grew great; + Whilst ev'ry torturing passion of the foul + Glar'd in the ghastly visages of several. + Some grinn'd in rage, some tore their hair, whilst others, + Upon their knees, with hands and eyes uplifted, + In curses dar'd assail all-ruling Providence + Under the varied names of Fate and Fortune. + Nor is there one in the black list of crimes, + Which these infernals seem'd not prompt to perpetrate, + Whilst on a cast their trembling fortunes hung. + + ANDREWS. O Wilson! every passion, every power + Of the great human soul are by this vice, + This fatal vice of all, quite, quite absorb'd, + Save those which its fell purposes excite! + Oh! that most vile seducer lady Belmour! + Wer't not for her, my wife had been a stranger + To all those evils; I to all my misery. + + WILSON. But have our sex surrender'd their prerogative? + Or have I liv'd to see the world revers'd? + You are a man-- + + ANDREWS. I know not what I am. + Alas! my friend is stranger to these matters! + When once a woman deviates from discretion, + Setting her heart on every vain pursuit, + No husband then rests master of his fate. + Fond love no limit knows to its submission, + Not more than beauty to its thirst for empire, + Whose tears are not less pow'rful than its smiles. + Nay, ev'n dislike, 'gainst reason, oft must yield, + Whilst the mind's quiet is an object priz'd; + So is the sex from its sweet purpose chang'd-- + + WILSON. Your state then seems quite hopeless of relief? + + ANDREWS. O! could I wean her from this one sad vice! + Wipe out this only speck in her rich volume! + Then, all my woes should cease; then, would I write, + In truth's fair characters, her matchless worth, + Nor blush to boast the fondness of my heart. + + WILSON. Your love admits some doubt. + + ANDREWS. My love of her!----- + + WILSON. Ev'n so. + Do you not tamely see her, ev'ry day, + Destroying wantonly her precious health? + But what is more------I shall proceed too far. + + ANDREWS. Go on, I am prepar'd. + + WILSON. Her reputation-- + + ANDREWS. Her reputation! + + WILSON. I have said it, + + ANDREWS. Heav'n! + + WILSON. It has not 'scap'd the busy tongue of censure, + Yet let appearances be what they may, + I think she's innocent. + + ANDREWS. What, innocent! + Against appearances!--impossible. + All sense disclaims the thought; these neglected, + Neglect of virtue is the sure attendant, + And ev'n the firmest may be then seduced;-- + 'Tis as the noon-day plain.--Who? who's the villain? + The murderer of my peace? By heav'n! he dies. + + WILSON. Madness indeed! all may be mere surmise; + Wherefore, at present it will be most prudent, + To hush the sad ideas of suspicion. + A little time must prove its truth, or falsehood; + Besides, the person charg'd is of high rank. + + ANDREWS. O! there's no rank can sanctify such outrage. + Lord Belmour! say-- + + WILSON. Yes--he--or why that name? + + ANDREWS. They nearly are a-kin--and yet of late + His visits have been rather more than usual. + But have you any proof for this your hint? + + WILSON. It is the current rumour of the neighbourhood, + Else I should ne'er have dar'd to wound your ear; + But friendship urges the unpleasing task-- + You tell me, you sleep mostly in the country? + + ANDREWS. What then? he may, ev'n when I sleep in town, + Pass nights with her, and all unknown to me. + + WILSON. You puzzle me. + + ANDREWS. 'Tis easily explain'd. + For some time past we've slept in separate chambers. + For when she had exchang'd her harmless life + For the destructive course she now pursues, + Her hours became so late and so uncertain, + My rest was quite disturb'd. + + WILSON. Unhappy state! + Have you discours'd her calmly on these matters? + Few of her sex possess superiour talents. + + ANDREWS. Her temper is so chang'd, so sour'd of late, + + Which with her sad misconduct still increases; + And she so prides herself on her alliances, + And the caresses of her vain associates, + That neither I, nor her neglected children, + Dare ev'n attempt the least discourse with her. + Did you know all, 'twould rend your tender heart. [He pauses + a while, then walks about much disturbed.] + + WILSON. He has abundance more to hear of yet; + Two bills this very day, went off unpaid, + A stroke too fatal, e'er to be recover'd. [Aside.] + Affliction is heav'n's trial of our patience, + As of its love sure proof; and oft' our benefit. + + ANDREWS. Can you continue friend to such lost fortune? + + WILSON. How it would grieve me could you even doubt it! + The surest test of friendship is affliction. + 'Tis then, the faithful heart displays itself, + Whilst vain professors vanish in the gloom. + + ANDREWS. Tell me--Oh tell me! what would you advise? + + WILSON. Against we meet on the Exchange to-day, + I will revolve it well. + + ANDREWS. Reward your goodness heav'n! [WILSON goes off.] + + Re-enter THOMAS. + + Oh what a fatal change in my affairs! + Have you observ'd it, Thomas, yet been silent? + + THOMAS. I almost wish I knew not how to answer: + But since it is his will I must obey. [Aside.] + Dare then your faithful servant speak some truths, + With which his heart is full? + + ANDREWS. What prevents you? + + THOMAS. I dare not--yet--[aside] suppose 'twere of a wife, + So lov'd, so doted on?-- + + ANDREWS. Prithee, proceed. + + THOMAS. Then know, last night, that as I lay awake, + And hearing near the compting-house a noise, + I rose, and in the dark mov'd softly towards it; + When I (unseen by her) beheld her passing + Quickly from thence, and in her hands a light, + And key, with which she op'd the iron chest. + + ANDREWS. [After some pause] Good heav'n! that she could injure + me so deeply------ + My credit------but I cannot bear to expose her! + Means have been us'd to stop all further mischief, + On some suspicions of mine own before. + So for the present, must appear to doubt it. [Aside.] + [To THOMAS] For this, I owe you my most grateful thanks. + I've ever found you faithful to my interest; + Yet, as your zeal may have alarm'd your fears, + Speak not of this, until I weigh it further, + Not even to your wife. + + THOMAS. I shall obey. [THOMAS goes off] + + ANDREWS. What an unhappy man!--It is impossible-- + I ne'er knew one in ev'ry thought more pure + Than she was once--and now to be so chang'd-- + I will not see her more--and yet--O heav'n!-- + 'Tis demonstration only can convince me. + + Ah! lovely woman, didst thou ne'er design + But in thy proper sphere alone to shine, + Using with modesty each winning art, + To fix, as well as captivate the heart, + Love's purest flame might gild the nuptial days, + And Hymen's altars then for ever blaze. + + + + +ACT II. + + + + SCENE I. + + An apartment in Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Mrs. ANDREWS and MARIA. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I'm quite amaz'd at what you have related. [She + walks to and fro much agitated.] + + MARIA. I must not now discover, how her husband + Receiv'd the tidings of a secret key: + She would not rest, until reveng'd of mine. [Aside.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Can you now help me? I am much distress'd. + + MARIA. You know I am devoted to your service. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. So I have ever thought.--Heav'n! what a state! + Compell'd to sooth ev'n those my soul abhors. [Aside.] + + MARIA. Madam, I'm griev'd to see your spirits sinking. + But hear me, and I think I can propose + A scheme by which it may be so contriv'd, + As to retort this charge on your fair character, + Cruel as false, respecting the lord Belmour, + On your base neighbour Wilson, the inventer, + With honour to yourself. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. What, and he innocent? + + MARIA. Hath he not wrong'd you?------beyond all redress? + Labour'd to blast your spotless fame for ever, + Whilst you are innocent? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Yet much to blame. [Aside.] + + MARIA. Wherefore, your honour calls aloud for vengeance. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. True; his harsh, cruel, groundless, information + Hath to my poor mind's peace been most injurious. + + MARIA. It is the only means I can devise, + At once to wipe away this foul aspersion, + And all the other mischiefs that may follow. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. But how, I pray? none bear more fair repute. + + MARIA. Yet vers'd in gallantry. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. So I have heard. + + MARIA. That answers well; suppose then, in a letter, + You mention earnestly, his having made + Some overtures injurious to your honour, + And should he persevere, that you'll disclose + This breach of truth and friendship to your husband? + Then, let this letter, as it were by chance, + Fall in my master's way.--Consider this. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. [Pauses] A most ingenious thought!--but to + pursue it--[Pauses again.] + Shall I at such dark villainy connive!-- + Are there no means to 'scape the tongue of calumny, + But by imbibing her infectious breath, + And blasting innocence with sland'rous falsehood? + Chang'd howsoe'er I be, yet my soul shudders + Ev'n at the thought of an unjust revenge-- + I ne'er could reconcile it to myself. + + MARIA. Again I say, your own defence demands it. + It is the sole resource you have to save you. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I am myself the cause of all these miseries. [Aside.] + I see great difficulties in this matter. + + MARIA. I, not any--do you but write this letter; + The rest be mine--but soft!--my master's voice-- + + Mrs. ANDREWS. What shall I do? I would not meet him now. + + MARIA. You must not, till our purpose is effected. + Be not distress'd--I'll urge a fit excuse. + So, to your chamber, and prepare the letter, + No patience can submit to such indignities. [Goes off.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I dread the very thoughts of this--and yet-- + To rest beneath so vile an accusation-- + It cannot--must not be--I should be false, + And to myself unjust--and then, revenge + Upon this slanderer--I'm much perplex'd. [Goes off.] + + + + SCENE II. + + Changes to another room in Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Enter Mr. ANDREWS, leaning on THOMAS and another person; CONSTANTIA + attending him. + + THOMAS. This outward room is large, the air more free. + + ANDREWS. Faint!--very faint!--support me to yon couch. [They seat + him on a couch.] + I hop'd at length heav'n's goodness had determin'd + To give my soul its so long wish'd-for peace. + + CONSTANTIA. Of late, these fierce attacks give fresh alarm. + Preserve him, heav'n,--O sir! behold your daughter.-- + + ANDREWS. Tir'd nature hath got respite for a while, + Yet weaken'd much--my final rest is near. + [To the servants.] Withdraw awhile; but wait within a call. + Constantia! stay; come nearer to your father. + Give me your hand, I wish a private conference + On somewhat of much moment ere we part. + + CONSTANTIA. You make your daughter happy; for of late, + I've thought, you did not see me with that pleasure + To which I had been us'd; I, therefore fear'd, + You some distress had met, or that Constantia, + Had witlessly, (when some ill fate presided,) + The best of parents and of friends offended. + + ANDREWS. You never did; it is against your nature. + You've ever been affectionate as dutiful; + But the postponing thus a second time + (And on lord Weston's side) the purpos'd wedding, + Which all must say, our station weigh'd with his, + Besides his princely qualities of mind, + Would highly honour us, disturbs me much: + Yet, wou'd I hope, th' affections of your heart + Are not so fix'd upon this noble youth, + you cou'd not wean them thence, shou'd it be fit. + + CONSTANTIA. What is't I hear! undone! be still, my heart! [Aside.] + Hath not a letter, sir, disclos'd the cause? + + ANDREWS. Such letter I receiv'd, yet it is said, + His uncle, the lord Belmour, hath of late, + Spoken of this, to which he once consented, + In terms of discontent; which, if as told, + I would to the alliance of an emperour, + Prefer the badge of want. + + CONSTANTIA. [She kneels] O most indulgent! + Ever-honour'd sir! let not a thought for me + Distress your tenderness. Heav'n be my judge! + That did my faithful heart approve him more + (If possible) than I have truly told you, + And that its choice was not with your assent, + My task should be, to tear it thence for ever. + And, but I know lord Weston has a soul, + Possess'd of every virtue heav'n bestows, + I wou'd far rather wed in mine own rank, + Where truth and happiness are oft'ner found, + Than midst the glaring grandeur of the great. + + ANDREWS. Come to thy father's arms, thou sweet resemblance + Of the perfections of your much-lov'd mother; + A loss each day felt more--yet, my Constantia, + What tho' your charms and virtue shou'd surpass + All that e'er center'd in a virgin frame, + To be the choice of this exalted youth + Causes a thousand fears in my fond heart. + + CONSTANTIA. O sir! how you alarm me! heav'n! what fears? + + ANDREWS. Constantia singled out, preferr'd to numbers + Of the first rank, who would exult to win him, + Will rouse up ev'ry baneful blast of envy, + Perfections such as thine ne'er 'scape malignity. + + CONSTANTIA. The example of that honour to her sex, + My dear lost mother, with the wholesome lessons + Instill'd by you, will so direct my steps, + I may those blasts escape your fondness fears. + + ANDREWS. Yet, should this change in your condition happen, + This also treasure in your mind; that man, + As in his frame, so is his spirit rough; + Whilst your more tender sex was form'd by heav'n, + To sooth those cares, which from his state still flow, + With winning grace, and smooth life's rugged paths. + That she who best submits will surest reign; + In youth be idolized, in age revered. + But when perverse contention marks her conduct, + And passion's transitory joys are pall'd, + The past offence will to the mind recur, + And all that once had charm'd be quite forgot. + + CONSTANTIA. Good heav'n! of two such parents make me worthy. + + Enter MARIA. + + ANDREWS. Some message from my wife--withdraw awhile. + + CONSTANTIA. [As she goes off] Alas! I fear some deep distress + affects him. + + ANDREWS. Where is your mistress? + + MARIA. In her chamber, sir. + + ANDREWS. Go tell her I am here, and wish to see her. + + MARIA. Good sir! she has been greatly indispos'd: + But somewhat eas'd, was in a friendly slumber, + Till rous'd at hearing that some sudden ailment + Had just now seiz'd you, she dispatch'd me hither, + And most impatient waits for my return + With tidings of your health, to her so precious. + + ANDREWS. This woman is so hackney'd in all baseness, + That even truth from her would be disgrac'd. [Aside.] + Had her condition far exceeded all + Your seeming tender fears; or did I hear + The peal of her death bell, I shou'd not wonder. + Was she not up all night? Was ever seen + Such rapid havock as this life of riot + Spreads o'er her bloom, which ev'ry art abash'd, + Now vainly practis'd to repair its ruin! + Sad victim to the world's most baleful fashions! + + MARIA. Some friends staid later here last night than usual. + But if you knew how much she's indispos'd, + I'm sure 'twould pierce your heart; as I well know, + You love her tenderly, as she does you. + + ANDREWS. Wou'd I had lov'd her less, or ne'er had seen her! + Retire awhile, I pray--I wou'd be private. + + MARIA. [As she goes off] We now shall execute the scheme I plann'd. + + ANDREWS. I am the veriest wretch that breathes the air, + And nought but desperation is before me. + + + [A Servant BOY enters hastily at a different door, + as if passing to another room, with a letter in + his hand, starts, (as if at seeing his master) + and affects to conceal the letter.] + + ANDREWS. You seem confus'd--What paper's that? + + BOY. 'Tis, sir--'tis a letter-- + + ANDREWS. From whom? and to whom? + + BOY. From, sir,--Why, 'tis-- + + [He seizes the boy's hand, who drops the letter, and whilst + his master is taking it up, runs off.] + + ANDREWS. Ha! what, gone off! how guilt betrays itself! + Here is some secret scheme--'tis in my wife's hand. + The superscription to my old friend Wilson-- + I never yet approv'd of opening letters + By any, save by those to whom address'd; + But to detect deceit, such means are just; + And here it seems, as matters were on foot, + With which, 'tis meant I should not be acquainted. + Besides, of late, I have at times surpriz'd them + in close and intimate discourse together; + When, it now strikes me, they seem'd much confounded. + Upon the whole, I think I ought to read it: + Necessity demands the doubtful deed. [He opens and reads the letter.] + + "Sir, + I might have thought the repulse you so lately receiv'd, + with the declaration I then made of acquainting my husband + with your conduct, would have deterred you from ever making + any further attempt.--How fatal might the consequences prove + should I discover your behaviour to him? Is this your + friendship? Know, base man! that whatever my follies and + indiscretions may be in other respects, there is not any + distress shall lead me to an act against the honour of + Elizabeth Andrews." + + Am I awake! or is this all a dream? + My friend--seduce my wife? it cannot be! [Looks again on the letter.] + It surely is her hand--it must be so. + She's now but in her prime, and few so beautiful-- + Then his strict charge this morning, not to mention + What he himself had told me was reported + Of her and the lord Belmour, with this letter, + Are proofs which make this matter nearly certain. + What ruin is at hand!------ [He pauses.] + + Enter MARIA hastily. + + Woman, your business? + + MARIA. My lady, sir, is up, and begs to see you; + Or she will wait on you. + + ANDREWS. I choose the latter. [She goes off.] + How wond'rous condescending of a sudden! + Shou'd this be a true charge in this dread letter, + All he has mentioned of her and lord Belmour, + May be a base invention for his purpose-- + Yet, may not both be true?--distracting state! + + Enter Mrs. ANDREWS. + + [He in profound thought, and not observing her.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. He heeds me not. The letter strongly works. [Aside.] + I've been inform'd, sir, that you wish'd to see me. + You seem disturb'd; acquaint me with the cause. + + ANDREWS. Forbear to question me. I am not well. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. You yield too much to melancholy thoughts. + + ANDREWS. True--Melancholy hath been long my portion; + As I've too long the fatal cause conceal'd: + But ev'ry duty now, to heaven, to you, + To my poor children, to myself, all, all + Demand it from the husband and the father, + That you, oh! you, are the sole, fatal cause. [She offers to + withdraw, he shuts the door.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. How your looks scare me! what have I committed? + + ANDREWS. O! many things you should not have committed. + To number all the mischiefs which your conduct, + Your most misguided conduct hath induc'd + On those, to whom, each law divine and human + Had bound you in affection's strongest ties, + Were but a needless waste of time and speech. + [Aside] Heav'n! what contempt and scorn her looks betray! + O Gaming! cursed vice! parent of all! + How callous grow the hearts of all thy votaries! + And how hast thou this once soft bosom chang'd! + Nor is her form less alter'd than her mind. + [Turning to her] Perverse and obstinate! as adders deaf! + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Your words are not unheard. + + ANDREWS. It matters not; + Without due heed, 'twere speaking to the winds. + Have you yet thought, how you could bear the change, + The bitter change from affluence to poverty, + Which ev'ry want will bring to your remembrance? + We both must in one ruin be involv'd. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I know no life I lead that is not suited + To what I am entitled by my birth: + An honour, sir, of which you seem insensible. + + ANDREWS. True honour only lies in virtuous deeds. + But had you been the daughter of a prince, + 'Twere fit you suitably demean'd yourself, + To that condition you had freely chosen. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. By gloomy minds, and years by ailments sour'd, + Remembring not past seasons in themselves, + Ev'n pleasures innocent are deem'd offence. + + ANDREWS. No--no; it lies not in their decent use; + 'Tis the extreme that constitutes the fault, + By which, ev'n Virtue's sacred self might err; + But they who break a single law, would others, + If lured alike; so violate the whole. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Ha! is it come to this? arraign my virtue? + + ANDREWS. This quick impatience is self-accusation. + I have not even hinted at it yet. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Whilst I am conscious of my own heart's innocence, + I scorn the censure of a slanderous world; + It cannot injure me. + + ANDREWS. Soft! have a care. + No virtue with that thought is safe a moment. + O! 'tis a jewel of such brilliant lustre, + And so resistless wins the admiration, + That even vice, in its appearance mansk'd, + Pays homage at its shrine. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. What is't I hear? + I see th' ill-natur'd purpose of your summons. + But who are they, sir, who have dar'd traduce me? + Some, it is like, of your low-rank'd associates? + + ANDREWS. This war of words is wandering from the purpose. + Now, mark me well--the man who dares insult + A woman's modesty, must have descry'd + Somewhat in her behaviour that would warrant + Such outrage of abuse.--Is this your hand? [Shewing her the letter.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Let me see it. [He gives her the letter, + which she reads hastily, then tears it to pieces.] + Now, let me tell you, sir, + 'Twas a base action to unclose this letter, + Or any other not to you address'd. + What a curs'd hellish plot hath here been schem'd + Against my peace! oh! oh! Maria--oh! [She faints upon the sofa.] + + Enter MARIA. + + MARIA. Alas! alas! my poor lady! good sir! + What hath she done to merit this unkindness? + You've always been the tenderest of husbands. + + ANDREWS. Forbear this idle talk; attend your mistress. + [Aside] What fool was I to trust her with this letter! + Yet, why was she so hasty to destroy it? + Heav'n! in what deep perplexities I'm plung'd! [He goes off.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. What! gone! Leave me in the sad seeming state + In which I call myself!--and unconcern'd! + Would I had died before I wrote that letter! + Desperate act! I knew not what I did. + + MARIA. Madam, despair not; this will soon blow over, + You're young and beauteous; he, in his decline. + You can command him, as best suits your pleasure; + But let not scruples rule you at this crisis: + In my poor judgment, 'twould undo us all. + Consult your friend, the faithful lady Belmour; + None can advise you better on this subject. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. O! but Maria, this is not the whole. + My ill success at play for some time past, + Hath far exceeded all hath yet befall'n me: + This hurried me to borrow of lord Belmour + A thousand pieces, which, with the several sums + I've lost to him (not small), must now be paid; + But above all,--ill fate! is the discovery + Of the false key to my wrong'd husband's chest: + Which must be so; as other locks are fix'd + On it, and every door that leads thereto. + + MARIA. The work this, of my old officious husband. [Walks apart + and pauses.] + Now for due vengeance for the killing flights, + That youth, the scornful Jefferson, hath cast + On me, and my ill-fated fondness for him. [Returning.] + What think you of a further application + To the cashier; your worthy friend young Jefferson? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I cannot: he already hath assur'd me, + He dares not venture to supply me further. + + MARIA. I doubt not but he told you so; and yet, + My hopes are surety still for his compliance. + There is no danger he'd not risk to serve you. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Whence comes this zeal? + + MARIA. From a passion for you, + As violent perhaps, as e'er possess'd + The heart of man, and which he cannot hide. + You surely must have seen it? It destroys him. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I have, 'tis true, observ'd him much confus'd + At times I spoke to him; but this, I thought, + Might have proceeded from a bashful modesty, + As I conceive his readiness to serve me, + Did from a generous spirit to oblige. + + MARIA. I tell you, madam, 'tis the height of fondness. + A fever, that he lately had, in which + His ceaseless ravings were of you, confirm'd 'it. + He shuns all company, neglects his food, + And wanders often, as would one insane. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Astonishment! + + MARIA. He cannot quit the house + His 'prenticeship has full two years expir'd, + And twice he hath prepar'd him for the Indies. + I know the inmost secrets of his soul: + Besides, of late, he's often much intoxicated, + Who was before the paragon of temperance. + Do but consent to let me call him hither; + One look from you will banish every fear, + Unlock each chest, and lay its stores before you. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Stop! at your peril stop! the very thought + Chills my whole blood--I'd perish first in want. + + MARIA. Then you must quit your honourable friends, + And live for ever in forlorn obscurity. + But pardon me, if I've been too officious. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. My present calls require at least a thousand: + For though my fund be not quite exhausted, + Fortune hath made me bankrupt yet to numbers. + 'Tis true, that many are far more my debtors, + Yet are not all like me in payment punctual. + But I will instant haste to lady Belmour, + My faithful counsel in the time of trouble. + + MARIA. As I could wish. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Then for awhile withdraw. [MARIA goes off.] + How dreadful now, is ev'n a moment's privacy! + How different from those happy hours of innocence, + When my sweet little ones were prattling round me, + With a fond husband and a tender father, + Pouring his blessings upon them and me! + But now I can no more endure to see them, + Than I can bear to look into myself. + How often hath he said, "One hour's remorse + Outweighs whole years of transitory joys!" + How true he spoke! but wherefore these reflections? + When every mischief hath been done already, + And cannot be recall'd! + + Re-enter MARIA. + + MARIA. Madam, the coach. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Be not you absent; I shall soon return, + And may have business of some moment with you. + + MARIA. I fear we have too much on hand already. [Aside.] [They + go off.] + + + + SCENE III. + + Another room in Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + JEFFERSON alone. + + JEFFERSON. My actions must at length fall heavy on me, + And crush me at a blow: but oh! this passion, + This fruitless passion, I've so long indulg'd + For this enchanting woman, drives me on, + Alas! from one transgression to another, + And I deceive myself.--Ha! here's Maria. + Wou'd I cou'd shun her! as of late her visits + Have been more frequent than occasions warrant. + Yet much she hath profess'd herself my friend, + And my heart's secret won. + + Enter MARIA. + + MARIA. I disturb you. + + JEFFERSON. Why to speak truly, I had just now sought + Some private intercourse with mine own heart. + + MARIA. Of late, I think you use too much of that. + But if you knew from whom I am a messenger, + I also think, I should not be unwelcome. + But I'll withdraw. + + JEFFERSON. No, speak your business quickly. + + MARIA. Alas! my poor mistress! + + JEFFERSON. What of her? speak------ + + MARIA. Fortune has been of late to adverse to her, + And she's become indebted to such numbers, + I fear she can no more appear in publick, + But must retire, unless your goodness serves her. + She often speaks with gratitude of Jefferson: + Did you but see in what distress she languishes, + You'd hazard worlds to minister relief. + + JEFFERSON. Full well you know, how I'm inclin'd to serve her; + But her demands encrease with my compliance, + And I have injur'd much the best of masters. + I know no other banker cou'd support it. + + MARIA. Most happy youth! there does not live another, + Of whom my mistress would have sought these favours. + O! cou'd I venture, I could say much more.-- + Thus far however, I'll be bold to utter; + That were our worthy master gone to rest, + (And all observe he's every day declining) + You are the only man her heart would choose.-- + But I have gone too far. + + JEFFERSON. Transporting sounds! + My soul is all attention!--Pray proceed. + + MARIA. I cannot--O! I must not. + + JEFFERSON. Why? + + MARIA. Her honour. + + JEFFERSON. Say, are you truly serious in this matter? + Or, but amusing me with idle hopes? + + MARIA. Pray have you ever found me such a trifler? + + JEFFERSON. I cannot say I have, and yet---- + + MARIA. Yet, what? + + JEFFERSON. Her virtue! + + MARIA. Why you are virtuous, yet cannot avoid + This passion for the loveliest of women: + Nor may she be insensible to you. + No youth more wins our sex's admiration. + Among the rest, the beauteous, gentle Lucia, + In secret languishes: it is too plain: + Though ev'ry art be practis'd to conceal it. + + JEFFERSON. Forbear this now. None prize her virtues more: + Nor am I to her outward charms insensible. + But when the heart is to one object wedded, + No lure can win it thence.------You flatter me? + + MARIA. I don't.--You under-prize yourself.--View this.-- + + JEFFERSON. View what? [Eagerly] + + MARIA. It is a locket with her precious hair, + Which she has sent by me. Refuse it not. + + JEFFERSON. Refuse it!--O! whilst life exists I'll wear it, + Close to that heart which is for ever hers. + I am all ecstacy, delicious woman! [He kisses it.] + + MARIA. [Aside.] A lucky hit, and works as I could wish. + + JEFFERSON. Gratefully thank her for the precious token. + + MARIA. And now as to her present exigencies? + + JEFFERSON. To what may they amount? + + MARIA. About a thousand. + + JEFFERSON. 'Tis quite impossible. + + MARIA. Less will not do. + + JEFFERSON. Besides the mischief I have done my master, + I stand myself upon the verge of ruin. + + MARIA. Were you to see her, you'd not lose a moment + In this last act, so be yourself the messenger. + + JEFFERSON. First, tell her then, that she shall be supply'd, + Let the event be fatal as it may. + + MARIA. Most gen'rous youth! she shall know all your goodness. [She + goes off.] + + JEFFERSON. How quickly every resolution vanishes! + And how am I now chang'd from what I was! + + Like some weak skiff, that for a while had stood + Safe on the tranquil bosom of the flood; + Until at length, the mountain torrents sweep + Its faint resistance headlong to the deep, + Where in large gulps the foamy brine it drinks, + And in the dread abyss for ever sinks. [Exit.] + + + + +ACT III. + + + + SCENE I. + + A chamber in lord BELMOUR's house. + + Lady BELMOUR at her toilet, her Waiting-woman attending. + + Lady BELMOUR. How pale I look! + + ATTENDANT. My lady rose too early. + + Lady BELMOUR. Why, what's the time? + + ATTENDANT. 'Tis past the noon, but it is scarce four hours + Since you lay down to rest. [A tap at the door] + + Lady BELMOUR. Who can this be? [The ATTENDANT goes to + the door and returns.] + + ATTENDANT. 'Tis Mrs. Andrews, madam, in her chariot. + + Lady BELMOUR. What, at this hour?--and yet in truth no wonder, + That thus her rest's disturb'd. It would require + The wealth of India to support her losses. + And were she now possess'd of all its stores, + I and my friends cou'd rid her of the burthen. + Perhaps, she comes to pay me the five hundred + I won of her, when last we play'd together? + Or with the flattering hopes to make reprisals? + So I may double it before we part: + For she's unskill'd enough to lose a million. + Away!--I'll wait her in the damask chamber. [They go off + different ways.] + + + + SCENE II. + + Changes to another apartment. + + Lady BELMOUR alone. Enter Mrs. ANDREWS. + + Lady BELMOUR. My dearest Andrews! I rejoice to see you. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I always found you friendly and obliging. + + Lady BELMOUR. But why this gloom on that angelic face? + Why not as sprightly as you us'd to be? + Surely you'll not conceal the cause from me, + Whose wishes for you are sincere as earnest! + + Mrs. ANDREWS. How happy am I in this honour'd favour! + You know my loss at play for some time past + Hath been prodigious; it hath reach'd my husband. + + Lady BELMOUR. Were I in your case, that should not disturb me. + Is not the jealous dotard twice your age? + Such incidents shou'd more confirm my empire. + Nay, my offence shou'd be his accusation, + Nor wou'd I rest until he shou'd acknowledge + The fault was his, not mine; so, rouse your spirits. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Impossible, I've injur'd him too deeply; + Have lost with his esteem, his love for ever. + + Lady BELMOUR. Then farewel further intercourse between us. [Aside] + Despond not thus, all will be well again. + I think you owe me just five hundred pieces? + Yet let not that disturb you in the least: + It may be in your power to pay me soon. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I would not forfeit your regard and friendship, + For fifty times the sum. + + Lady BELMOUR. Imagine not, + That I cou'd doubt your honour, were it thousands. + Your strict and constant perseverance in it, + Has won you the esteem and love of all; + And to convince you of my high opinion, + I'll hazard this five hundred with you now. + The day is early yet. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. O press me not; + My mind's too-much distress'd with what has happen'd; + But I have brought the honourable debt. [She takes out + several notes from a pocket-book.] + These make the whole, I think. + + Lady BELMOUR. Most honour'd friend! + But may I trespass on your gen'rous spirit? + Your stock I see, is not a little weighty. + Cou'd you supply me with five hundred more + For a few hours? I have no doubt to treble them, + At a small party, I expect this instant: + And I'll repay them gratefully this evening + At lady Meldmay's, where we are to meet. + I, and three more this morning hold a bank; + In which, if you wou'd choose to share a chance, + Fortune perhaps might favour you this way. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Not now; but here's the further sum you wish for; + And fail not to repay it as you promise. + 'Tis but a part of what I owe to others. + + Lady BELMOUR. I wou'd not disappoint you for the world. + My obligations are beyond expression. + Grant heav'n, your present troubles quickly vanish. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. And may you meet the fortune which you hope for! + [She goes off.] + + Lady BELMOUR. 'Tis wonderful, how she acquires all this. + Her husband's ruin'd, my dissipated lord, + Most lavishly, I hear, supplies her wants; + Whilst even for domestic calls his purse + Is niggardly unclos'd; and what he spares, + Must be in strictest mode accounted for: + Nor does he know a pleasure, absent from her. + To keep this sum then, were but fair reprisals. [Exit.] + + + + SCENE III. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Mr. ANDREWS and THOMAS. + + ANDREWS. What monsters trust will make us when we yield + Our reason to its rage, and let it rule! + My neighbour! my companion! Oh! the man, + Whom I to serve, would have risk'd every blessing + To seek to wound me in the tenderest point! + Then, under friendship's show masking his treachery, + Endeavour falsely to accuse another-- + Most infernal villain! + + THOMAS. 'Tis impossible. + Say, is there one of more exalted virtues? + Or one who so esteems and honours you? + + ANDREWS. Oh! my wife's letter proves beyond all question, + This breach of friendship, gratitude and honour. + + THOMAS. All forgery. + + ANDREWS. She did not deny it. + + THOMAS. Where is it? + + ANDREWS. I have it not, she tore it. + + THOMAS. Tore it! how got she it? + + ANDREWS. It matters not. + + THOMAS. There's something more in this, than yet you know of. + + ANDREWS. If any thing by chance hath reach'd your ear, + Against the safety ev'n of an enemy, + Stain not your fair repute with the foul secret. + The faithful tongue will utter what the heart + In justice prompts, though death were the event. + + THOMAS. Then, sir, the letter is a black contrivance. + And would you now forgive this tell-tale honesty, + I shou'd not hesitate to name the forger. + + ANDREWS. These intermissions aggravate the misery. + + THOMAS. Prepare then for the shock. It was your wife. + Boldly I speak the truth; for much she's wrong'd, + If since she has been link'd with those high miscreants, + Who, whilst they plunder, hold her in derision, + Her foul's not ripe for ev'ry desp'rate project. [ANDREWS walks + about much disturb'd.] + Patience, good sir! I rest not on suspicion. + + ANDREWS. Audacious wretch, away!--quick, shun my rage! + + THOMAS. I meant you well. [Aside as he goes off.] How piteous + is his case! [Exit.] + + ANDREWS. How can I meet him, and we both survive it! + Dread interval! would I had ne'er been born. [Goes off.] + + + + SCENE IV. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Mrs. ANDREWS and MARIA. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Well, I believe if all my debts were paid, + I ne'er should hazard more. + + MARIA. And so return + To the dull, lonely life you once pursued? + Forbid it your good angel! 'twould destroy you. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. O! but that life, Maria, was estrang'd + To those anxieties which haunt me now. + I cannot bear to be alone a moment. + + MARIA. For that good reason, act like lady Belmour; + Like her be resolute, and scorn despair. + + Enter a SERVANT. + + SERVANT. Lord Belmour, madam, tenders his respects. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. [Aside.] How I dread these visits! Besides, of late, + He hath been more particular than usual; + So that it hath become the general notice. + [To the Servant.] Withdraw awhile. [To MARIA.] I will not be + at home. + + MARIA. What, not to him? + That gallant, gen'rous nobleman! your friend! + + Mrs. ANDREWS. A creditor for more than I can pay. + + MARIA. Bless us! where are your boasted gains of late, + And where the sum you just receiv'd from Jefferson? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Of late, I have miss'd notes for several sums. + + Mar. I doubt she suspects me. [Aside.] Madam, 'tis like, + You've lent them to some friends? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Of this again. + Have you yet rais'd the money on my jewels? + + MARIA. The broker thinks the pledge is not sufficient. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. For three thousand! they cost that sum twice told. + + MARIA. He'll not lend more than two. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I must submit. + [Aside.] Shameful return this to the gen'rous donor! + Part was his present on our bridal day, + And part the day, he bore the city's honours. + He thought he never could enough adorn me. + + MARIA. But we forget--his lordship waits admission. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I cannot see him,--yet, shou'd I refuse it, + As my curs'd stars have destin'd me his debtor, + He may, perhaps, conceive, it want of honour. + + MARIA. He scorns such thoughts; ev'n in his younger days, + as in his mien, so in all noble deeds, + Fair rumour tells, he was surpass'd by none. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Say, is your master in the house? + + MARIA. No, madam. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Well then, this once.--How I abhor myself! + [MARIA goes off.] + + Enter Lord BELMOUR. + + Lord BELMOUR. How does my charming creditor this morning? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Your debtor, I suppose you mean, my lord? + + Lord BELMOUR. Thou never was't my debtor. I'm thy slave; + And in the pleasing chains would live for ever. + To view that lovely form! those radiant eyes, + And listen to the language of those lips! + What sum can be a recompense for these + O! that such matchless, such resistless beauty, + Shou'd be condemn'd to the cold arms of age + Or one of vulgar breed!--'tis--Oh! it is-- + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I know not what you mean. You talk in mystery. + [He attempts to take her hand, at which she seems + very uneasy, withdrawing it.] + My lord, I must beseech you to desist, + Or I must hence retire. + + Lord BELMOUR. But hear me first. + This is a free discharge of all demands. [Produces a paper] + This other writing binds me, as your debtor, + In two thousand. [Produces another paper] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I see his base designs. + He seeks to take advantage of my wants. [Aside] + I need no further proofs of your intentions. + I have already heard too much. [She walks to and fro + much disorder'd.] + + Lord BELMOUR. Too much! + 'Tis strange! what have you heard? that I do love, + Admire, adore you, O! beyond all utterance; + But why conceive, that I intend you injury? + Were my possessions as the globe extensive, + You might command the whole, as you may him, + Who lives, or dies, as you shall smile, or frown. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Into what mischiefs do you mean to plunge me? + Or wherefore do you dare insult me thus? + Is it because I'm wedded to a citizen, + (Forgetting that I am of your own kindred) + That you these liberties presume? Know, sir, + That through the world, an honest British trader + Esteem and honour meets. But, were I lower + Than vanity directs you to conceive me, + And you of the first rank; where freedom reigns, + You have no right to offer me such insult. + + Lord BELMOUR. Talk not of rank to one who loves as I do; + The pride of kings beneath those eyes might languish, + And prostrate thus, and trembling wait their sentence. [He falls + on his knees, seizes her hand, which she forces from him.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. What have you seen in my deportment, sir, + To warrant this intrusion? 'tis unworthy. + + Lord BELMOUR. Will you not then vouchsafe one glance of pity? + Is there no ray of hope; no room for pardon? + O, inexorable! + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Protect me, heav'n! [Aside] + Sir, at your peril, speak to me again. + + Lord BELMOUR. Teach, teach me first, how this devoted heart, + Shall gain its freedom, or forget its fondness. + That voice conveys such rapture to my soul, + That I would hear it, though 'twere sure perdition. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. These hackney'd phrases, use to those they suit + To me, they are accumulated insults. [He rises.] + + Lord BELMOUR. Forego such thoughts; I, nothing meant but honour. + My wife and I, having resolv'd to sunder, + (For without love we met, and so have liv'd,) + Hope ev'ry moment our divorce for ever; + When both may wed again, as each best likes; + A practice now full easily accomplish'd. + Then, that your husband's fate is near its period, + 'Tis said, some recent symptoms have pronounc'd + Wherefore, it soon may be my happy lot, + To make thee partner of my rank and fortune, + As thou'rt already empress of my heart. + --Accept then, I beseech thee, these small tokens. + [He gives her + the papers, which she, in great confusion, insensibly takes.] + + And now with that sweet breath, surpassing far + The spicy perfume of the budding rose, + Pronounce the sentence of my life, or death. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. To what an abject state am I reduc'd! + The time has been, I'd not have heard a king + Discourse me thus. [Aside.]--I charge you, sir, desist. + + Lord BELMOUR. I find 'tis vain to press my suit at present, + An humour this, to which 'twere better yield. + Best flatter it. [Aside.]--O! I am quite abash'd. + Your merited rebukes so awe my soul, + That I shall live from this day forth in penitence, + And adoration of your heav'nly virtues: + Let me then read in thy relenting eye + My peace restor'd, or seal my final doom! + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Your future conduct must determine it. + + Lord BELMOUR. Permit me then, I pray-- [He seizes her hand, + and kisses it.] + We are to meet + At lady Meldmay's drawing-room to-night; + Till then--[Aside as he goes off.]--The prize is mine. + She now must yield. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Are these his papers? heav'n what have I done? + I'll instantly dispatch them after him + Yet that were dang'rous too; they might miscarry; + And then in person to return them to him, + May cause another interview between us.-- + What mischiefs have I heap'd upon myself! [Goes off.] + + + + SCENE V. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + ANDREWS and JEFFERSON. + + ANDREWS. What,--my old faithful steward!--O! impossible. + And yet, this finding of the secret key + Of the cash-chest, (with which he charg'd my wife) + And medals in his trunk--but then the letter, + Giving me information of this matter + Has not the writer's name--that causes doubt-- + Then, his surprize, which seem'd so unaffected, + With his most firm behaviour, so unlike + The consciousness of guilt, when in his presence + They were discover'd there, favour him much. + Wherefore, till this affair be further canvass'd + I wou'd not fend him to a public prison. [He walks to and fro.] + + JEFFERSON. I shall obey.--He never judg'd more justly. [Aside, + as he goes off.] + + Enter a Servant, with a letter to Mr. ANDREWS, which he reads. + + ANDREWS. The Speedwell cast away! a heavy loss! + Ills upon Ills in train pursue each other. + Heard you of this before? + + JEFFERSON. Such rumour was + On the Exchange to-day, but not with certainty. + + ANDREWS. However she's insur'd, and highly too. + Go fetch the policy, I wish to see it. + Or rather wait me in the compting-house. + + JEFFERSON. [As he goes off] O heav'n! I gave the money to his + wife. [Exit.] + + ANDREWS. He seem'd confus'd, and mutter'd to himself; + My fears anticipate some dread event. + But what of this? shou'd it be heav'n's high will, + That the remorseless billows should ingulf + The remnant of my wealth; yet this--all this, + I cou'd with patient resignation bear, + And toil with pleasure for an honest pittance. + But oh! to lose that precious, treasur'd gem, + Which my whole soul engross'd--to see another, + In my disgrace exult--yet more--yet more-- + My children--oh my children--must ye suffer! + Away all thoughts of peace henceforth for ever. [Goes off.] + + + + Scene VI. + + Lord WESTON's apartments. + + Lord BELMOUR and Lord WESTON. + + Lord BELMOUR. Well, nephew, have you yet consider'd better + Of your love-frolick for the merchant's daughter? + You may meet numbers through this spacious city + With wealth superior far to her possessions; + Nor need you languish for their hearts a moment. + + Lord WESTON. The common light shines not more unreserv'd; + Their very charms fatigue the public eye. + But, sir, my spirit scorns an easy conquest. + + Lord BELMOUR. Fine founding words, yet answer not my question. + You too much from the world seclude yourself; + Which serves to add fresh fuel to the flame. + Long have I been, as I may say, your parent, + And have at present in my thoughts for you, + A wife well suited to your rank and fortune. + + Lord WESTON. Thanks, my good lord! I doubt not your kind wishes; + But here, where all life's happiness depends, + Permit me to determine for myself. + True joys dwell only with united hearts, + And solitude is far the wiser choice + Than wedlock where domestic bliss is absent. + How vain is then the hope of such delights + With those of Fashion's stamp, whose only merit, + Is, that they are of this all-conqu'ring sex, + Of ev'ry other excellence regardless? + + Lord BELMOUR. Again, young lord, I tell you, shou'd you wed + With the first merchant's daughter of the world, + 'Twould to your lineage be disgrace for ever. + + Lord WESTON. Disgrace lies only in the want of virtue, + That excellence, in which she most abounds. + + Lord BELMOUR. How long have you surrender'd to this dotage? + + Lord WESTON. Almost from infancy; for even then, + A mutual sympathy inspir'd our souls; + Which first commenc'd in her good father's house, + (Whom I then serv'd,) when all I knew of love, + Was that her presence ever gave me pleasure, + As did her absence pain--I even thought, + The air blew sweeter from the place she breath'd. + But when her heav'nly mind disclos'd its beauties, + My heart then fix'd beyond the power of change. + + Lord BELMOUR. All, all romance, with which your head seems fill'd. + But briefly to decide this matter, know, + 'Tis now full thirty summers since I wedded, + Yet have not had one offspring to inherit + My large possessions, which I can bestow, + As best my pleasure suits: and you're the one, + Who in my mind stands fairest for adoption; + My heir apparent, as my next a-kin. + Reflect too, that your income is unequal + To that high rank in life, it shou'd support. + + Lord WESTON. The more I lose, the more I prize myself, + In persevering thus---but, my lov'd uncle! + What can impede the progress of my bliss, + When your consent hath sanctified my choice? + + Lord BELMOUR. What though I yielded once to your fond suit, + It is now rumour'd, and by all believ'd, + Not only that her father is reduc'd + To bankruptcy and want, but that the whole + Of the large fortune which an uncle left her + Is wasted with the rest. + + Lord WESTON. Is this her fault? + Is she to suffer for another's act? + Constantia hath that ever-during worth, + Which wealth or grandeur's glitter far outweighs: + That heav'nly mind, which will, when time hath cool'd + The fever of the heart, and reason rules, + Cause mutual friendship and domestic blessing. + But shou'd ev'n this misfortune be as rumour'd, + I have this one occasion more of proving + My constancy, and how I prize her virtues; + Then, to secure for ever that esteem + By me preferr'd to all terrestrial blessings. + + Lord BELMOUR. Infatuated boy! you form perfections + Which only have existence in your fancy. + But pray, consider, what the world will say. + + Lord WESTON. The world! base world! to censure gen'rous deeds; + You mean, perhaps, my lord, those slaves of fashion, + Who barter real for fictitious happiness; + Alas! Their judgment is not worth a thought: + If I'm approv'd of by the wife and honest, + I shall be happy, and despise that world, + Where virtue is discourag'd,--vice exalted,-- + Corruption an adopted cherish'd system, + And ev'ry manly sentiment extinguish'd. + + Lord BELMOUR. For shame, young lord, call reason to your aid! + + Lord WESTON. From beauty only, it might have preserv'd me; + But reason is Constantia's ceaseless advocate. + + Lord BELMOUR. Once more forsake her, if you prize my favour, + The world's esteem, or your own future welfare. + Away to distant regions; seek improvement; + There is no love that absence cannot cure. + + Lord WESTON. Absence!--No death transcends that thought.--O sir! + My fondness is to such excess, so true, + That were heav'n's bliss assur'd me to forsake her, + My soul might tremble for its own resolve. + But what would worlds be worth with loss of honour! + With loss of peace, its constant sure attendant! + + Lord BELMOUR. Since then all soothing arguments are fruitless; + 'Tis fit t' apprize you that you yet remain + Under my wardship by your father's will; + And now to wed would be by law a nullity. + + Lord WESTON. Unrighteous, partial law! whose keen restraint + 'Gainst female innocence alone is pointed, + Whilst villains riot in its spoils unpunish'd; + So that love's chaste, connubial joys no more, + On its fleet wings, but in the tardy pace + Of sordid interest move. But, thank kind heaven! + My will is free to choose; else, my good lord, + The parish proofs deceive. + Lord BELMOUR. Perish all love! + That one of the first families in Britain, + Shou'd by such whims of folly be dishonour'd! + A moment more, and I shall lose all patience! [He goes off hastily.] + + Lord WESTON. It grieves my soul that we should differ thus: + He still has acted as a tender parent + To me an orphan to his care intrusted. + But pride and pageantry engross him wholly; + With these, an avaricious selfish passion, + For some years past hath quite possess'd his heart, + And stagnated the streams of its benevolence, + Save where by humour, or by pleasure prompted. + + But no mean views shall ever make me fight + The sacred vows of love I once did plight. + The heart that's true, will still remain the same + Though crosses press, they but refine the flame + And more sure joys the virtuous passion wait + With calm content, than with the pomp of state. [Exit.] + + + + +ACT IV. + + + + SCENE I. + + A room in Mr. GOODWIN's house. + + GOODWIN and WILSON. + + WILSON. This letter just now brought from our friend Andrews, + Is superscrib'd to me, and yet most surely, + By its contents, it was design'd for you. [Gives him the letter, + which he reads.] + + GOODWIN. What proof this of his sad distracted state! + Nor wonder; his distress encreases hourly. + Midst which, one of his ships, it is reported, + with a rich cargo, fraught from India's shores, + Was lately wreek'd; and that by some neglect, + It had not been insur'd.--'Tis rumour'd too, + That some of his acceptances are noted. + + WILSON. Most true, I have myself paid several; + The just return to him, who, from his friends, + His purse on like occasion ne'er with-held. + + GOODWIN. His bosom glows with all the heav'nly feelings + Of gen'rous amity and social love. + So boundless too, he cou'd not rest and know, + That ev'n a worthy stranger felt distress. + + Enter a SERVANT and delivers a letter to Mr. Goodwin, + which he opens and peruses. + + 'Tis all a mystery; or perfect madness. + It can't be meant for me. [To the SERVANT.] Where got you this? + + SERVANT. Your neighbour Andrews sent it to your house. + + GOODWIN. Do you withdraw. [SERVANT withdraws.] I pray you + hear it read. [Reads out.] + + "That you are the blackest of all villains you must + yourself admit. What, induce me to suspect my wife + with another (as you did this morning) in order to + carry on your own adulterous schemes? such an attempt + against my honour, peace of mind, and all that is most + dear to me! If you regard your safety you will be + cautious of our meeting. + + "James Andrews" + + WILSON. Give me the letter, 'twas design'd for me. + Some like discourse as is in part there hinted, + This morning pass'd between us--Give it, pray. + + GOODWIN. 'Tis plain, two misdirections have been written; + Yet, let me stipulate this one condition, + That you command yourself; for 'twill require + Your utmost fortitude. [Gives the letter.] + + WILSON. By heav'n! some stratagem, + Of deep and black contrivance is on foot; + For there's no mischief, but that artful woman + Hath heart and head to scheme. + + Enter a SERVANT. + + SERVANT. [To GOODWIN.] Sir, your friend Andrews. + + GOODWIN. [To WILSON.] And do you choose to meet him? + + WILSON. Shou'd I shun him, + It might induce him to conclude me guilty. + + GOODWIN. [To his SERVANT.] You--conduct him hither. I dread + the event. [SERVANT goes off.] + And yet well know your fortitude and temper. + + WILSON. Fear not.--I pity him; he's much disturb'd. + + Enter Mr. ANDREWS. + + ANDREWS. [To GOODWIN.] Did you receive some lines from me to-day? + + GOODWIN. To my surprize I did, which I suppose + By the contents were otherwise intended. + + ANDREWS. Most strange mistake! I wrote them for that villain. + + WILSON. Ha! villain in my teeth, what mean you, sir? + + ANDREWS. Have you not wrong'd me? injur'd me most basely? + + WILSON. Unhappy man! 'twas never in my thoughts. + + ANDREWS. By heav'n, 'tis false! [To GOODWIN.] You have perus'd + my letter. + + GOODWIN. I have by accident, as I inform'd you. + + ANDREWS. Is he not then the blackest of all villains? + + WILSON. Licentious railer, cease your foul invective, + Nor patience press too far: but for that amity, + In which we've liv'd, I cou'd not have endur'd + Ev'n half of this unmerited ill-treatment. + Again, I tell you, I'm an utter stranger + To ev'ry charge in your impassion'd letter, + Nor know I what it means. + + ANDREWS. Again, 'tis false. + + GOODWIN. O! my good friends, forbear; I've heard too much. + Permit me then to speak between you both. + What is affirm'd on one side, on the other + As firmly is denied: wherefore, it lies + On him who made the charge to shew his proof. + + ANDREWS. Then, at your instance only;--'twas a letter, + From my ill-fated wife to this deceiver, + Which on the way by accident I seiz'd; + Wherein th' attempts he made (advantage taking + Of the distress her indiscretion caus'd) + To his adult'rous purpose to seduce her, + Are manifest. + + WILSON. Deluded, undone man! + How this insidious woman hath depriv'd him + Of that sage judgment which he once possess'd! + + GOODWIN. Where is the letter? + + ANDREWS. Unluckily destroy'd. + + WILSON. And are these all the grounds on which you charge + An old and faithful friend with such a breach + Of virtue, honour, and of all that's worthy? + O most abandon'd woman! weak as wicked. + + ANDREWS. Recal your words, base slanderer, else this hand + Shall pluck forth the rude tongue that utter'd them. + + GOODWIN. Forbear, I pray! you will alarm my family. + + WILSON. [To GOODWIN.] This is too much for ev'n + a brother's bearing. + Nor can I longer answer for myself. [Goes off.] + + ANDREWS. [After remaining for some time deep in thought.] + Guilty! O guilty! every thing confirms it. + Had my sworn enemy distress'd me thus, + Time might have sooth'd the anguish of my soul; + But oh! what mode of patience can endure + To find the traitor in my bosom friend! + + GOODWIN. Rather think him innocent. + + ANDREWS. Yet how? + Did not the blush of conscience mark his visage? + The thought, the very thought, inflames to madness. + + GOODWIN. He seem'd surpriz'd, but shew'd no sign of guilt. + 'Twere better sure, to sift this matter calmly; + Passion but mars the purpose it pursues. + + ANDREWS. O! cou'd I hope for doubt! + + GOODWIN. You've known him long? + + ANDREWS. These thirty years; no brothers e'er lov'd better: + And so exalted was, so pure the friendship, + Which 'twixt our souls in harmony subsisted, + Each knew no joy the other did not feel, + And all our evils were by sharing lighten'd: + He was my second self, as I was his, + Like streams whose currents mix and flow together. + + GOODWIN. And have you ever found him in a falsehood? + + ANDREWS. In his fidelity I so confided, + That with the dearest treasure of my soul + I had entrusted him--and now he's lost; + For ever lost--yet, yet to think--O heav'n! + That this unhappy woman, once so virtuous, + Cou'd ever thus have chang'd. O Goodwin! Goodwin! + There's not a peasant in the clay-built hut, + Who daily with his toil-tir'd arm acquires + A scanty pittance for life's common wants, + Whose state is not a paradise to mine! + + GOODWIN. Despond not thus, there's nothing certain yet; + Wherefore, compose awhile your ruffled spirit, + And bear with manly fortitude these trials: + The tempest may th' inferior regions shake, + Whilst those of higher sphere rest undisturb'd + Above the threaten'd ruin! + + ANDREWS. [After some pause.] Oh! tell me then, what says + report of her? + + GOODWIN. A dangerous request! + + ANDREWS. But cou'd you see your friend so deeply wrong'd? + Wrong'd in the tenderest point! and yet be silent? + What says the world of this lord Belmour's visits? + You start-- + + GOODWIN. Its rumours may be false--however, + Since you so press it, I will thus far venture-- + Suppose, that after you have left the city, + To sleep as usual at your rural dwelling, + This, or some other night, you should return? + And at some near-appointed station wait, + Until some friendly watch, whom you can trust, + Shall give you notice of the secret visit? + + ANDREWS. Thanks for this hint, it shall be so this night. + + GOODWIN. Mean while, you must be calm, or may prevent + The purposes you covet to accomplish. [They go off.] + + + + SCENE II. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + Mrs. ANDREWS and MARIA. + + MARIA. Alas! what shall I do? 'tis I, 'tis I, + That should be punish'd. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Punish'd! for what? + + MARIA. I've brought my husband to a shameful end. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Why this alarm? explain the mystery. + + MARIA. Your safety only, and a rash resentment + (Not dreaming of the fatal consequence) + Made me convey the key into his trunk. + And Jefferson by note, without his signature, + Inform'd your husband he shou'd find it there. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Suspend, I pray you, your distress awhile. + As yet, he's but imprison'd in his room: + You know my husband has a tender heart, + And loves him much. + + MARIA. Alas! his doom is fix'd: + With everlasting infamy to wait + On him, and his, how innocent soever; + Nor shall I 'scape the bitter tongue of scandal. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Ere that shou'd happen, I'd accuse myself. + Again then, I beseech you, be compos'd. + And now, Maria, I've been just inform'd, + That Jefferson withdrew some hours ago, + And is not to be found. + + MARIA. And what of this? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Shou'd it be true, it must be thought by all, + That the discovery of the secret key + Was schem'd by him alone to screen himself. + + MARIA. You've quite reviv'd my spirits with the thought. + I think the whole is like to fall on Jefferson. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. This night, I am to be at lady Meldmay's; + But lady Belmour claims my first attention. + + MARIA. I thought that those unfortunate discoveries + Had lower'd your spirits so, you had resolv'd + To keep at home this night. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Your hit is just. + But it is now too late to send excuse. + Where's my husband? + + MARIA. He left the city, early. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. 'Tis time to dress--attend me at my toilet------ + [They go off.] + + + + SCENE III. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + LUCIA alone. + + LUCIA. I but now met him, and methought he shunn'd me. + Unusual this from his most gentle nature. + But deep distress seem'd on his brow imprinted, + And rumours are unkind to him of late, + Though none stood higher once in fair repute. + O Jefferson! would I cou'd tear thee hence, + From this fond heart, and its lost peace restore!--- + But soft! I hear my dear Constantia's voice. + + Enter CONSTANTIA. + + CONSTANTIA. O Lucia! I'm of women most unhappy; + No more must I of that chos'n youth have hope, + In whom my ev'ry thought, my soul is center'd. + + LUCIA. You quite astonish me--it cannot be. + Even the day was fix'd for your espousals. + + CONSTANTIA. O! but lord Belmour, his relentless uncle, + Hath just now charg'd my father, that henceforth + His visits here be countenanced no more; + Vowing most solemnly, that shou'd we wed, + He'd disinherit him. Besides in speech + He hath much flighted us. + + LUCIA. Most distressful! + + CONSTANTIA. From such examples, Lucia, we may learn + To dread those prospects of illusive fortune, + Which shew like havens on a treach'rous shore, + And lure us to our ruin. + + LUCIA. Happy man! + How by the tyrant custom art thou favour'd! + Canst speak the anguish of the love-sick heart, + And from the hand that wounds implore relief: + Whilst we in silent secrecy must shelter + The deadly shaft, that rooted rankles there, + And wastes the virgin bloom. Nor is this all; + Should but the modest blush, the fault'ring speech, + Or the disorder of the conscious soul, + Betray the fondness it would fain conceal; + Not only cold indifference, but neglect, + Is full too oft the base return we meet.-- + + CONSTANTIA. Ha! Lucia! whence these fears? am I despis'd? + What have I done! I have betray'd myself. + O! I conjure thee, by the sacred tie + Of honour, friendship, confidence and love, + Speak nought of this, but leave me to despair! + + LUCIA. Alas! 'tis my poor heart betrays itself. [Aside] + Why to despair? by all those sacred ties! + Thou wert not in my thoughts in what I've utter'd. + Hath yet lord Weston heard these fatal tidings? + + CONSTANTIA. Full well you know how long he hath been absent: + 'Tis that distracts my soul.--How hath he vow'd, + That if a day pass'd by, and we asunder, + He felt it as the absence of an age! + + LUCIA. My dear Constantia! banish all such thoughts. + He hath a soul superior to all falsehood. + Affairs, 'tis said, of moment call'd him hence, + And his return is ev'ry hour expected. + + CONSTANTIA. True, he is all that's gen'rous, great and noble, + All that stirs envy and respect in man, + Or love in woman. O my friend, my Lucia! + Thou know'st not half the fondness of mine heart: + Oft have I wish'd (so will love's fancy rave) + That he had been the guardian of a flock, + And I the sovereign of unbounded realms, + To make him partner of that heart and throne: + Or that we had been rear'd, 'midst rural innocence, + A low, yet happy pair; with what delight, + My tender frame had shared the harvest toil, + To close with intercourse of souls the day! + + Enter a SERVANT. + + SERVANT. Madam, lord Weston's in the anti-chamber. + + CONSTANTIA. [To the SERVANT] Withdraw awhile-- [He withdraws.] + Be still, my flutt'ring heart! + Haste, Lucia, if thou lov'st me, make excuse: + Say, I am indispos'd--retir'd--yet stay. + Why thus conceal the truth which must be known? + Tell him, I cannot, must not, dare not see him-- + Yet, stay again--where is my father now? + + LUCIA. I know not; he went forth some hours ago. + + CONSTANTIA. 'Tis fit, lord Weston knows my father's orders, + That I no more admit his visits here. + Say, what would you advise? pause not, but speak. + + LUCIA. I'd see him, for the reason you have mention'd; + Not rashly cast away a gem so precious. + + CONSTANTIA. How soon we yield to that the heart approves! + Who waits without? [Enter a SERVANT] Conduct lord Weston hither. + + Enter Lord WESTON. LUCIA withdraws. + + Lord WESTON. Am I so bless'd to view thee once again! + O! my Constantia, could'st thou but conceive + What I have suffer'd in this tedious absence, + Of which the cause hath been conceal'd from thee! + Yet, whilst I languish'd on the verge of fate, + Thy image ne'er forsook my tortur'd fancy, + And its wild ravings were of nought but thee. + + CONSTANTIA. Would heav'n this interview had not been now! [Aside] + + Lord WESTON. Ha! not a word! not even a look this way! + All ailments, every pang were ease to this. + I read some dreadful sentence in thine eye.-- + What mean those shiverings?------Why that look of anguish? + Sure, cruelty ne'er wore a form like thine! + + CONSTANTIA. What can I say? my tongue denies its office. [Aside] + My lord, you have by this untimely visit, + Led me to break my father's strict injunction. + A father, dear as my heart's vital drops. + + Lord WESTON. What do I hear? O! are we not united? + By sacred, mutual, faithful vows united? + Of which I now am come to claim performance. + + CONSTANTIA. It is forbid--forbid, most sure, for ever! + I'm but the daughter of a bankrupt citizen, + (Th' ungentle terms with which I am reproach'd,) + Of whom, shou'd you think more-- + + Lord WESTON. What is't you mean? + + CONSTANTIA. Lord Belmour would renounce you then for ever; + And 'tis most fit, my lord, you should comply. + He is your uncle, and can much befriend you. + + Lord WESTON. O my Constantia! cruel, dear Constantia! + Can'st thou conceive that any earthly views, + Could for the loss of thee requite an heart, + That cannot form a bliss from heav'n without thee? + By that chaste passion, which no time can alter! + Not mines of wealth, nor all life's splendid pomp, + Can weigh with me against that worth of soul, + With which thou art enrich'd so far above + All others of thy sex I yet have seen, + Far as thy beauteous form excels them all. + Do but pronounce a peril, or a suffering + To prove my constancy, save loss of thee. + + CONSTANTIA. My lord, these honours far exceed my merit. + + Lord WESTON. By heav'n! this coldness may to madness drive me. + Am I to suffer for another's rashness, + Of which, the new-born babe is not more innocent? + Perhaps, some other hath usurp'd thine heart? + 'Tis plain; too plain--You cannot doubt my truth! + + CONSTANTIA. Do not distress me thus--you know my heart; + As well you know, that on that truth alone + I would repose my ev'ry hope in life.-- + + Lord WESTON. Then haste thee with me, and for ever bless me: + A reverend priest attends to do the office, + To which your father hath long since consented. + + CONSTANTIA. Oh! oh! forbear,--I shudder at the thought. + I've told you all--You know a parent's right; + Parent, not only of my life, but mind, + Wherein he every wholesome seed implanted, + And watch'd with never ceasing care their growth. + + Lord WESTON. Nor hath the soil been faithless to its trust. + + CONSTANTIA. Could you then hope from an unduteous daughter, + To meet in wedded state, the due compliance + Heav'n hath ordain'd, or I expect its blessings? + You would yourself on serious thoughts condemn me. + + Lord WESTON. [He falls on his knees.] How far thou soar'st + above all human excellence! + And how thy virtues raise those peerless charms! + I have transgress'd---but Oh! vouchsafe thy pity! + It was the zeal of fondness, and the fear + Of losing thee, that urg'd me to the question, + Which hath thy delicacy so offended. + + CONSTANTIA. O! if you ever lov'd me--prize my peace! + Go, whilst my wav'ring heart can hold its purpose. + These tell-tale eyes proclaim an interest there, + Which time or fortune never can erase. + But now this meeting might to both prove fatal. + + Lord WESTON. Wipe, wipe away that tear! thy sovereign pow'r + Needs not an aid to bid my heart obey. + Yet, O permit me, like the sentenc'd criminal, + Who dreads the fatal stroke, awhile to parley! + But go where e'er I may, my heart will bear + The dear impression of thy image on it, + Nor time nor absence ever shall efface it. [He goes off.] + + CONSTANTIA. How have I suffer'd by this forc'd behaviour, + Gainst my soul's feelings, to this matchless youth! + But O! in what enchanting, phrase, he urg'd + His love, his fears and never-failing constancy! + I cannot rest, till Lucia knows it all. [She goes off.] + + + + SCENE IV. + + Lord BELMOUR's house. + + To Lady BELMOUR, enter a SERVANT. + + SERVANT. Mrs. Andrews waits upon your ladyship. + + Lady BELMOUR. Mrs. Andrews!--why did you admit her? + + SERVANT. I had conceiv'd it was your general order. + + Lady BELMOUR. I've chang'd my mind--I will not be at home; + yet stay a little--tell her, I shall see her, + At lady Meldmay's drawing-room to-night. [He goes off.] + 'Tis like, she comes for what I got this morning: + All which and more ill fortune swept away. + + Enter Mrs. ANDREWS. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. What! my good friend! my dearest lady Belmour! + Not see her Andrews! her most faithful Andrews! + 'Tis some mistake? perhaps, the servant's fault? + + Lady BELMOUR. He had my orders, though you thus intrude. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Such a behaviour!--I am all amazement.-- + Whence is the cause? I pray explain yourself. + + Lady BELMOUR. If, madam, you are bent on altercation, + I speedily shall leave you to yourself. + So to your business, brief.-- + + Mrs. ANDREWS. As you could wish; + Then, the five hundred you this morning borrow'd. + + Lady BELMOUR. You surely dream, or are not in your senses! + + Mrs. ANDREWS. If I retain them long, 'tis not your fault. + Lady Belmour! Honour!-- + + Lady BELMOUR. Ha! this from you! + When persons of my station condescend + To such connexions, they most justly merit + The treatment you have now presum'd to offer. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. You cannot surely mean to rob me thus? + + Lady BELMOUR. To rob you! you mistake; you owe me more + Than will be ever in your pow'r to pay. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. For what I pray? + + Lady BELMOUR. You are not ignorant. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I am, as I shall answer it to heaven. + + Lady BELMOUR. Not only for my husband's fond affection, + But his fortune; which, (tis well known to all) + He lavishes on you--so that your visits + Can but reflect dishonour; wherefore, cease them. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. [Going off.] This is too much; ungrateful, + faithless woman! [She goes off.] + + Lady BELMOUR. This treatment may hereafter serve her much. + Even the meanest with the highest vie: + Their manners as their fashions vainly aping, + As might provoke the sourest spleen to laughter. [Exit.] + + + + SCENE V. + + An inn on Cornhill near Mr. ANDREWS's house + + MARIA to the HOSTESS. + + MARIA. Madam, a ticket from this inn informs me, + That some one in the house has wish'd to see me. + + HOSTESS. A person in a common peasant's habit, + Came here some moments since and sent for you, + Upon some pressing business, as he told me. + + MARIA. Is he here now? + + HOSTESS. He is; I'll shew the room. [They go off.] + + + + SCENE VI. + + Changes to a back room. + + Lord BELMOUR in the habit of a countryman, and MARIA. + + Lord BELMOUR. Am I not well disguis'd? + + MARIA. Lord Belmour!--Wondrous! + You might have pass'd me twenty times unknown. + But pray, my lord, the purpose of this meeting? + + Lord BELMOUR. First say, how fares it with your lovely mistress? + + MARIA. Her present troubles are beyond expression. + Oh! her distress is great. + + Lord BELMOUR. I'm on the rack. + My fortune, life, my all's at her command. + Unfold yourself, if you regard my peace. + + MARIA. Know then, her very ill success at play, + (Which has of late ev'n all conception pass'd) + Hath led her to use means, and such assistance, + That she some honourable claims might answer, + As otherwise she would have shudder'd at. + And many a tale has reach'd her husband's ear. + + Lord BELMOUR. As I could wish. [Aside.] Unmerited ill fortune! + + MARIA. Oh! but this is not all. + + Lord BELMOUR. 'Tis, 'tis too much. + Yet would I know the whole, that I may fly + On expedition's wing to her relief.-- + Speak on.-- + + MARIA. I cannot. + + Lord BELMOUR. Torture me no further. + + MARIA. Alas! my master cruelly hath charg'd her, + (How shall I name it!) with indecent conduct; + But chiefly, sir, with you. + + Lord BELMOUR. Most fortunate! + This will outrun whole years of fond entreaty--[Aside] + Ungen'rous, false accuser! thus to treat + The loveliest of her sex; but first, Maria, + We must relieve her from her present exigencies; + With which somewhat acquainted, I, her friend, + (None more sincere) am with the means prepar'd; + And 'twas for that alone I schem'd this meeting. + But for the purpose, you must so contrive it, + As to convey me to her chamber secretly, + This very night. + + MARIA. Heav'n! how you frighten me! + I would not for the world do such an act. + + Lord BELMOUR. Your fears are without cause; I mean it only, + Lest any prying babbler might observe us, + At such late hour, as we must be together. + And I can have none other opportunity, + Of giving her the quick relief she needs. + Wherefore, her friend must serve her at this juncture. + I know your faithful heart.-- + + MARIA. O! but my lord.-- + + Lord BELMOUR. Behold these two, Maria; [Shews her two purses] + each of these + Contains an hundred pieces; one of them, + You must vouchsafe at present to accept; + The other, trust me, shall be also yours, + Soon as I safely gain the wish'd-for station. [Puts one + of the purses into her hand.] + Your master left the city just at sunset? + + MARIA. My lord! my lord! + + Lord BELMOUR. You must, you shall accept it. + + MARIA. Well, my good lord, to save my injur'd mistress--[She + puts up the purse in her pocket.] + The backway thro' the warehouse is the safest, + When the moon's down; for 'twill be late to-night, + When she returns from lady Meldmay's supper. + + Lord BELMOUR. As sure as I exist--till then farewell! [He goes off.] + + MARIA. To what have I agreed?--Yet why repent? + If not temptation proof, it matters not, + When first she fails, or by whose means it happens; + If she refills, I'll stand out to the last, + And swear a thousand oaths, that I am innocent. + At all events, there are two hundred pieces, + Which will be most convenient, should my husband + Be to a trial brought--So chance direct! [She goes off.] + + + + +ACT V. + + + + SCENE I. + + An office in Mr. ANDREWS's house, and a CLERK sitting therein. + + Enter JEFFERSON in a cloak. + + JEFFERSON. Be not surpriz'd; it is an old acquaintance. + Have a few moments absence so estrang'd you? + + CLERK. O Jefferson! those moments have occasion'd + Many and various rumours of your fortune; + Wherefore, permit me to rejoice to see you + But whence this sudden ghastliness of visage + The hue of death itself! + + JEFFERSON. It matters not. + You never more may from this moment see me:-- + But this is foreign to me, present business. + There are some matters of most deep concern + Which I must straight impart to our good master; + For which, this night I fought him at his villa, + (Whither I heard he had resorted early) + But much to my surprize, he was not there. + I pray inform me, where I now may find him. + + CLERK. What shall I do? I am enjoin'd to secrecy. + Are you full sure they're of such high concern + As may excuse me in such breach of confidence? + + JEFFERSON. I should not else have urg'd it to you thus. + + CLERK. Try the new tavern in th' adjacent alley. + (There, melancholy man, he waits my coming, + At an approaching hour) [Aside.] But, Jefferson, + Should you disclose who pointed out your course, + I may for ever forfeit his regard. + + JEFFERSON. Rest well assur'd, no motive should compel it, + And blessings wait upon thee for this kindness! + + CLERK. [To JEFFERSON as he goes off.] Yet hold awhile; I nearly + had forgot. + This night, the gentle Lucia fought you here, + But disappointed, left you this remembrance. + 'Tis for five hundred pounds. + + JEFFERSON. Too gen'rous maid! + O! had my truant, and ungrateful heart + Her merit justly priz'd, I might this day, + In honour, as in virtue have been happy, + Not thus a wretched outcast of the world-- + I pray return it with a thousand blessings-- + Heart-rending kindness!--Oh!--again farewell! [He goes off.] + + CLERK. His countenance betray'd some desp'rate fortune. + + Enter MARIA. + + MARIA. Was not that Jefferson? + + CLERK. 'Twas he indeed! + + MARIA. Undone!--undone for ever!--My poor husband!-- [Aside] + I spoke to him, but he declin'd an answer, + And rush'd into the street. + + CLERK. Unhappy youth! + He told me I should ne'er behold him more. + + MARIA. Again I am at ease--[Aside.] But if for certain + He hath our master plunder'd, as 'tis rumour'd, + Should he not be secured? + + CLERK. His errand hither, + Was to have seen our master. + + MARIA. Undone again! [Aside as she goes off.] + + CLERK. She seems not less disturb'd than him she fought. + 'Tis fit I follow her, and seek her meanings, + Which from her scatter'd words I could not gather. + Besides, she mutter'd strangely to herself. + Some sad disasters are I fear approaching, + Whilst every countenance betrays distress. [He goes off.] + + + + SCENE II. + + A room in a tavern. + + ANDREWS and JEFFERSON together, the first walking to and fro + in much agitation. + + ANDREWS. And is this surely so? my blood runs chill. + Oh! tell me, how, or when I've been thine enemy, + That thou could'st calmly mean me all this mischief. + I cannot credit it. + + JEFFERSON. 'Tis, 'tis too true-- [Weeps.] + + ANDREWS. I once thought Jefferson the child of virtue. + + JEFFERSON. To fix me such, your lessons were not wanting. + But oh! when we indulge one vicious passion, + A train of others unforeseen will follow, + Until at length all virtue is extinguish'd. + + ANDREWS. What's to be done! distress crowds on distress------ + Inhuman! barbarous! most abandon'd woman! + And thou curs'd instrument!--Yet hold, my heart!-- + I see contrition in his mournful eye, + And feel soft pity throbbing in my bosom: + Deluded youth!--no object for revenge-- [Aside] + + JEFFERSON. I am indeed accurs'd; I have betray'd + The most indulgent master, best of friends! + But you will shortly have sufficient vengeance. + A dose I this night drank will rid me speedily + Of that sad life I can endure no longer. + + ANDREWS. Oh! 'twas a desp'rate act!--Could'st thou conceive, + A crime, to the Almighty so offensive, + Would for thy other failings make atonement; + May there not yet be help? + + JEFFERSON. 'Tis now too late, + The deadly drug, works far, and I grow faint-- + + ANDREWS. 'Twere better to have liv'd whole years in penitence, + Or wild despair, to expiate your guilt. + + JEFFERSON. Oh! cou'd I hope for your assisting prayers, + 'Twou'd be some comfort to my fainting soul. + You are so good, you cannot but have interest + In those blest dwellings, whence my foul offences + May have excluded me, alas, for ever! + Nor dare I lift or eye or hand for mercy. + + ANDREWS. Sad-fated youth! my own distracted state + Is suited ill to intercourse with heaven. + But lose no time yourself: that righteous judge, + Whom you have so repeatedly offended, + Abounds in mercy, as he doth in justice; + And pray'r is at his throne a pow'rful advocate. + + JEFFERSON. And you, as sure as that Great Pow'r is just, + Will meet the due reward of all your virtues. + When I go hence, I pray you read this paper-- + My fate draws near---so now, farewel for ever! [He goes off.] + + ANDREWS. What horrid images crowd on my soul! + Yet worse may follow--blood perchance and murder-- + But will not injur'd honour,--ruin'd peace, + For ever ruin'd, justify revenge!-- [Pauses.] + I am resolv'd--So for this writing now-- [He opens it and reads.] + + "Most injured Sir, + Inclos'd you have my will by which, as some small recompense + for the many wrongs I have done you, I have bequeathed you + all the little fortune I have left. Oh! lend your prayers, + and pity a repentant wretched sinner. + William Jefferson." + + Some recompense!--There can be none for me. + The moment is at hand, the fearful moment, + When I'm to seek for that, which, when discover'd, + My sure perdition seals--yet even certainty + Were ease to that I feel--tremendous state! + Like some benighted traveller quite 'wilder'd, + I see no friendly ray to guide my steps-- + But 'midst my woes, I've let this hapless youth, + Plung'd in despair, escape me unattended. + I'll haste to seek him out--Yet, cannot now: + Troubles more intimate claim ev'ry thought. + + Enter one of his CLERKS. + + I near despair'd of seeing you: 'tis almost light. + What has delay'd you so? + + CLERK. It was your wife. + + ANDREWS. My wife! + + CLERK. Yes, sir, she's but at home some moments. + + ANDREWS. Was she attended? + + CLERK. One went in before her. + + ANDREWS. What, into my house? + + CLERK. Yes, sir. + + ANDREWS. Man, or woman? + + CLERK. A man, sir. + + ANDREWS. Hah!--And know you who he is? + + CLERK. Lord Belmour, sir. + + ANDREWS. Are you sure? + + CLERK. As I exist-- + For waiting, as 'twas your desire I should, + 'Till I could warn you of your wife's return, + And walking 'twixt the dwelling and the warehouse, + I by a light, which glimmer'd from the moon, + Then almost waned, descry'd a man and woman + Close standing at the wicket of the gate, + That leads into the lane. I stood conceal'd, + Until lord Belmour and Maria pass'd me + Towards the house. + + ANDREWS. Can I now pass that way? + + CLERK. You may; I lock'd the doors, and have the keys. + + ANDREWS. Come, deep and sweet revenge! 'twere virtue here. [Aside] + It must be near the dawn. Go on, I'll follow. + Life's now a curse; death then my only wish. + + + + SCENE III. + + Mr. ANDREWS's house. + + THOMAS and MARIA. + + MARIA. Who releas'd you? + + THOMAS. Our unhappy master. + + MARIA. Is he in town, and up at this late hour? + + THOMAS. He's in the house; and heaven grant, Maria, + He holds his reason: for he rush'd impetuous, + With looks as madness wild, into the room, + Where I sat tied; when falling on his knees, + He crav'd my pardon; then, from my bruis'd arms + He cut the cords, and hastily ran off. + + MARIA. Which way? + + THOMAS. Towards the compting-house. + + MARIA. O heav'n! + + THOMAS. Why this alarm? + + MARIA. His arms are there. + + THOMAS. 'Tis true, + And never man appear'd more desperate. + Wherefore, as ev'n a moment's loss were dangerous; + I'll for his neighbours speed, Wilson and Goodwin. [He goes off.] + + MARIA. The mischief is at hand, and 'twill require + My deepest skill, or I'm undone for ever. + But to the last I will assert my innocence. [A bell rings.] + This is my mistress, and from her bedchamber. [Rings again.] + Again it rings; and with unusual violence.-- + I must away--What fights may meet me now!-- [She goes off.] + + + + SCENE IV. + + Another apartment. + + CONSTANTIA and LUCIA. + + CONSTANTIA. Oh! Lucia, Lucia, I shall die with terrours-- + What can these noises mean? [A groan is heard.] Heard you + that groan? + + LUCIA. Sure life expir'd with it!--A woman's voice-- + + Enter hastily WILSON and GOODWIN, THOMAS and other Servants, + at which CONSTANTIA and LUCIA shriek. + + CONSTANTIA. Protect us, heaven!--what are you? + + WILSON. A messenger, + In utmost hurry rous'd us from our beds, + And pray'd us to haste hither with all speed, + To save a family. + + CONSTANTIA. Oh sirs!--heav'n grant + 'Tis not too late--some sad event, I dread-- [A groan, and + then another] + They're from the room where Mrs. Andrews sleeps. [CONSTANTIA + swoons, and is taken of with LUCIA.] + + Enter MARIA. + + MARIA. Woe! woe unutterable!--fights of horrour! + All welt'ring in their gore--haste! haste with me. [They go off.] + + [Back Scene opens and discovers Mrs. ANDREWS's bedchamber-- + Lord BELMOUR on the ground with his sword in his hand bloody, + and Mr. ANDREWS with his also drawn and bloody, in a fix'd + posture, resting on it, and looking on the ground.] + + GOODWIN. O heav'n! what havock's here! [To ANDREWS] Alas! + my friend, + What have you done? + + WILSON. He's quite insensible. + Perhaps this woman can inform us--speak-- + + MARIA. I will, I will. Hearing the bell twice rung + With violence unusual from the chamber + In which my mistress lay, I thither flew; + Where entering, with amazement I beheld + Lord Belmour there, and her upon her knees: + Sudden, my master, with an unsheath'd sword + In rage rush'd in, and instantly assail'd him, + (Who also had drawn his) they fought awhile; + When with a hideous groan lord Belmour reel'd, + Bit quick recovering, with doubled fury + At his assailant made--when, she, quite wild, + Rush'd on lord Belmour's sword, and fell with him. + + WILSON. 'Tis better done by him, than by our friend. + + ANDREWS. Done--What done? all is not done as yet--this-- + + [He is going to stab himself, GOODWIN and WILSON rush on him, + and wrest his sword from him.] + + GOODWIN. What would your madness do? too much already, + This fatal scene exhibits to our view. + + ANDREWS. Deaf, deaf to all,--away,--away with counsel!-- + 'Tis clear as noonday light--burst--burst, my brain!-- + + Lord BELMOUR. Listen--oh listen to a dying criminal-- + Your wife is innocent--I, I alone-- + + ANDREWS. Peace, villain, peace!--how came you in her chamber? + + Lord BELMOUR. Without her knowledge--Oh! 'twas by that woman, + [Pointing to MARIA] + My vile accomplice in the soul attempt. + + MARIA. Mercy! O mercy! and I'll tell the whole. + Oh! she is innocent--I, all to blame-- + + WILSON. 'Tis fit a magistrate be sent for instantly; + As also meet assistance to these wounded, + Who seem to need it much. [A servant goes off.] + + Lord BELMOUR. Good sirs! + Let me be hence convey'd--I can't escape-- + And heav'n will in some moments give full justice. [He is led out.] + + ANDREWS. And let me also fly these scenes of horrour, + Or I shall wilder be than the chain'd wretch + That beats the dungeon walls. + + [As he is passing by Mrs. ANDREWS, she seizes the skirt of his coat.] + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Oh sir!--my husband!-- + + ANDREWS. Take! take the vile adultress from my sight. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. For charity, forbear those bitter words. + True, I have injur'd you beyond all hopes + Either of your indulgence, or heav'n's mercy. + But by that Pow'r! before whose just tribunal, + I shortly shall be summon'd to appear, + My soul abhors the base imputed guilt, + (How strong soe'er appearance speak against me) + Ev'n in thought. + + ANDREWS. Abandon'd, faithless woman! + Oh! that her foul disgrace clos'd with her eyes! + Then might I undisturb'd behold this havock. [Aside] + Did not I, find you on your knees to him? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I was beseeching him to leave the room. + + ANDREWS. How came he there? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. By the same Pow'r supreme! + You're not yourself of that event more ignorant. + Soon as my woman for the night had left me, + He from the closet rush'd into my chamber. + + ANDREWS. Oh! I have been too hasty--much too rash.------ + + Mrs. ANDREWS. You will not think so, when you hear the whole. + The wretched nobleman, you now have punish'd, + Is not less guilty than if I had yielded. + Yet, think not that I mean t' acquit myself; + My conduct led him to the vile attempt: + And, oh! with rage and thirst of vengeance fir'd, + I was too busy in th' infernal plot, + Contain'd in that false letter to your friend, + The honest, gen'rous, and most faithful Wilson. + I also had your old and trusty steward + Accus'd of crimes to which he was a stranger; + And Jefferson to me owes his perdition. + + ANDREWS. Cease! cease! pour self-convicting mourner, cease!-- + This cannot be--'tis the sick fancy's dream. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Oh! that it were untrue, as thou art kind. + Yes; this, all this, and more I have committed. + I have undone thee--I, thy bosom's favourite,-- + And am the fatal source of all these horrors. + But my swift hast'ning fate will be some recompence.-- + I bleed within apace, and grow most faint------ + How happy was I once, and how ungrateful! + + ANDREWS. 'Tis, 'tis too much-- + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Alas! I see it is.-- + How these reflections rack my madding brain!-- + Turn, Oh! turn that tender aspect from me! + 'Tis worse than scorpion rods, or whips of steel. + Abhor me; scorn me; tear me from thy fondness, + And every imprecation pour upon me: + For hope is fled, and I would court despair. + Some suff'rings here might lessen those hereafter, + I would not covet else a moment's life.-- + + ANDREWS. Would I could sooth her tortur'd soul to rest! + Her sorrows rend my heart.--Oh thou sweet penitent! + There's not an angel in the heav'nly mansions, + That will not sue for thee. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Yet, there is something + I would petition as my last request-- + Let me conjure thee then, most injur'd excellence! + By all the happy hours we liv'd together, + Ere one infernal passion seiz'd my heart! + Have pity on the harmless, dear-lov'd innocents, + Whom I must leave amidst a cruel world! + And when you shall my rueful story tell, + Be thus far kind, and say, as is the truth, + Oh! say, she was not an adultress. + + ANDREWS. I will, I'll speak thee as my soul conceives thee, + Spotless, and free as Virtue's self from blemish. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Then, may with me, thy sorrows have an end!-- + + ANDREWS. Oh! canst thou then forgive my wild upbraiding? + + Mrs. ANDREWS. I blame thee not--so let me be convey'd + From thy dread presence, and this fatal spot: + They are too much for weakness to endure. + + ANDREWS. No, no, I'll watch thee whilst a single spark + Of that lov'd life remains, and sooth thy woes. + + Mrs. ANDREWS. Too kind!--Forbear!--Were your fond wish indulg'd, + It would but add new weight to your afflictions. + Oh! agonizing thoughts!--Oh! my pour soul!-- + + ANDREWS. She droops; she dies--and oh! by saving me-- + Physicians, surgeons, ev'ry help be sent for!-- + + Mrs. ANDREWS. 'Twere fruitless all unless their friendly aid + Some balm could minister to deep despair-- + Rage on, distress---haste, madness! quench my soul-- + Hark! hark! that voice!------the door of mercy's clos'd-- + + ANDREWS. [To the attendants.] Straightaway, convey her hence + to mine own chamber. + + [She is carried off, and as he is following her, + several bailiffs enter rudely with CONSTANTIA.] + + CONSTANTIA. Protect my father, heav'n! undone--undone-- + + WILSON. What can these ruffians mean? whom do you seek? + + Bailiff. He is our prisoner on several writs. [Pointing + to Mr. ANDREWS] + + ANDREWS. Ay, ay, come on--'Tis fit I shou'd be punish'd. + Take, drag me hence, ye ministers of justice! + Death, death, or madness only can relieve me. + + GOODWIN. What is the whole demand? + + Bailiff. Above four thousand? + + WILSON. He shall not sink for that: I'll be his pledge. + + ANDREWS. Most gen'rous, injur'd friend, this is too much. + + GOODWIN. [To WILSON.] I'll join you in the bonds.--Prepare them, + sirs. [To the bailiffs, who go off] + + CONSTANTIA. Thanks, best of friends! but you shall never suffer. + My fortune, independent of my father, + Far more than this for which you have engag'd, + Shall be our pledg'd security. + + ANDREWS. Daggers!------daggers! + Wasted--all wasted, in the general wreck. [Aside] + + WILSON. 'Tis fit lord Weston should be straight appriz'd + Of the sad fate of his unhappy uncle; + These two nights past, since his return to town, + He hath repos'd with me. + + GOODWIN. I hear his voice. + + Enter lord WESTON hastily. + + Lord WESTON. Where, where's my father! take, O take your son! + And let me fly as such into your arms! + Just hearing of your undeserv'd calamities, + From your remorseless creditors below, + I have engag'd for all their claim'd demands, + And come to wipe the tear from ev'ry eye. + + ANDREWS. Cold sweats bedew my feeble, trembling limbs, + And ev'ry object round me grows a blank. + Good heav'n! support me, to these tasks unequal------[As he is + falling, WILSON and THOMAS support him.] + + WILSON. The feelings of his heart o'erpow'r him so, + He cannot give them vent; it may prove fatal------ + He's all convuls'd: let's place him on this seat. [CONSTANTIA + attends him.] + + Lord WESTON. [He moves towards CONSTANTIA.] + My angel--My Constantia! O those tears! + And looks of desperation pierce my soul. + Your father lives--Fortune again may favour: + But I am your's, and will be so for ever. + + WILSON. O my good lord! + There are disasters yet within these walls, + More fatal far, which claim our instant aid. + + Lord WESTON. I've heard them all--my uncle is no more-- + Would that he had not fall'n in such a cause! + + WILSON. But heav'n hath will'd it, and we must submit. + With smiles delusive, other crimes decoy, + To hazard future ills for present joy: + Gaming alone no transient rapture knows, + No gleam of pleasure for eternal woes; + Distrust and anxious fears its birth attend; + And wild distraction waits its guilty end. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Female Gamester, by Gorges Edmond Howard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEMALE GAMESTER *** + +***** This file should be named 7840.txt or 7840.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/4/7840/ + +Produced by Oliver Walden + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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