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.]
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