 | Fatal Curiosity |  |
SCENE I.
Wilmot's House.Old Wilmot
alone.
The day is far advanc'd. The chearful sun
Pursues with vigour his repeated course:
No labour lessens, nor no time decays
His strength, or splendor: evermore the same,
From age to age his influence sustains
Dependent worlds, bestows both life and motion
On the dull mass that forms their dusky orbs,
Chears them with heat, and gilds them with his brightness.
Yet man, of jarring elements compos'd,
Who posts from change to change, from the first hour
Of his frail being to his dissolution,
Enjoys the sad prerogative above him,
To think, and to be wretched!—What is life
To him that's born to die!—
Or, what the wisdom, whose perfection ends,
In knowing, we know nothing!—
Mere contradiction all! A tragic farce,
Tedious tho' short, elab'rate without art,
Ridiculously sad—
8
Where hast been, Randal?
Rand.
Not out of Penryn, sir: but to the strand,
To hear what news from Falmouth since the storm
Of wind last night.
O. Wilm.
It was a dreadful one.
Rand.
Some found it so. A noble ship from India
Ent'ring the harbour, run upon a rock,
And there was lost.
O. Wilm.
What 'came of those on board her?
Rand.
Some few are sav'd, but much the greater part,
'Tis thought, are perish'd.
O. Wilm.
They are past the fear
Of future tempests, or a wreck on shore:
Those who escap'd, are still expos'd to both.
Where's your mistress?
Rand.
I saw her pass the High-street t'wards the Minster.
O. Wilm.
She's gone to visit Charlot. She doth well.
In the soft bosom of that gentle maid
There dwells more goodness, than the rigid race
Of moral pedants e'er believ'd, or taught.
With what amazing constancy and truth,
Doth she sustain the absence of our son,
Whom more than life she loves! How shun for him,
Whom we shall ne'er see more, the rich and great;
Who own her charms, and sigh to make her happy!
9
None who regarded our distress, but her;
And she, by what I have observed of late,
Is wearied, or exhausted. Curst condition!—
To live a burden to one only friend,
And blast her youth with our contagious woe!—
Who that had reason, soul, or sense would bear it
A moment longer? Then this honest wretch!—
I must dismiss him—Why should I detain
A grateful, gen'rous youth to perish with me?
His service may procure him bread elsewhere,
Tho' I have none to give him.—Prithee, Randal!
How long hast thou been with me?
Rand.
Fifteen years.
I was a very child when first you took me,
To wait upon your son, my dear young master.
I oft have wish'd I'd gone to India with him,
Tho' you, desponding, give him o'er for lost.—
[Old Wilmot wipes his eyes.
I am to blame: this talk revives your sorrow
For his long absence.
O. Wilm.
That cannot be revived
Which never died.
Rand.
The whole of my intent
Was to confess your bounty, that supplied
The loss of both my parents: I was long
The object of your charitable care.
O. Wilm.
No more of that: Thou'st served me longer since
Without reward; so that account is balanced,
Or rather I'm thy debtor. I remember,
When poverty began to show her face
Within these walls, and all my other servants,
Like pamper'd vermin from a falling house,
Retreated with the plunder they had gain'd,
And left me, too indulgent and remiss
10
Beneath the ruin they had help'd to make,
That you, more good than wise, refus'd to leave me.
Rand.
Nay, I beseech you, sir!—
O. Wilm.
With my distress,
In perfect contradiction to the world,
Thy love, respect, and diligence, increas'd.
Now all the recompence within my power,
Is to discharge thee, Randal, from my hard,
Unprofitable service.
Rand.
Heaven forbid!
Shall I forsake you in your worst necessity?—
Believe me, sir! my honest soul abhors
The barb'rous thought.
O. Wilm.
What! canst thou feed on air?
I have not left wherewith to purchase food
For one meal more.
Rand.
Rather than leave you thus,
I'll beg my bread, and live on others bounty
While I serve you.
O. Wilm.
Down, down my swelling heart,
Or burst in silence! 'Tis thy cruel fate
Insults thee by his kindness—He is innocent
Of all the pain it gives thee—Go thy ways:
I will no more suppress thy youthful hopes
Of rising in the world.
Rand.
'Tis true, I'm young,
And never try'd my fortune, or my genius,
Which may perhaps find out some happy means,
As yet unthought of, to supply your wants.
O. Wilm.
Thou tortur'st me: I hate all obligations
Which I can ne'er return—And who art thou,
That I shou'd stoop to take 'em from thy hand!
11
I will not want thee—trouble me no more.
Rand.
Be not offended, sir! and I will go.
I ne'er repin'd at your commands before;
But, Heaven's my witness! I obey you now
With strong reluctance, and a heavy heart.
Farewel, my worthy master!
[Going.
O. Wilm.
Farewel—Stay!
As thou art yet a stranger to the world,
Of which alas! I've had too much experience,
I shou'd, methinks, before we part, bestow
A little counsel on thee—Dry thy eyes:
If thou weep'st thus, I shall proceed no farther.
Dost thou aspire to greatness, or to wealth?—
Quit books and the unprofitable search
Of wisdom there, and study human kind:
No science will avail thee without that;
But that obtain'd, thou need'st not any other.
This will instruct thee to conceal thy views,
And wear the face of probity and honour,
'Till thou hast gain'd thy end: which must be ever
Thy own advantage, at that man's expence
Who shall be weak enough to think thee honest.
Rand.
You mock me, sure!
O. Wilm.
I never was more serious.
Rand.
Why should you counsel what you scorn'd to practise?
O. Wilm.
Because that foolish scorn has been my ruin.
I've been an idiot, but would have thee wiser,
And treat mankind, as they would treat thee, Randal,
As they deserve, and I've been treated by them:
Thou'st seen by me, and those who now despise me,
12
Shun my example; treasure up my precepts;
The world's before thee: be a knave, and prosper.
What art thou dumb?
[After a long pause.
Rand.
Amazement ties my tongue.
Where are your former principles?
O. Wilm.
No matter;
Suppose I have renounced 'em: I have passions,
And love thee still; therefore would have thee think,
The world is all a scene of deep deceit,
And he who deals with mankind on the square,
Is his own bubble, and undoes himself.
Farewel and mark my counsel, boy.
[Exit.
Rand.
Amazement!
Is this the man, I thought so wise and just?
What teach and counsel me to be a villain!
Sure grief has made him frantic, or some fiend
Assum'd his shape: I shall suspect my senses.
High-minded he was ever, and improvident,
But pitiful and generous to a fault.
Pleasure he lov'd, but honour was his idol.
O fatal change! O horrid transformation!
So a majestic temple sunk to ruin,
Becomes the loathsome shelter and abode
Of lurking serpents, toads, and beasts of prey;
And scaly dragons hiss, and lions roar,
Where wisdom taught, and music charm'd before.
[Exit.
| Fatal Curiosity | |