University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—The Gardens of Beaufort's House.
Enter Richard and Isabel.
ISABEL.
Richard!
You must serve me in a matter of some trust;
There are some jewels I would sell—there's none
I would trust as I do you—will you?—

RICHARD.
Your jewels?
Sell them?

ISABEL.
(hesitating.)
They're old and useless, and—

RICHARD.
I'll do
As you would have me, madam; pardon me!
I was surprised.

ISABEL.
Yet must you know the truth,
And I dare trust you—my poor father's ruined.

RICHARD.
Ruined? Lord Beaufort! my kind benefactor!
And you, my kindest mistress.

ISABEL.
Your friend, Richard,
And one who'll grieve to part from you—perchance
We may scarce see each other more.

RICHARD.
If fortune
Doom me to sorrow, it but little matters
By how few it is shared; but should I thrive
I must return to those who are my home,
And claim their joy with mine—O, that I thus
Might greet you!

ISABEL.
Would you, Richard?

RICHARD.
Call you sister!

ISABEL.
Sister!

RICHARD.
I am too bold.

ISABEL.
No. Be it so. “Sister:”
You are henceforth my brother.

RICHARD.
A proud title
To urge me to desert.

ISABEL.
See, some one comes.
I'll hence and bring the jewels.

[Exit.
RICHARD.
Poor! poor girl!
Reared in the genial clime of soft indulgence
How wilt thou shrink before the nipping blast
That sweeps along the barren icy shore
To which thou'rt banished? Fortune is but cowardly
To wreak its wrath on thee.

Enter Edward.
EDWARD.
Why, how now, Richard?
Thou with a moody brow!

RICHARD.
Nay, nay; 'tis nothing.

EDWARD.
Is it that Spendall presses thee for money?
We're at our last: my father's purse is empty.
But what! cheer up! I have a plan shall save all.
There's the old miser, Scroope, hath a fair neice.

RICHARD.
Mariana!

EDWARD.
Ay, thou knowest her—I will wed her.
Titles may weigh with gold—I shall have riches;
She shall be called my lady—why, what ails thee?
Thou hast no hopes there?

RICHARD.
None; I fear me, none.

EDWARD.
Nay, if thou lovest her—and that cheek of thine
Gives me shrewd guesses—thou must yield her, Richard.
What could'st thou offer to her careful uncle
In barter for his gold?

RICHARD.
Nothing. Yet, mark me,
Thou must not rival me with Mariana.

EDWARD.
Rival thee?

RICHARD.
Ay; although I have no hope,
No fortune, title, name, or quality
Of mind or person, that should bid me hope,
Thou must not rival me with Mariana.

EDWARD.
Rival! Dost think thou art my equal?

RICHARD.
Ay;
In this more than thine equal. Boast thy rank—
Add to it wealth—aye, pile on pile of gold;
Estates unmeasured, gems 'bove price, and then,
Still will I brave thee. Psha! thou knowest her not.
Mariana hath a heart.

Scroope appears at the gate.
EDWARD.
And here is one
To whom your high pretensions may be spoken,
What, Master Scroope, good day! Please you walk in;
You have not seen the grounds here.

[Richard retires.
Enter Scroope at garden gate.
SCROOPE.
'Tis, indeed,
Some time since.

EDWARD.
When, man?

SCROOPE.
Oh! I had forgotten.
These grounds—

EDWARD.
Why, you were deep in other thought.

SCROOPE.
I was, indeed.

EDWARD.
Making a calculation
Of your last venture's profit, or the outlay
For your next merchandize.

SCROOPE.
My mind, sir, is not
Ever upon such trifles.

EDWARD.
Trifles!

SCROOPE.
Aye,
I have wealth enough now to afford to feel.
Pleasures, enjoyments, e'en domestic loves,
Are, with the poor, called idle; with the rich,
They are feelings, tastes, and generous sentiments.
I have earned the rights which I once idly thought
Were nature's.

EDWARD.
You've enjoyments in your wealth
That many envy you—altho' they'd use it
In a different kind—not contemplate, but spend it.

SCROOPE.
Yes, sir, I have enjoyments in my wealth;
And sometimes love to contemplate my riches.
Not that the chink of gold 'gainst gold can sound
A miser's music in my ears—or diamonds,
With care kept from the sun, dazzle my eyes
With an unholy lustre, when a lamp
Stealthily shines upon my hoards; my wealth
I think of for its use. What are the pleasures
Men covet most? I have the power of all.
What hath the world that I dare not call mine?
Show me the palace, the rich furniture,
The fair domain, the meiny of attendants
I cannot make mine own? this is mere pomp.
Show me the luxuries—the costly wines
The thousand pleasures that poor ingenuity
Starves to invent to pamper the dull rich,—
E'en with a word they're mine; but this is sensual.
Show me the knowledge I may not controul,
The learning that I cannot buy, the talents,
Nay, e'en the genius, that I cannot claim
To mine own use; but this, you'll say, is heartless.
Show me the friend would spurn my offered hand
'Tho I were baseness' self; show me the love,
'Tho e'en I were decrepitude, could ward
My golden shower from Danäe's lap.
They are, I own, but mercenary minds
That could be won thus—but my wealth, sir, gives me
A power o'er men's hearts as well as actions:
It can controul the proud, support the weak,
Confront mean greatness with an equal port,
And cheer with happy hope poor humble merit—
Strive with the bitterest foes that crush young hearts,
Relieve old age's cares, soothe pain and sickness,
And make the happiest lovers bless its power,
E'en mid the fervour of their holiest thoughts.
Yes, sir, I have enjoyments in my wealth,
And I do love to contemplate its might.

EDWARD.
You argue well for it.

SCROOPE.
There are other uses
Which time may prove for it—they may be felt,
Not spoken:—meanwhile I've an argument
Would win e'en you to praise it.

EDWARD.
Nay, I am bound
To rail—I'm poor enough to make common cause
'Gainst its possessors.

SCROOPE.
Say that I should lend you
What you may need or wish?

EDWARD.
I've no rich jewels,
Nor vast reversions to bind over to you:
My father hath left his heir not even that chance
To move the hearts of lenders.

SCROOPE.
Your own bond
Shall well suffice me for three hundred pounds.

EDWARD.
Nay, it shall ne'er be said I lost the money
Because I would not ask it. I confess
I'm a full convert to your argument.

SCROOPE.
In time you will be.

EDWARD.
There's a threat in that.

SCROOPE.
You fear yourself, not me, if you refuse it.

EDWARD.
Well, well, lend me the money.
Enter Richard.
Master Scroope
Lends me three hundred pounds, tho' for what reason
I'll not e'en strive to guess.

SCROOPE.
Another debtor!
Yes, though you wonder.

RICHARD.
How?

SCROOPE.
You know one Spendall?
He is a bankrupt; I'm his creditor—
His chief, almost his only creditor.
You owe him money: if you prove deserving,
And I'm no rigid censor of my friendship,
You shall owe me nought but gentle gratitude.

RICHARD.
I thank you frankly.

SCROOPE.
Give me then you hand on't.
Your's is a face recals to me some joys,
When I was young and buoyant, that would sparkle,
Thus in the eye. I'll not betray your friendship,
Stand you but true to mine. (To Edward)
Within this half hour
I shall expect you.

EDWARD.
'Tis a miracle,
Or his familiar fiend, the demon, gold,
Is leading him in quagmires. Parallel!

Enter Parallel.
PARALLEL.
I saw old Master Scroope here: hath he left you?

RICHARD.
Yes, Master Parallel, and left us merrier
That he hath been here.

PARALLEL.
Would that I had seen him.

RICHARD.
Why, master tutor, you look somewhat fearful:
What is the matter, sir?

PARALLEL.
Nay, nothing, nothing.
I must to Master Scroope's.

EDWARD.
And wherefore thither?

PARALLEL.
For money.

EDWARD.
Why, what pawn would'st offer him?

PARALLEL.
None; yet he'll lend me.

RICHARD.
Thee too? What need'st thou?

PARALLEL.
Ten marks to pay
A tailor for a suit I had at college.
I thought he had forgetten me—yet now
I saw his ominous visage o'er the shoulder
Of one o' the city's varlets, and I feared
Lest he should spy me: all my hopes were gone
Were I arrested now—first Mariana.

RICHARD.
Master Scroope's niece.

PARALLEL.
Ay, ay—Why, wherefore laugh ye?
He offered me this morning a large sum,
I warrant in his mind, full twenty marks.

EDWARD.
Well, take it Master Parallel, and all
Are then his debtors, Richard, 'gainst his will,
And I with mine: whate'er the merchant seeks
We shall have our venerable tutor here
In the same predicament. In half an hour,
Or less, you'll meet with Scroope at his own house.

[Exeunt Edward and Parallel into house.
Enter Isabel with a casket.
ISABEL.
I have watched till you were alone. You can dispose
Of these, and keep a hundred pounds, in which
I but pay my father's debts.

RICHARD.
Not so, dear lady.
Not so—by heaven! I would not take from him
To whom I owe my nurture, one poor doit
Now in his poverty. I am too much bound to him,
Too hopelessly. And you—it is not kind,
At parting thus, by deeds to call me selfish.
I will not touch those jewels.

ISABEL.
Yes, for me!
For I shall need your service—but for me!

RICHARD.
Ay, you will promise to receive the money—
All, or I touch them not.

ISABEL.
I promise it.

[Edward appears from the house.
RICHARD.
Then give me them and I will find a chapman,
A fair and honest one—and I thank heaven
He's known to me—and even from him I'll urge
The extremest value for your sake—farewell.

[Exit at gate.
ISABEL.
Noble and generous youth—I will not leave thee
In debt to some harsh creditor—he'll gladly
Receive the gold which thou refusest proudly.
Edward!

EDWARD.
Aye, Isabel, blush not—what was't
You gave to Richard? Girl, if you'd buy hearts,
'Twere well you chose a true one.

ISABEL.
You're sententious.
Have you done? There may be yet another venture
In which I would embark my little store,
One of pure friendship, brother:—it may be,
Richard refuses even that kindness from me.

EDWARD.
No anger, Isabel! Our time of pride
Is past, and had Fitz-Alan been your lover
You had removed a somewhat from my path,
An obstacle, it may be, or a rival;
But we shall see.—Farewell.

[Exit at gate.
ISABEL.
Why did I not
Reply with scorn to this imputed folly?
For it were folly now—once I had thought it
A generous sacrifice—perchance a happy one:
But he loves another—I am now his sister.
I have with care enquired of his debts
And thus, at least, against his will, I'll serve him.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

—Scroope's Counting-house.
Scroope and William.
SCROOPE.
Place this bond of young Beaufort's in the chest,
The iron safe—I have him there securely.
[Exit William.
The hour approaches for my forfeit mortgage,
How shall I deal with him? If ever vengeance
Were holy—but it is not—there's a peace,
A calm content of conscience, will not dwell
With wrath, however seeming just.—Who feels
That he is frail, dares not revenge, but trusts
To mercy for the showing it. I'll be calm,
I will do even justice—more, show mercy,
Lest I should be unjust.
Enter Richard with the casket
How now, my friend!
A moment—I was thinking—Well, what would you?

RICHARD.
I come to trade, sir, with you

SCROOPE.
Aye, have with you!
In what?

RICHARD.
These jewels: I would sell them.

SCROOPE.
How!
These are a woman's gear.

RICHARD.
Pray ask no questions.
If you would show me friendship, I would have
The utmost value for them.

SCROOPE.
That's strange trading.

RICHARD.
Well. then—

SCROOPE.
But you said “friendship,” I allow it.
You shall have their utmost value: let me see them.
Why, what is this?

[Takes up a ring.
RICHARD.
A ring—a little ring.
There are richer jewels.

SCROOPE.
Yes, this ring was hers.
There is the cipher which I marked myself,
And gave it her.

RICHARD.
You're moved!

SCROOPE.
Aye, there are memories
Between me and the house of Beaufort, which
This ring, as 'twere a talisman, calls up
In clear and distinct vision. Methinks I see her,
And by this token, this, the holiest token,
She calls for vengeance. You have seen me moved
At a strange cause—at least to you. We are,
You have said it, friends.

RICHARD.
I have—how can I prove—?

SCROOPE.
You will be silent, as you had not known it,
Of this my strange emotion.

RICHARD.
You've my word.

SCROOPE.
Enough, now leave me.—Ah, the jewels!—yes,
I recked not of them; I will send their value,
Their full and ample value, to you straight,
And something, too, for this—this priceless ring!
Go, wonder, but be silent.

RICHARD.
Fear me not, sir.

[Exit
SCROOPE.
My poor, poor wife! and this was thine, the pledge—
The first pledge of my love. What mystery
Is there in providence to send me this,
Now, in the very tide of my strong power?
Thou bauble, would thou wert intelligent
Of the future as the past—for so much love,
And so much bitter wrong, thou speak'st to me
To shake my very nature to its centre.
As the final trumpet-call shall rend the earth
Changing the laws of being.

MARIANA
(without.)
William! William!

SCROOPE.
Mariana's voice! Ay, let me think of her,
No pain can share with that thought—Mariana!
Yet lie thou near my heart, for thou'rt a symbol
Of love, which grief could but grave deeper there—
Of love, which Death could only make immortal.

SCENE III.

—The Terrace, as in Act I., Scene I.
RICHARD and MARIANA.
MARIANA.
And must you leave us? What sad chance is this?
Even as my hopes were brightest, for my uncle
Spoke kindly of you. I said ye had hearts
To love each other—did I not?

RICHARD.
Sweet prophet!
And wilt thou love me, Mariana, still?
Though proud fate trample on me, tho' my lot
Be poverty and scorn—though chilling absence—

MARIANA.
Speak not so sadly; see, here comes old Goldlove,
And your friend, if he be so, Edward Beaufort.

RICHARD.
Let's walk from them; I've much to say.
Enter Widow Lovel from her house; takes Richard's arm.
S'death, she here!

Enter Edward and Goldlove, who go to Mariana.
WIDOW.
You are a wise youth, Master Richard, thus
To listen to advice; nay, come for it.
You have received my letter?

RICHARD
(aside.)
I had forgotten it,
Or ne'er had ventured hither.

WIDOW.
I am well pleased
With this mark of your punctual courtesy,
And will, in due time, thank you for it; but first
I have a quarrel with you.

RICHARD.
Pray you, dame,
Spare both your thanks and anger, and so make
The matter even.

WIDOW.
Nay, to send me up
As far as Westminster, to see the queen,
The whales, the unicorn, and Balaam's ass,
And there was no such sight, nor any sign
Of progress or procession!

RICHARD.
Woe is me!
Just as you quitted me, I had bethought me
My information was apocryphal;
I had it from a sort of Jesuit
I' th' service of the Pope and King of Spain,
As I learnt afterwards.

WIDOW.
A per'lous traitor!
To spread his false reports! you should reveal him
To my Lord Mayor.

RICHARD.
I would, if it were possible
To find him.

WIDOW.
Well, the truth's the best excuse;
Therefore I pardon you: but I must blame you
In another sort.

RICHARD.
Some other time, dear lady

WIDOW.
“There's no time like the present,” says the proverb;
And, sooth, there's many a true proverb.—Come
This way; they'd fain o'erhear us;—I must tell you
It touches you to hear me.—

RICHARD.
Sure, St. Anthony
Had ne'er severer trials of his patience.

[They go up.
EDWARD.
Now for one fortunate instant; I may speak
To you alone—I love you, Mariana.

MARIANA.
Pray, spare me, sir, I am not worthy.

EDWARD.
Nay,
Deny me not an hour of gentle converse,
That I may urge my suit—we are now too public.

MARIANA.
Not for the answer I must give you, sir.
I thank you, and, that said, I've but one word;
My heart's another's, and, as you are noble,
You'll scorn to urge me further.

EDWARD.
So, 'tis Richard's.
Well, 'tis a pity that he prizes not
The preference:—are you content to share
His love with yon gay widow? See, she leads him
In a close converse and bends fondly toward him
And he—

MARIANA.
Endures it, sir!—but who hath told you
'Tis he who hath my heart?

EDWARD.
Do you deny it?

MARIANA.
Have you the right to question? Yet I'll answer.
He's mine, and I am his; if there be truth
In the soul's language—in that fervid trust,
Which, without vows or any other bond
Than that of innocent truth, plights guileless love
Firmly as though the troth were pledged in heaven,
From which the affection sprung.—I love him, sir,
And trust him, and the meaning of your brow,
Deep drawn as 'twas when speaking of yon widow,
I answer with a smile.—You cannot smile too,
For you would wrong your friend.

EDWARD.
I but surmised—

MARIANA.
Well, sir, you see how much I share your fears.
I leave them to their converse—fare you well, sir.

[Exit.
EDWARD.
So 'tis is a prosperous day with me, yon proud one!—
But even her pride's a spur to my desires,
Makes them o'erleap the formal barrier conscience,
Which, at the first, I shrunk from. I'll accept
His boastful challenge.—I should like to change
His triumph into disappointed anger—
My envy to victorious malice. Come!
They wait us, Richard—I've a thought shall do it.
Those jewels! I may frame a tale from them!
Richard, I say; the bell sounding dinner!

RICHARD.
I come—farewell, my gentle dame.

WIDOW.
To-morrow
I will pursue my counsel—or indeed
This afternoon—cannot you dine with me?

RICHARD.
Excuse me; I am expected.

WIDOW.
Well, sir, well,
Remember I shall wait you.

[Exit.
RICHARD.
You shall wait me
Indeed, or ere I come, my gentle mistress;
I must have even called some sudden sickness,
The plague, or some such kind disease, to scare her;
For as you spoke I dreaded an avowal
In plain and open terms. See, she is peeping
Now from her casement—run, or I'm her prisoner.

[Exit.
EDWARD.
A plague upon his fortunes, or his face,
I know not which, that women thus doat on him.

Enter Parallel from Scroope's.
EDWARD.
So, Master Parallel, I need your service.

PARALLEL.
Why, service hath its kind, degree, condition,
Honour, dishonour, safety, peril, accidents,
Beyond enumeration.

EDWARD.
My request
Is first your silence—I'd have your assistance
In my suit to Mariana.

PARALLEL.
Humph! that can't be.
I have hopes of her myself.

EDWARD.
You hopes of her!
What, 'cause you have a loan from Master Scroope?

PARALLEL.
I have, sir, and I'm brave in it; for this bravery
Hath many kinds, the bravery of soul,
The bravery of purse, of dress, of lineage,
Of—

EDWARD.
Stay! Is yours a bravery to meet
A tailor and two varlets?

PARALLEL.
You shall see, sir.
Ay! they're the very hang dogs—Mark my bearing!
It shall be a specimen of that true courage
That springs from what's within.— (Chinking a purse.)

A fortitude
Can answer all draughts on it.
Enter Tailor, and two Officers.
So! approach, sirs.
I have sought long— (aside)
—to keep out of your way.
It troubles me to carry money with me
That's not mine own; for the first joy of money
Is the right to expend it.

TAILOR.
Please your worship
I'm glad, indeed, we've found you; but, good varlet,
Tap him o' th' shoulder, or we lose our costs.
You are arrested, sir.

PARALLEL.
Ay, ay, arrested.
Where's your demand? Some ten marks, is it not?
Mark but my bearing (to Edward.)
Rascal! here they are.

TAILOR.
Alas! good sir, ten marks will pay but little
Of the debt now.

PARALLEL.
How?

TAILOR.
Costs, sir, have accrued.
I'm sorry that your worship found me not:
I've been at charges for an outlawry:
And that, with the attendance of our friends here,
Shall let you cheaply off at twenty pounds.

EDWARD
(to Parallel.)
Well, sir, I mark your bearing.

PARALLEL.
Twenty pounds!

EDWARD.
A perfect specimen of fortitude
Which springs from that within!

PARALLEL.
Twenty pounds! Ruined!

EDWARD.
Stay! these are friends, and merciful, no doubt.
You, sir— (to Tailor.)


TAILOR.
Oh no, sir, we have caught him now:
And, by the livery of our company,
Their arms, the needle, goose, and fatal shears!—
Or all that can be thought more dread and solemn—
I swear I'll have his body or the payment.

PARALLEL.
In full?

TAILOR.
In full.—I told you I would do it
If you paid not.

PARALLEL.
All things conspire against me!
Even tailors keep their words!

EDWARD.
Your leave a moment!

TAILOR.
Is it to speak upon the means of payment?

EDWARD.
It is.

TAILOR.
Then stand you here—you post yourself
By this gate, and be ready with your poles
To knock him down if he should stir. Now, sir,
[to Par.
You're quite at liberty.

EDWARD.
Where are your hopes now
Of Mariana?

PARALLEL.
Oh, 'tis cruel, thus
To mock me in my mortal agony,
For death has many doors; we'll say some forty
First—

EDWARD.
Zounds! Is this a time to talk divisions?
I'll pay the debt.

PARALLEL.
You will?

EDWARD.
On one condition.
You've now no hope of Mariana?

PARALLEL
(sighs.)
True!

EDWARD.
But I may have some yet—if you will join me
In a slight slander, aid me to devise it,
And then deliver it to Mariana.
You are a grave, staid person, and your words
May be, perchance, believed. Say, will you do this
If I should free you?

PARALLEL.
I'll do any thing.

EDWARD.
You may ask audience of her as a suitor,
For all these are admitted, and then speak
What we shall plan for you.

PARALLEL.
But whoop these hounds off,
I'll say or swear whatever you direct me.

TAILOR.
Are we to have the money?

EDWARD.
Friends! bear witness,
I lend him twenty pounds to pay his debt,
And at his strong entreaty—Is't not so?

[To Par.
PARALLEL.
At my most strong, importunate entreaty.

EDWARD.
There 'tis, and he is free (gives money.)


TAILOR.
Thanks! noble sir.
to Par.]
There is my hand, sir, I bear no man malice.
It always grieves me to lock up my customers.
Come friends—you'll chance, perhaps, to want a suit?

PARALLEL.
No; no more of your suits, they fit me not.

[Exit Tailor, &c.
EDWARD.
Come, Master Parallel, come, a cup of wine,
And then to make me a repayment.

PARALLEL.
Ay!
You're a fit type of Lucifer; you've saved
My body but to catch my soul.

EDWARD.
Your body's
Nothing to boast of; yet best of the twain.
But come and learn your lesson, my grave tutor.

[Exeunt.