 | Isabella : or, The Fatal Marriage |  |
30
ACT IV.
SCENE, the Street.Biron and Bellford, just arriv'd.
Bir.
The longest Day will have an End: We are
got Home at last.
Bel.
We have got our Legs at Liberty; and Liberty
is Home, where-e'er we go: tho' mine lies most in
England.
Bir.
Pray let me call this yours: For what I can command
in Brussels, you shall find your own. I have a
Father here, who perhaps, after seven Years Absence,
and costing him nothing in my Travels, may be glad to
see me. You know my Story—How does my Disguise
become me?
Bel.
Just as you would have it; 'tis natural, and will
conceal you.
Bir.
To-morrow you shall be sure to find me here, as
early as you please. This is the House; you have observ'd
the Street.
Bel.
I warrant you; I han't many Visits to make, before
I come to you.
Bir.
To-night I have some Affairs, that will oblige me
to be private.
Bel.
A good Bed is the privatest Affair that I desire
to be engag'd in to-night; your Directions will carry me
to my Lodgings.
[Exit.
Bir.
Good Night, my Friend.
[Knocks.
The long expected Moment is arriv'd!
And if all here is well, my past Sorrows
Will only heighten my Excess of Joy,
And nothing will remain to wish or hope for!
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Samp.
Who's there? What would you have?
Bir.
Is your Lady at home, Friend?
Samp.
Why, truly Friend, it is my Employment to
answer impertinent Questions: But for my Lady's being
at home, or no, that's just as my Lady pleases.
Bir.
But how shall I know, whether it pleases her or no?
Samp.
Why, if you'll take my Word for it, you may
carry your Errand back again: She never pleases to see
any Body at this Time of Night, that she does not know;
and by your Dress and Appearance, I am sure, you must
be a Stranger to her.
Bir.
But I have Business; and you don't know how
that may please her.
Samp.
Nay, if you have Business, she is the best Judge,
whether your Business will please her or no: Therefore I
will proceed in my Office, and know of my Lady, whether
or no she is pleas'd to be at Home, or no—
[Going.
Enter Nurse to them.
Nurse.
Who's that you are so busy withal? Methinks
you might have found out an Answer in fewer Words:
But Sampson, you love to hear yourself prate sometimes,
as well as your Betters, that I must say for you. Let me
come to him; who would you speak with, Stranger?
Bir.
With you, Mistress, if you can help me to speak
to your Lady.
Nurse.
Yes, Sir, I can help you in a civil Way: But
can no body do your Business but my Lady?
Bir.
Not so well; but if you'll carry her this Ring,
she'll know my Business better.
Nurse.
There's no Love-Letter in it, I hope: You
look like a civil Gentleman: In an honest Way I may
bring you an Answer.
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My old Nurse, only a little older! They say the
Tongue grows always: Mercy on me! then her's is seven
Years longer, since I left her. Yet there's something in
these Servants Folly pleases me: The cautious Conduct
of the Family appears, and speaks in their Impertinence.
Well, Mistress—
Nurse returns.
Nurse.
I have deliver'd your Ring, Sir; pray Heav'n
you bring no bad News along with you.
Bir.
Quite contrary, I hope.
Nurse.
Nay, I hope so too; but my Lady was very
much surpriz'd when I gave it her. Sir, I am but a Servant,
as a Body may say; but if you'll walk in, that I may
shut the Doors, for we keep very orderly Hours, I can
show you into the Parlour, and help you to an Answer,
perhaps as soon as those that are wiser.
[Exeunt.
Bir.
I'll follow you—
Now all my Spirits hurry to my Heart,
And every Sense has taken the Alarm
At this approaching Interview!
Heav'ns how I tremble!
[Exit into the House.
SCENE, a Chamber.
Enter Isabella.
Isa.
I've heard of Witches, Magick Spells, and Charms,
That have made Nature start from her old Course:
The Sun has been eclips'd, the Moon drawn down
From her Career, still paler, and subdu'd
To the Abuses of this under World:
Now I believe all possible. This Ring,
This little Ring, with necromantic Force,
Has rais'd the Ghost of Pleasure to my Fears:
Conjur'd the Sense of Honour, and of Love,
Into such Shapes, they fright me from myself:
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I'll call you when I want you.
[Servant goes out.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse.
Madam, the Gentleman's below.
Isa.
I had forgot; pray let me speak with him.
[Exit Nurse.
This Ring was the first Present of my Love
To Biron, my first Husband: I must blush
To think I have a Second: Biron dy'd
(Still to my Loss) at Candy; there's my Hope.
O! do I live to hope that he dy'd there!
It must be so: He's dead; and this Ring left
By his last Breath, to some known faithful Friend,
To bring me back again.
[Biron introduc'd—Nurse retires.
That's all I have to trust to—
My Fears were Woman's: I have view'd him all:
And let me, let me say it to myself,
I live again, and rise but from his Tomb.
Bir.
Have you forgot me quite?
Isa.
Forgot you!
Bir.
Then farewel my Disguise, and my Misfortunes.
My Isabella!
[He goes to her, she shrieks, and falls in a Swoon.
Isa.
Ha!—
Bir.
O! come again:
Thy Biron summons thee to Life and Love;
Once I had Charms to wake thee:
Thy once lov'd, ever loving Husband calls—
Thy Biron speaks to thee.
Isa.
My Husband! Biron?
Bir.
Excess of Love and Joy, for my Return,
Has overpower'd her—I was to blame
To take thy Sex's Softness unprepar'd:
But sinking thus, thus dying in my Arms,
This Ecstasy has made my Welcome more
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False coin'd, and current only from the Tongue,
Without the Mind; but Passion's in the Soul,
And always speaks the Heart.
Isa.
Where have I been? Why do you keep him from me?
I know his Voice: My Life upon the Wing,
Hears the soft Lure that brings me back again:
'Tis he himself, my Biron, the dear Man!
My true lov'd Husband! Do I hold you fast,
Never to part again? Can I believe it?
Nothing but you could work so great a Change.
There's more than Life itself in dying here:
If I must fall, 'tis welcome in these Arms.
Bir.
Live ever in these Arms.
Isa.
But pardon me,
Excuse the wild Disorder of my Soul:
The strange, surprizing Joy of seeing you,
Of seeing you again, distracted me—
Bir.
Thou everlasting Goodness!
Isa.
Answer me:
What Hand of Providence has brought you back
To your own Home again? O satisfy
Th'Impatience of my Heart: I long to know
The Story of your Sufferings. You wou'd think
Your Pleasures Sufferings, so long remov'd
From Isabella's Love: But tell me all,
For every Thought confounds me.
Bir.
My best Life; at Leisure, all.
Isa.
We thought you dead; kill'd at the Siege of Candy.
Bir.
There I fell among the Dead;
But Hopes of Life reviving from my Wounds,
I was preserv'd, but to be made a Slave:
I often writ to my hard Father, but never had
An Answer. I writ to thee too—
Isa.
What a World of Woe
Had been prevented, but in hearing from you;
Bir.
Alas! thou could'st not help me.
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You do not know how much I cou'd ha' done;
At least, I'm sure I cou'd have suffer'd all:
I wou'd have sold myself to Slavery,
Without Redemption; giv'n up my Child,
The dearest Part of me, to basest Wants—
Bir.
My little Boy!
Isa.
My Life, but to have heard
You were alive—which now too late I find.
[Aside.
Bir.
No more, my Love, complaining of the past,
We lose the present Joy. 'Tis over Price
Of all my Pains, that thus we meet again—
I have a thousand things to say to thee—
Isa.
Wou'd I were past the Hearing.
[Aside.
Bir.
How does my Child, my Boy, my Father too?
I hear he's living still.
Isa.
Well both, both well;
And may he prove a Father to your Hopes,
Though we have found him none.
Bir.
Come, no more Tears.
Isa.
Seven long Years of Sorrow for your Loss,
Have mourn'd with me—
Bir.
And all my Days behind
Shall be employ'd in a kind Recompense
For thy Afflictions—Can't I see my Boy?
Isa.
He's gone to Bed: I'll have him brought to you.
Bir.
To-morrow I shall see him; I want Rest
Myself, after my weary Pilgrimage.
Isa.
Alas! what shall I get for you?
Bir.
Nothing but Rest, my Love! To-night I would not
Be known, if possible, to your Family:
I see my Nurse is with you; her Welcome
Wou'd be tedious at this Time;
To-morrow will do better.
Isa.
I'll dispose of her, and order every thing
As you wou'd have it.
36
Grant me but Life, good Heav'n, and give the Means
To make this wond'rous Goodness some Amends;
And let me then forget her, if I can!
O! she deserves of me much more, than I
Can lose for her, though I again cou'd venture
A Father, and his Fortune, for her Love.
You wretched Fathers, blind as Fortune all!
Not to perceive that such a Woman's Worth
Weighs down the Portions you provide your Sons:
What has she, in my Absence, undergone?
I must not think of that; it drives me back
Upon myself, the fated Cause of all.
Isabella returns.
Isa.
I have obey'd your Pleasure,
Every Thing is ready for you.
Bir.
I can want nothing here; possessing thee,
All my Desires are carry'd to their Aim
Of Happiness; there's no Room for a Wish,
But to continue still this Blessing to me:
I know the Way, my Love, I shall sleep sound.
Isa.
Shall I help to undress you?
Bir.
By no Means;
I've been so long a Slave to others Pride,
To learn, at least, to wait upon myself;
You'll make Haste after—
[Goes in.
Isa.
I'll but say my Prayers, and follow you—
My Prayers! no, I must never pray again.
Prayers have their Blessings to reward our Hopes:
But I have nothing left to hope for more.
What Heav'n cou'd give, I have enjoy'd; but now
The baneful Planet rises on my Fate,
And what's to come, is a long Line of Woe;
Yet I may shorten it—
I promis'd him to follow—him!
Is he without a Name? Biron, my Husband:
37
What then is Villeroy? But Yesterday
That very Bed receiv'd him for its Lord;
Yet a warm Witness of my broken Vows.
O Biron! hadst thou come but one Day sooner,
I wou'd have follow'd thee through Beggary:
Through all the Chances of this weary Life.
Wander'd the many Ways of Wretchedness
With thee, to find a hospitable Grave;
For that's the only Bed that's left me now.
[Weeping.
—What's to be done—for something must be done.
Two Husbands! yet not one! by both enjoy'd,
And yet a Wife to neither! hold my Brain—
This is to live in common! Very Beasts,
That welcome all they meet, make just such Wives.
My Reputation! O, 'twas all was left me:
The virtuous Pride of an uncensur'd Life;
Which, the dividing Tongues of Biron's Wrongs,
And Villeroy's Resentments, tear asunder,
To gorge the Throats of the blaspheming Rabble.
This is the best of what can come To-morrow,
Besides old Baldwin's Triumph in my Ruin:
I cannot bear it—
Therefore no Morrow: Ha! a lucky Thought
Works the right Way to rid me of 'em all;
All the Reproaches, Infamies, and Scorns,
That every Tongue and Finger will find for me.
Let the just Horror of my Apprehensions
But keep me warm—no Matter what can come.
'Tis but a Blow,—yet I will see him first—
Have a last Look to heighten my Despair,
And then to rest for ever—
Biron meets her.
Bir.
Despair! and rest for ever! Isabella!
These Words are far from thy Condition;
38
And could not bear thy Absence: Come, my Love!
You have staid long, there's nothing, nothing sure
Now to despair of in succeeding Fate.
Isa.
I am contented to be miserable,
But not this Way; I've been too long abus'd,
And can believe no more;
Let me sleep on, to be deceiv'd no more.
Bir.
Look up, my Love, I never did deceive thee,
Nor ever can; believe thyself, thy Eyes
That first inflam'd, and lit me to my Love,
Those Stars, that still must guide me to my Joys.
Isa.
And me to my undoing: I look round
And find no Path, but leading to the Grave.
Bir.
I cannot understand thee.
Isa.
My good Friends above,
I thank 'em, have at last found out a Way
To make my Fortune perfect; having you,
I need no more; my Fate is finish'd here.
Bir.
Both our ill Fates, I hope.
Isa.
Hope is a lying, fawning Flatterer,
That shews the fair Side only of our Fortunes,
To cheat us easier into our Fall;
A trusted Friend, who only can betray you;
Never believe him more—If Marriages
Are made in Heav'n, they should be happier:
Why was I made this Wretch?
Bir.
Has Marriage made thee wretched?
Isa.
Miserable, beyond the Reach of Comfort.
Bir.
Do I live to hear thee say so?
Isa.
Why! what did I say?
Bir.
That I have made thee miserable.
Isa.
No: You are my only earthly Happiness;
And my false Tongue bely'd my honest Heart,
If it said otherwise.
Bir.
And yet you said,
Your Marriage made you miserable.
Isa.
I know not what I said:
I've said too much, unless I could speak all.
39
Thy Words are wild; my Eyes, my Ears, my Heart,
Were all so full of thee, so much employ'd
In Wonder of thy Charms, I could not find it:
Now I perceive it plain—
Isa.
You'll tell no Body—
[Distractedly.
Bir.
Thou art not well.
Isa.
Indeed I am not; I knew that before,
But where's the Remedy?
Bir.
Rest will relieve thy Cares: Come, come; no more;
I'll banish Sorrow from thee.
Isa.
Banish first the Cause.
Bir.
Heav'n knows how willingly.
Isa.
You are the only Cause.
Bir.
Am I the Cause? the Cause of thy Misfortunes?
Isa.
The fatal innocent Cause of all my Woes.
Bir.
Is this my Welcome Home? This the Reward
Of all my Miseries, long Labours, Pains,
And pining Wants of wretched Slavery,
Which I've out-liv'd, only in Hopes of thee!
Am I thus paid at last for deathless Love?
And call'd the Cause of thy Misfortunes now?
Isa.
Enquire no more; 'twill be explain'd too soon.
[She is going off.
Bir.
What! Can'st thou leave me too?
[He stays her.
Isa.
Pray let me go:
For both our Sakes permit me—
Bir.
Rack me not with Imaginations
Of Things impossible—Thou can'st not mean
What thou hast said—Yet something she must mean.
—'Twas Madness all—Compose thyself, my Love!
The Fit is past; all may be well again:
Let us to Bed.
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To Bed! You've rais'd the Storm
Will sever us for ever: O my Biron!
While I have Life, still I must call you mine:
I know I am, and always was, unworthy
To be the happy Partner of your Love;
And now must never, never share it more.
But, oh! if ever I was dear to you,
As sometimes you have thought me; on my Knees,
(The last time I shall care to be believ'd)
I beg you, beg to think me innocent,
Clear of all Crimes, that thus can banish me
From this World's Comforts, in my losing you.
Bir.
Where will this end?
Isa.
The rugged Hand of Fate has got between
Our meeting Hearts, and thrusts 'em from their Joys:
Since we must part—
Bir.
Nothing shall ever part us.
Isa.
Parting's the least that is set down for me:
Heav'n has decreed, and we must suffer all.
Bir.
I know thee innocent; I know myself so:
Indeed we both have been unfortunate;
But sure Misfortunes ne'er were Faults in Love.
Isa.
Oh! There's a fatal Story to be told;
Be deaf to that, as Heav'n has been to me!
And rot the Tongue that shall reveal my Shame:
When thou shalt hear how much thou hast been wrong'd,
How wilt thou curse thy fond believing Heart,
Tear me from the warm Bosom of thy Love,
And throw me like a pois'nous Weed away:
Can I bear that? Bear to be curst and torn,
And thrown out from thy Family and Name,
Like a Disease? Can I bear this from thee?
I never can: No, all Things have their End.
When I am dead, forgive and pity me.
[Exit.
Bir.
Stay, my Isabella—
What can she mean? These Doubtings will distract me:
Some hidden Mischief soon will burst to Light;
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'Tis she, my Wife, must clear this Darkness to me.
She shall—if the sad Tale at last must come,
She is my Fate, and best can speak my Doom.
[Exit.
| Isabella : or, The Fatal Marriage | |