University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The law office of Richard Osborne. Osborne discovered writing.
Enter Warren.
Warren.
We're on the track at last, Look at that letter;
It comes from our old comrade, Harry Matthews,
And tells us miracles of Norman Maurice!—
Our worthy cousin has the run of fortune;—
She seems to crown him with her richest favors,
As some old bawd, grown hackney'd in the market,
Adopts a virgin passion in her dotage,
And yields to her late folly, all the profits
That follow'd the old vice. He's growing finely;
But I shall dock his feathers.

Osborne.
[reading.]
In Missouri.

Warren.
Ay, in St. Louis, that great western city,
Our worthy cousin, Norman, has grown famous!
You read what Matthews writes. In one short twelvemonth
He springs above all shoulders.

Osborne.
I look'd for it!
He's not the man whom fortune can keep under.

Warren.
What! you forget our precious document?

Osborne.
You will not use it now?

Warren.
Ah, will I not then?
If ever useful, now's the right time for it!
See you not that he rises like an eagle,
Already is in practice with the ablest,
Wins popular favor without working for it,
And stands i' the way of better politicians?
They fit his name to music for bad singers,
To whom none listen save at suffrage time.—
We'll spoil the song for him.

Osborne.
What would you do?

Warren.
You are dull, Dick Osborne! Have I yet to tell you
That, over all, conspicuous in my hate,
This minion of Fortune stands. His better luck
Hath robb'd me of the prize which most I treasured—
His better genius trampled mine to dust,—
Humbled my pride when at its height, and crush'd me,
Until I learn'd to loathe myself, as being
So feeble in his grasp.

Osborne.
He crushes you no longer!

Warren.
Can I forget the past? This memory
Becomes a part of the nature o' the man,
And of his future makes a fearful aspect,
Unless he cures its hurts. My path is where
My enemy treads in triumph! I shall seek it,
And 'twill be hard if hate, well leagued with cunning,
Is baffled of his toil. I seek St. Louis!

Osborne.
Beware! You'll make him desperate!

Warren.
I hope so!

Osborne.
It brings its perils with it! Norman Maurice
Will rend his hunter!—

Warren.
If he be not wary!
But, fear you nothing. You shall go with me,
And see how deftly, with what happy art,
I shall prepare the meshes for my captive.

Osborne.
Me! go with you?—and wherefore?

Warren.
A small matter!—
While I shall drive the nail, you'll clinch the rivet.
I'd have you there to prove this document!

Osborne.
Spare me this, Warren!

Warren.
I can spare you nothing.

Osborne.
I do not hate this man! He hath not wrong'd me,
Cross'd not my path, nor, with a better fortune,
Won from me aught I cherish'd.

Warren.
Enough! Enough!—
Me hath he robb'd and wrong'd—me hath he cross'd—
His better fortune still a fate to mine!—
My injury is yours! You love me, Osborne,—
Will do the thing that I regard as needful,
The more especially as you have secrets,
No less than Norman Maurice. We shall go,
Together, as I fancy, to St. Louis!

Osborne.
This is mere tyranny, Warren.

Warren.
Very like it!
Guilt ever finds its tyrant in its secret,
And, twinn'd with every crime, the accuser stands,
Its own grim shadow, with the scourge and torture.

Osborne.
A dark and damnable truth! Would I had perish'd
Ere I had fallen, and follow'd, as you bade me!

Warren.
Spare the vain toil to cheat a troubled conscience,
And to your preparations. By the morrow,
We'll be upon the road.

Osborne.
But, for these papers?

Warren.
Confound the papers! They will wait for us,
But opportunity never! Get you ready,
And hush all vain excuses. If my sway
Be somewhat tyrannous, still it hath its profits:—
Be you but true, and from the Egyptian spoil,
There shall be still sufficient for your toil.
[Exit Warren.

Osborne.
I'm chain'd to the stake! He hath me in his power!—
How truly hath he pictured my estate!—
Thus he who doth a deed of ill in youth,
Raises a ghost no seventy years can lay!
I must submit; yet, following still his lead,
Pray Providence for rescue, ere too late:—
'Tis Providence, alone, may baffle Fate!
[Exit Osborne.