 | Walpole : Or Every Man Has His Price |  |
19
SCENE IV.
Bellair, Blount, Veasey, etc.BLOUNT
(to Coffee-house loungers, who gather round him as he comes down the stage).
Yes, sir, just from Guildhall, where the City has paid me
The great honour I never can merit enough,
Of this box, dedicated to Virtue—
(Coffee-house loungers gather round.)
VEASEY.
And snuff.
BLOUNT.
Yes, sir, Higgins the Patriot, who deals in rappee,
Stored that box with pulvillio, superfluous to me;
For a public man gives his whole life to the nation,
And his nose has no time for a vain titillation.
VEASEY.
On the dues upon coal—apropos of the City—
We agreed—
BLOUNT.
And were beat; Walpole bribed the Committee.
20
You mistake; he leans tow'rds us, and begs you to call
At his house—three o'clock.
BLOUNT
(declaiming as if in Parliament).
But I say, once for all,
That the dues—
VEASEY.
Put the case as you only can do,
And we carry the question.
BLOUNT.
I'll call, sir, at two.
VEASEY.
He said three.
BLOUNT.
I say two, sir; my honour's at stake,
To amend every motion that Ministers make.
(Veasey retires into the background.)
21
(advancing to BELLAIR).
Young debater, your hand. One might tear into shreds
All your plea for not cutting off Jacobite heads;
But that burst against Walpole redeemed your whole speech.
Be but honest, and high is the fame you will reach.
BELLAIR.
Blount, your praise would delight, but your caution offends.
BLOUNT.
'Tis my way—I'm plain spoken to foes and to friends.
What are talents but snares to mislead and pervert you,
Unless they converge in one end—Public Virtue!
Fine debaters abound: we applaud and despise them;
For when the House cheers them the Minister buys them.
Come, be honest, I say, sir—away with all doubt;
Public Virtue commands! Vote the Minister out!
22
Public virtue when construed means private ambition.
BLOUNT.
This to me—to a Patriot—
BELLAIR.
In fierce opposition;
But you ask for my vote.
BLOUNT.
England wants every man.
BELLAIR.
Well, tho' Walpole can't buy me, I think that you can.
Blount, I saw you last evening cloaked up to your chin;
But I had not a guess who lay, perdu, within
All those bales of broadcloth—when a gust of wind rose,
And uplifting your beaver it let out your nose.
23
(somewhat confusedly).
Yes, I always am cloaked—half disguised, when I go
Certain rounds—real charity hides itself so;
For one good deed concealed is worth fifty paraded.
BELLAIR.
Finely said. Quitting, doubtless, the poor you had aided,
You shot by me, before I had time to accost you,
Down a court which contains but one house;—there I lost you.
BLOUNT.
One house!
BELLAIR.
Where a widow named Vizard—
BLOUNT
(aside).
I tremble.
Yes—
BELLAIR.
Resides with an angel—
24
(aside).
'Twere best to dissemble.
With an angel! bah! say with a girl—what's her name?
BELLAIR.
On this earth, Lucy Wilmot.
BLOUNT.
Eh!—Wilmot?
BELLAIR.
The same.
BLOUNT
(after a short pause).
And how knew you these ladies?
BELLAIR.
Will you be my friend?
BLOUNT.
I? of course. Tell me all from beginning to end.
25
Oh, my story is short. Just a fortnight ago,
Coming home tow'rds the night from my club—
BLOUNT.
Drunk?
BELLAIR.
So, so.
“Help me, help!” cries a voice—'tis a woman's—I run—
Which may prove I'd drunk less than I often have done.
And I find—but, dear Blount, you have heard the renown
Of a set called the Mohawks?
BLOUNT.
The scourge of the town.
A lewd band of night savages, scouring the street,
Sword in hand,—and the terror of all whom they meet
Not as bad as themselves;—you were safe, sir; proceed.
BELLAIR.
In the midst of the Mohawks I saw her and freed—
26
You saw her—Lucy Wilmot—at night, and alone?
BELLAIR.
No, she had a protector—the face of that crone.
BLOUNT.
Mistress Vizard?
BELLAIR.
The same, yet, tho' strange it appear,
When the rogues saw her face they did not fly in fear.
Brief—I came, saw, and conquered—but own, on the whole,
That my conquest was helped by the City Patrol.
I escorted them home—at their threshold we part—
And I mourn since that night for the loss of my heart.
BLOUNT.
Did you call the next day to demand back that treasure?
BELLAIR.
Yes.
27
And saw the young lady?
BELLAIR.
I had not that pleasure;
I saw the old widow, who told me politely
That her house was too quiet for visits so sprightly;
That young females brought up in the school of propriety
Must regard all young males as the pests of society.
I will spare you her lectures, she showed me the door,
And closed it.
BLOUNT.
You've seen Lucy Wilmot no more?
BELLAIR.
Pardon, yes—very often; that is, once a-day.
Every house has its windows—
BLOUNT.
Ah! what did you say?
28
Well, by words very little, but much by the eyes.
Now instruct me in turn,—from what part of the skies
Did my angel descend? What her parents and race?
She is well-born, no doubt—one sees that in her face.
What to her is Dame Vizard—that awful duenna,
With the look of a griffiness fed upon senna?
Tell me all. Ho there!—drawer, a pottle of clary!
BLOUNT.
Leave in peace the poor girl whom you never could marry.
BELLAIR.
Why?
BLOUNT.
Her station's too mean. In a small country town
Her poor mother taught music.
BELLAIR.
Her father?
(Drawer places wine and glasses on the table.)
29
Unknown.
From the mother's deathbed, from the evil and danger
That might threaten her youth, she was brought by a stranger
To the house of the lady who—
BELLAIR.
Showed me the door?
BLOUNT.
Till instructed to live, like her mother before,
As a teacher of music. My noble young friend,
To a match so unmeet you could never descend.
You assure me, I trust, that all thought is dismist
Of a love so misplaced.
BELLAIR.
No (filling Blount's glass)
—her health!
BLOUNT.
You persist?
Dare you, sir, to a man of my tenets austere,
30
What!—you still would besiege her?
BELLAIR.
Of course, if I love.
BLOUNT.
I am Virtue's defender, sir—there is my glove.
(Flings down his glove, and rises in angry excitement.)
BELLAIR.
Noble heart! I esteem you still more for this heat.
In the list of my sins there's no room for deceit;
And to plot against innocence helpless and weak—
I'd as soon pick a pocket!
BLOUNT.
What mean you then? Speak.
BELLAIR.
Blount, I mean you to grant me the favour I ask.
BLOUNT.
What is that?
31
To yourself an agreeable task.
Since you know this Dame Vizard, you call there to-day,
And to her and to Lucy say all I would say.
You attest what I am—fortune, quality, birth,
Adding all that your friendship allows me of worth.
Blount, I have not a father; I claim you as one;
You will plead for my bride as you'd speak for a son.
All arranged—to the altar we go in your carriage,
And I'll vote as you wish the month after my marriage.
BLOUNT
(aside).
Can I stifle my fury?
Enter Newsman with papers.
NEWSMAN.
Great news!
BELLAIR.
Silence, ape!
(Coffee-house loungers rise and crowd round the Newsman—Veasey snatching the paper.)
32
Read.
VEASEY
(reading).
“Lord Nithsdale, the rebel, has made his escape.
His wife, by permission of Walpole last night,
Saw her lord in the Tower—”
(Great sensation.)
BELLAIR
(to BLOUNT).
You will make it all right.
VEASEY
(continuing).
“And the traitor escaped in her mantle and dress.”
BELLAIR
(to BLOUNT).
Now my fate's in your hands—I may count on you.
BLOUNT.
Yes.
| Walpole : Or Every Man Has His Price | |