University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Street in London. Enter Sir William Travers and Lord Guy Ruffler.
Travers.
Guy, I will not! This dodging petticoats
Round the street-corners—peeping into shops—
Leering, with shameless meaning, under hoods—
Staring hot blushes into modest cheeks—
And fancying a favor if you catch
A wandering glance—is sheer against my manhood.
Tut! man, you slander all your female kin
By this procedure.

Ruffler.
(Looking off.)
Do I?—Pah! look there:
Into the goldsmith's shop! Can they not see
That I am looking at them? Travers, come,
We'll enter, too: I want a ring—a chain.—
'Sblood! are the women fools?

Trav.
There seem to be
Two fools among them.

Ruf.
Speak you for yourself?
Stand here a while.

Trav.
For what? To be the butt
Of my sharp self-contempt? Ruffler!

[Shaking him.]
Ruf.
(Still looking off.)
Hey!

Trav.
Nay;
I'm talking to you.

Ruf.
As my grandmother.

Trav.
You need it. Look you, listen to me, Guy;
Do you hold woman of no higher use—

Ruf.
Pish! let me go: I 've business in that shop.
Unhand me, pray.

[Struggles to get away.]
Trav.
No, sir, you shall not go.
I cannot see an insult thrust upon
A modest woman; and the man who can,
Without his nature flaming into wrath,
And his arm lifting with instinctive might,
Deserves to have his sisters, mother, wife,
Tossed in together at a city's sack,
While he looks on in powerless agony.

Ruf.
You could not please them better. What a stir,
Among the velvets and the damasked silks,
There was when the invading French were feared!
What rubbing up of jewels, what a dust
Among old finery! How some delicate maid
Would squeak, in her high treble, “Dear mamma,
They say those monsters do not spare the weak:
Let us be caught as ladies!” Then the dame
Would smooth her powder, with a gentle sigh
Of patient resignation. On my life,
I never saw the women in such feather!
You 'd thought the land was dressed for holiday,
Not for invasion. All the time, we men
Stood trembling, like huge jellies, for our throats;
While our brave women—now, you see, I praise them—
Made nothing of their honors!

Trav.
Monstrous stuff!
I would not share your notions of the sex,
To win a tribe of Helens. I can see,
Within the simple innocence and truth
Of uncorrupted woman, a fair spirit,
Ranked, by all-seeing Heaven, not far beneath
Its sinless denizens.

Ruf.
(Laughing.)
Now Heaven forgive
His wicked blasphemy! I'll draw you woman,
According to her earthly character,
Not as your poets make her. Woman, Will,
Is animated vanity. A toy
Made up each morning, by a forward whim,
That scarcely lasts the day through. The same sigh
Over a broken fan, or a broken heart,
Measures her depth of feeling. A long stare
At the last fashion, on a rival's back,
Shows her ambition. A conspicuous seat
At church, or theatre, where she may be
The conscious centre of a thousand eyes,
Shows her religion, or her taste. The power
To bear hot sentiment, and frigid love,
Her soul's endurance proves. Ask her to give
Her hero's character, and when you have
The color of his eyes, and hair, and cloak,
You'll praise her nice perception. See her weed
Her eyebrows of gray hairs, or paint her cheeks,
And there 's her industry, and love of art.
Come to her death-bed—

Trav.
Nay.

Ruf.
Well, end her there:
The thing is soulless, and can go no further.
Yet, for all this, a very pretty doll
For man to dandle.

Trav.
If the heavens be just,
You'll pay this one day. Guy, I reverence woman.

Ruf.
For what? Here 's a discovery, indeed!
For what?

Trav.
For many things. And yet there is
One thing I never fully understood,—
Love, love.

Ruf.
Why, that 's the simplest thing on earth.

Trav.
The very simplest! Were you e'er in love?

Ruf.
Always.

Trav.
With whom?

Ruf.
With everything that wears
More than a yard of velvet in its skirts.
You are a world too wise for happiness.

Trav.
The man who looks for it beyond himself
Is a mere fool. But, Ruffler, I intend
To marry shortly.

Ruf.
Heaven preserve your victim!
What, you'll set traps, ha? Scheme her to your bed?
Play on her weakness? and declare, the while,
How much you reverence her; as travellers say
Some pagans do, who flog unmercifully
Their painted gods, and worship them, by turns.
You talk of taking a poor maid, as though
She were an oyster.—Hist! they leave the shop,
And come this way.

Trav.
In decency retire.

Ruf.
Not I, by Jove!

Trav.
To please me, Guy.

Ruf.
Poh! poh!
You are too much humored.

Trav.
For a moment, then,
Until I can escape.

Ruf.
Well, well; come on.
A woman, more or less, is little gained,
And nothing lost. Sneak, dodge;—I am with you.

[They walk up the stage.]
(Enter Lady Goldstraw and Madge.)
Lady Goldstraw.
La! they are there again. It is too bad:
I cannot walk abroad, to feel the sun,
Without these shadows following. Every day
A pack of courtiers dog me to my door;
Or walk before me, dropping billet-doux;
And one, but Thursday last—I tell you, Madge—
Cast a French plume, that must have cost the knave
A good ten pound, in hope I would return it.

Madge.
And did you not?

Lady G.
Not I, you silly child!
I set my little foot upon it, thus,
And ground it in the mire; to show my pride,
And brave, contemptuous spirit. Mark those men:
See how the tall one eyes me. Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
A proper fellow, too, and bravely trimmed:
A courtier, doubtless. I do wonder, now,
If 't was that villain twitched my dress and sighed,
As we came through the church-door!—Mercy! Madge,
Don't stare so at them. Fie! you naughty child,
I'm blushing for you. Marry! when you 've seen
As many men as I, you'll know a way
To cut your eyes at them, that stirs them more
Than all your rustic glares.

Madge.
Come, mother, come.
Yon jackanapes is grinning like death's head,
With much the same expression; and his friend
Has great ado to keep him back. I fear
The coxcomb will be saucy.

Lady G.
Will he, rogue?—
Let him: I'll give him better than he sends.
Why, things have reached a pass, when pretty women
Are at the beck of every handsome dog
That strolls the streets! My husband, the Lord Mayor—

Madge.
Tell me the story as we pass along.
Yon bear will slip his keeper, if we stay.

Lady G.
So, then,—but how you hurry me away!

[Exit with Madge.]
(As they go off, enter Darkly.)
Ruf.
(Advancing.)
Darkly!

Darkly.
Forsooth.

Ruf.
“Forsooth!” Geneva-cloak!
You end of texts, and stupid homilies,
You all that 's bad in every Christian sect,
Do you “forsooth” me, sirrah, ha?

Dark.
Amen!

Ruf.
A fool! you sin-begotten tag-rag! What,
Are you pranked up, now, in your holy mood?
Come, saint, lay by your amaranthine crown,
And track those women.

Dark.
Ah!

Ruf.
You sigh! you'll groan
When you have gotten to the martyrdom,
I am preparing for your sainthood.

Dark.
O!

Trav.
Guy, if hard knocks can break a road to heaven,
You 're on the way. The man has honest scruples;
Do not outface his conscience.

Ruf.
Have you scruples?—
Have you a conscience?—Have you anything
That hints at honesty within your dirt?
I'll put him to the question. (Seizes Darkly.)
Answer me!

Dark.
The Lord forbid!

Trav.
Indeed!

Ruf.
Of course. Go, knave!

Dark.
Why should I follow the profane of earth,
The painted instruments of thy desire?

Ruf.
Because I order.

Dark.
Bear me witness, sir,
Here, in this world, and at the last account,
I sin by man's compulsion.

Trav.
Truly!

Dark.
Ah!

[Exit.]
Ruf.
A wretch like that would ornament the Shades,
And put the little devils to the blush,
Make Satan pine with envy, and upset
Chaos itself. I never saw his twin.
The club of Hercules could hardly drive
One hand to pen a love-song, while the other
Pilfered his lion-skin, with ohs and ahs
Enough to raise a whirlwind.

(Enter Harry Goldstraw.)
Trav.
Who is this?
What, Harry Goldstraw? Happily met again.
We were in Rome together—mind you, sir?—
That day the miracle would hardly work—
You know the virgin that did roll its eyes?—
Because the rain had rusted something, ha!
Much to the Church's scandal.

Goldstraw.
Ay; and you
To Fra Anselmo, a most bitter papist,
Did seriously offer to anoint
The clockwork with the chrism, and let the Pope
Go home ungreased. “Che, che?” he cried. “Because,
Fra,” you replied, “the Pope's eyes roll without it!”

Trav.
My friend, Lord Ruffler, Mr. Goldstraw. (They bow.)
Boys,
Let 's shake up London with a revel. How,
Goldstraw, you flinch?

Gold.
I have a reason, sir.
You saw two ladies pass—

Ruf.
I told you so:
Here is another hound upon the scent.
Look you, Will Travers, men are all the same;
You are the only Joseph upon earth.
So you were trailing them? O! never mind;
We will not quarrel; we'll divide them justly.
Take the old woman; give me the young thing:
I have a taste for unripe fruit.—

Gold.
My lord—

Ruf.
Well, you may wince, but so fate orders it.
A fairer piece of Eve I never saw
Than the young baggage. You 'd have laughed to see
The little creature stare at me.

Trav.
A look
Full of pure modesty, and more designed
For me than you.

Ruf.
A most immodest leer.
Hear, the vain puppy, how he claims her glance!

Gold.
I pray you, listen—

Ruf.
As for your share,—phew!
Think what a bundle of fine clothes you'll have—
What pots of paint—how many different wigs—
What an array of teeth, all movable,
And warranted to baffle time's decay!
And then her cotton;—why, an Indiaman
Carries no greater cargo! Whalebone too!
A very female Jonah, all encased
In the sea-monster's ribs! And mark—

Gold.
My lord,
Know you of whom you speak?

Ruf.
Not I, in faith:
Some lady of the suburbs, I suppose,
Who 'd bargain for her girl. You frown? 'Ods blood!
Who is the woman, then?

Gold.
My aunt.

Ruf.
The devil!

Trav.
Shame on you, Guy! You 've given a sorry wound
To the best nature ever lodged in man.
See how a loose tongue, like an archer, blind
With the thick dust of battle, shoots its shafts,
With undiscerning aim, at foe or friend.
Down on your knees!

Ruf.
Your pardon. Here 's my hand;
Or, if you like it better, here 's my sword;
Both at your service.

Gold.
By your leave, my lord,
I'll take the hand; it seems an honest one,
Though somewhat hasty.

Trav.
Spoken like brave men!
The sword should be a backward arbiter.
If human weakness can forgive a wrong,
Without blood spilled, let it be done; for so—
By just such steps of charity and love—
We climb to heaven.

Ruf.
Alas! I scarcely know
How to implore your confidence again.
You seem to bear a grief about with you,
That I, perhaps, might lighten.

Trav.
Harry, speak.
A truer mind, and a more slippery tongue,
A better heart, and a more idle head,
Were never bundled up in stranger sort
Than in Guy Ruffler.

Ruf.
When I go to service,
My master shall not get my character
From you, my boy.

Gold.
Alas! the character
You gave my aunt fills up my former grief.
That you, a stranger, by a casual glance,
Should come so near the thing she really is,
Gives me a sorrowful conclusion. She—
But I'll not talk. Come to her house with me;
Where, if you be true friends, you may behold
Things more for tears than laughter.

Trav.
Ah! I see.

Gold.
No, sir, you cannot see, with eyes like mine,
The open folly and the vanity
With which she stains my uncle's troubled grave,—
The faithful guardian of my orphanage,
Whose fragrant memory sheds no balm on her,
Amid the train of fops and fashionists
That flutter round her gold, in buzzing swarms;
Slaves whose mere presence would disgust the sense
Of many a wanton. All these things have sprung,
Not from her heart, which, at the root, is good;
But by the culture of such poisoned sprouts
As grow upon the surface of our nature,—
Self-love and vanity. But come; I'll preach
More by example, if you feel inclined.

Trav.
Nay, Harry, quit these dumps. A woman's whims
Are all too light to bow so strong a soul.

Ruf.
I'll find a way to cure her malady.
I never saw a woman yet of stuff
I could not mould, as wax before a fire.
Some merry plot, half serious and half gay,
I'll plan. I undertake it, sir; and what
I undertake, I do.

Trav.
Go to! Here is
[Patting Ruffler.]
My Vanity, my Ego, my great Me:
Match any woman with him, if you can!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

A Reception-Room in Lady Goldstraw's House. Enter Madge.
Madge.
When will my mother hold her years to be
Beyond man's courtship? O! it sickens me
To see her deck her ruins with bright flowers,—
Through which the ugly seams will peep, withal,—
While I, who, in the course of nature, am as fit
For flowers as Spring is, shut my roses up,
And pine beneath her. Child, forsooth! A child
Of twenty summers, who must know its bounds,
Its nursery, its book, its pretty toy;
Rise with the lark, and lie down with the lamb;—
Must I, indeed?—while she makes daybreak blush
To see her revels, and high noon amazed
To catch her sleeping. If I knew a man,
Of all her tribe, worth loving—Not so fast:
There 's cousin Hal, worth all the bearded race;
But what cares he? Would I were not his cousin!
Ah, well! Hal is so modest too: a fashion
That went out with the tilting-spears and shields.
Poor chivalry! they scorn you; but you died
Rather for lack of heroes, to renew
Your drooping laurels, than your own misdeeds.
If I were Hal—How he torments me!

(Enter Lady Goldstraw.)
Lady Goldstraw.
Child,
You must be jogging: your embroidery
Needs a few stitches, and your French has gone
The saints know where!

Madge.
The saints know little, madam
Of where the French go. If the French go—

Lady G.
Fie!
Your tongue is idler than your hands. Go, go;
Get to your book. I spoil you, silly child,
By my indulgence.

Madge.
Nay; I think you spoil
My mother more by your indulgence.

Lady G.
Mistress,
Would you be pert?

Madge.
Not if I could respect.
Pray hear me, mother.

Lady G.
To your room, I say!
I'll cool your blood upon a water diet,—
Impudent nursling!

Madge.
Madam!

Lady G.
To your room!
[Exit Madge.]
O! what a fume she put me in! I fear
My poor complexion has not stood the shock
Of this emotion. (Looks at a mirror.)
Yes; a fair escape!
No crack nor line, and not a hair awry.
Prior! (Enter Nick Prior.)
Who waits below?

Nick.
Why, Master Hopeful, mam.
Hope 's first to come, and last to go away.

Lady G.
No words! Admit him. Now, I wonder why
This whole house treats me with such disrespect?
[Aside.]
Go, sir! I'll get a master for you, sirrah,
To swinge you roundly.

Nick.
How the old girl shines!
She must have varnished down her paint to-day.

[Aside. Exit.]
Lady G.
Ho! here he comes. Lie still, my little heart!
Why wilt thou flutter, tender fool? Ah me!

[Sinks into a chair.]
(Enter Hopeful. Ruffler, Travers, and Goldstraw, enter behind, observing the scene.)
Hopeful.
Queen of my soul, sweet agony of bliss,
Adored deceiver! daylight is agog
To see thy coming; though bright Phœbus knows
Thy light will shame him! Wherefore, wherefore, wherefore,
Cruel eye of beauty, didst thou keep thy slave
Sitting upon a hall-stool? Has thy heart
No sympathetic thrill to waste upon
Joints stiffened in thy service, rheumatisms
Beyond red flannel and mustard?

Lady G.
Faithless bard,
What, dost thou murmur at thy bondage, then?
I could well-nigh forbid your lips to press
The lilies of this hand.

[Extends her hand, which he kisses.]
Hope.
Nay, mistress mine,
My grief is closed within my placid heart,
As those fair lilies when they fold to rest
Upon thy snowy bed-quilt. Hear, O, hear!
[Takes out a paper.]
This sonnet to thy glory. Little, lady,
Compared with their sweet source, the verses seem;
As rivers which seem trifles to their springs—
Nay, I am out somehow. (Aside.)
But give thy ear
To this soft melody of Phœbus's.
[Reads.]
O! ever-to-be-remembered day and night!
O! never-to-be-forgotten ecstasy!
O! sun-god, with thy sky-born eyes, day-bright,
O'er-look the song-soul of thy votary!
O! teach his love-pen how to soothly write
Of the not-now-forgotten hour, when I
Poured out my love-words to the worthiest wight
That wends, heart-bound, beneath ceruleous sky!
O! dip my ink-dried pen in á sunsét;
Roll out a white-cloud scroll, without a flaw;
For sand, powder a storm-cloud up; and get
Venus to set her silvern taper, for
To light thy Poet; and one name he'll set
Across the sky, and it shall be—Goldstraw!

Lady G.
A sweet, sweet sonnet! much in Petrarch's way.
Yours is a pretty gift of poesy.
Hist! be discreet.

Hope.
I hear profane strong steps;
Much like a man with heavy boots might make.
Lo! rivals, madam! Lo! the slaves that tear
My heart out, and destroy my appetite!

(Enter Lord Foam, Sir John Pollen, and Marks.)
Lady G.
Fair welcome, gentlemen! You have missed much—
The poet's latest verse. Read it again.

Hope.
At thy command I would do much. But, no,
No common ear shall list to holy verse.
Yet if you will—

Marks.
Don't break yourself for us;
Keep something back to live on.

Foam.
La! they say
Your verse is stale before the ink gets dry.

Hope.
They wrong me foully!

Pollen.
(Aside to Hopeful.)
At him! In my day—
In Flanders, yonder—I have seen a throat
Cut for less insults. By the devil's blood!
I smell a coward.

Hope.
Cut the miscreant's gorge,
Here, in this presence!

Pol.
Ay; and fling his head
Into her lap. When we were leaguers, bully,
Down there at Antwerp, an old Spanish Don
One morning sent his mistress, by the post,
The heads of all her twenty paramours,
Strung on a rope like onions.

Hope.
Horrible!
Brought they no tears into her woman's eyes?

Marks.
No, sir; she did not peel them.

Pol.
Look you, sir,
I am a soldier.

Marks.
Then, thank Heaven, I am not.

Foam.
La! fairly struck! Good boy, good boy! I kiss
Your worship's hand.

Pol.
Small shot and thunder! Turks,
I'll teach your tongues—

[Lady Goldstraw faints, supported by Hopeful.]
Hope.
Hold, ruffians! Look here,
And see your handiwork.

Pol.
'Ods bayonets!
Twitch her nose, Foam.

Hope.
Who twitches dies the death!

Foam.
A fan, a fan, la! Merchant, bring a fan!

Marks.
“A fan!” No; bring some water.

All.
(Running about.)
Water, water!

Lady G.
(Starting up.)
No; bring no water; I am not afire.

Marks.
Nor do you use fast colors for your cheeks,
Or water would not wake you.

[Aside.]
Pol.
Blood and drums!
I beg for quarter.

Lady G.
Water me, forsooth!
Do I look withered?

Hope.
Spare, my gracious queen,
[Kneels.]
The wretch who kneels before you, and inclines
His lips unto your shoe-string!

Lady G.
For his sake,
I spare you all.

Marks.
Had I your guineas safe,
I 'd spare your sparing. [Aside.]


Foam.
La! how kind you are!

Hope.
A royal amnesty!

Lady G.
But leave me, sirs;
My nerves are shattered.

Hope.
Misery, misery!

Pol.
'Swounds!
This thing has fallen like a ten-pound shell
Among a company.

Hope.
O! pardon, pardon!

Lady G.
I pardon all. Go, I implore!

Foam.
Adieu!

[Exit, gayly.]
Marks.
'Sdeath! must I lose more interest?

[Aside. Exit.]
Pol.
Soul of me!
Where shall I dine to-day?

[Aside. Exit.]
Hope.
O! agony!
I did not read my sonnet to them. (Aside.)
Ha!
[Starting.]
One look, and then the pall of midnight falls!

[Exit, wildly.]
Lady G.
One cheek has cracked: I felt it giving way
When they cried “water.” Doll, what, Doll, I say!
Ha! there 's the handsome stranger of the street;
And come to court me, doubtless. Lack-a-day!
O! had those brutes cried anything but “water!”

[Exit.]
(Ruffler, Traverse, and Goldstraw, advance.)
Ruffler.
O! such a farce!

Traverse.
Such actors too! But, Hal,
Where is your cousin?

Goldstraw.
Prisoned by my aunt;
Kept out of sight. Blooming and withering
Show ill in company.

Ruf.
Such vanity
I 've heard of.—

Trav.
Practised.

Ruf.
How?

Trav.
Why, in yourself;
Is not all womankind in love with you?

Ruf.
That 's not my fault.

Trav.
Guy, you are sharp enough
For others' follies, stone-blind to your own.

Ruf.
Bah! hang your sermons! Goldstraw, I 've a plan
Working within me, but scarce formed as yet.
Let us to Travers' lodgings; where I'll lie
Till time has brought my struggling thought to light.

Trav.
Onward!—But, Hal, if widow, maid, or wife,
Should look upon us, as we pass along,
Pray you remember, all the sweetest looks
Belong by right to Ruffler; all the frowns
To us, by imposition. Forward, then!

[Exeunt.]