 | Plays and Poems |  |
SCENE II.
An Ante-Room in Lady Goldstraw's house. Enter Travers and Madge.Travers.
So love died long ago?
Madge.
When Venus died,
With her three Graces, and the Golden Age
Came limping downward to these prosy days
Of gain and reason. If we marry now,
'T is this lord's park wedding that lady's field;
Or this man's money-bags and that dame's plate,
Joined at compounded interest; or John's arm
Mated to Polly's thrift. Or give the theme
A wider scope—throw wealth and sense aside—
And then 't is folly caught by beauty's glare;
Or base desire asking the church's seal,
To sin by charter; or sad loneliness
Seeking companionship; or simple malice
Seizing a helpless victim to torment,
While the law nods approval; or—or—or—
For any motive, good or bad, you please,
But not for love. Love has no motives, sir,
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Love is its own reward.
Trav.
Indeed! then love
For nothing sighs—for nothing groans and weeps—
For nothing wrings his hands, and tears his hair;
Or with this nothing being enraged, for nothing
He fires a house, or cuts a rival's throat,
Or leads the Greeks into a ten years' war,
And tumbles blazing Ilium o'er her walls:
And all for nothing!
Madge.
Then was love a god;
Men demi-gods, who stalked through history
A head and shoulders taller than the world:
Ah! there were heroes then!
Trav.
And heroes now.
Are heroes proven by the knocks they take?—
Is blood the only livery of renown?
I knew a sickly artisan, a man
Whose only tie to life was one pale child,
His dead wife's gift. Yet, for that single tie,
He bore a life that would have blanched the face
Of arméd Hector; bore the hopeless toil,
That could but scrape together one day's food;
Bore the keen tortures of a shattered frame,
The sneer of pride, the arrogance of wealth;
All the dread curses of man's heritage,
Summed in one word of horror—poverty!—
Ay, bore them with a smile. And all the time,
His ears were full of whispers. In his hand,
The common tools of work turned from their use,
And hinted—death! The river crossed his path,
Sliding beneath the bridge, so lovingly,
And murmuring—death! Upon his very hearth
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And talked with him of—death! A thousand ways
Lay open, for his misery to escape;
Yet there he stood, and labored for his child,
Till Heaven in pity took the twain together.—
He was a hero!
Madge.
Sir, you sadden me.
Trav.
Is man, then, so degenerate?
Madge.
On my faith,
You prove the thing worth something.
Trav.
Would that I
Could prove it in my person!
Madge.
Why?
Trav.
Fair Madge,
I'd have you love me.
Madge.
Horrors! what a man!
How many houses have you? How much land?
How many guineas? Are your cattle fat?
Could you afford a carriage? Sir, you see,
Having no father, I must look to this,
As you 'd be loved, in my own person. Come;
Set up your claim. What settlement, Sir William,
Can you make good upon my daughter?
Trav.
Sir,
I am a hero of the Golden Age,
Belated in your times. A love like mine
Is its own blessed reward. I nothing seek;
And, therefore, nothing will I give. My love
Is an abstraction, a divine idea,
That settles on your daughter, my good sir,
For want of better habitation.
Madge.
Pshaw!
You'll vex me, shortly: I abhor a quiz.
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Why, so do I; and hating thus myself,
I leave myself, and cast my love on you.
Madge.
Which love is self-love, by your own confession.
Trav.
And being self-love, of the best quality
Find me, between the poles, such tenderness
As that men lavish on themselves; such sighs
As they can utter o'er their private griefs;
Such tears as their own miseries call forth;
Such perfect and complete oblivion
To all the world, for their own darling selves!
It would shame Hero o'er Leander's corpse,
To hear the anguish that a surgeon's knife
Can waken in his patient.
Madge.
Farewell, sir!
I'll hope to meet you in a graver mood.
Trav.
I shaped my mood by yours.—But one word more.
Suppose me grave; should I have credit, then?
You shake your head. Pray, when will you believe?
Madge.
When I believe in love.
[Exit.]
Trav.
I like thee, Madge:
Would I could love thee, as thou dost deserve;
But love!—O, fie! I'll swear I cannot love.
Yet I must feign it; drop philosophy,
And rave myself into a lunatic.
I like thee, though, beyond a shade of doubt;
And there 's a nature underlays thy mirth
That well approves the feeling. 'T is full time
I should set up a nursery, and prolong
The race of Travers; or my father's bones
Will rise against me. He who wills can win.
[Exit.]
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Dolly.
My! what a handsome gentleman! How well
He 'd look, if he had Mr. Darkly's way
Of pious conversation! There 's a man
The devil fears, I warrant!
(Enter Darkly.)
Darkly.
Sister Flare,
How is it with thee, sister?
Dol.
Poorly, thank Heaven!
Dark.
O! weaker vessel, dost thou feel the need
Of faith, to steady thee?
Dol.
I fear I do.
Dark.
Um, um! faint soul, thou shalt not ask in vain
The arm of succor, (Embracing her.)
or the guiding hand.
[Taking her hand.]
And, peradventure, it might comfort thee
To taste a morsel of refreshing strength:
[Taking a bottle from his pocket.]
Albeit, the spirit is strong, the flesh is weak,
And cries for aid. (Gives the bottle. She drinks.)
Yea, verily! alas!
How much the poor soul needs! But go thy ways;
My strength is waning, even as thine doth wax.
[Takes the bottle from her.]
When thou dost falter by the way, look up!—
Even though this carnal vial cleave unto thee,
Defy the tempter, and look up, I say!
[Throws back his head, and drinks.]
Dol.
(Taking the bottle.)
I will, indeed. O! sir, you have not left
A drop to try my strength on.
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Marvel not:
Sore was I tempted. Thou of little faith,
O! frail of purpose, canst thou not look up?
[She looks up, and he kisses her.]
Dol.
(Starting.)
O! O!
Dark.
Does thy strength fail? Look up, I say!
[She looks up, and he kisses her.]
Dost thou feel easier? Is the tempter laid?
Dol.
I could look up forever.
Dark.
Verily,
Thy faith is great, O, blessed sister Flare!
Perchance I may abide beneath this roof;
And if it happen, I will come to thee,
Even to thy chamber, to exhort with thee,
And wrestle with the tempter.
Dol.
Dear, good man!
I don't deserve it, sir, indeed I don't:
I feel so dismal-like, when you are nigh,
And I can see your blessed face. O! O!
I fear I am a sinner, sir!
[Weeps.]
Dark.
Look up!
[She looks up, he kisses her, and exit.]
(Enter Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
Here I am, Harry, in my best array.
But where is Travers?
Goldstraw.
Somewhere hereabout:
He strayed off with my cousin. Dolly, girl,
What are you staring at?
Ruf.
A pretty maid!—
Hist, hist! I'll wake her.
[Steals up to kiss her.]
Dol.
(Striking him.)
Out, tempter, out!
Get thee behind me, Satan!
[Exit.]
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Blood of mine!
What a she-devil!
[Rubbing his face.]
Gold.
What has come o'er her?
Ruf.
Plague on her handling! Now, I tell you, Hal,
That 's the first check I e'er received from woman.
She 's taken me for you.
Gold.
Without a doubt.
You 're welcome to the error.
Ruf.
Now, suppose
I open on the widow. I intend
To carry the whole matter through by storm.
Who are within?
Gold.
Fools: the same silly crowd.
You 'd better join them.
Ruf.
Mark me put them down,
Clear the whole field, and catch the widow up
Before she can draw breath.—
Gold.
Or hear a word
That sounds like reason.
Ruf.
Ay, ay! Forward, then!
Sound, trumpets! I am armed to win the day!
[Exeunt.]
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