University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—An elegant apartment.
Lord Transit and Lady Le Brun.
LADY LE BRUN.
Let go my hand, Lord Transit! Don't be tiresome.
I tell you, once for all, I will be drawn
Into no ambushes, no holes and corners.

LORD TRANSIT.
Stop here, then.—Here is room for all your virtue.

LADY LE BRUN.
Keep yours, then, at its proper distance from it,
For I suspect they are scarce cater-cousins.

LORD TRANSIT.
Lady Le Brun, by heavens it makes me mad
To see a woman, born to be the charm
Of all mankind, devote herself so wholly
To a vile crew of gambling sharks and tabbies,
As if you had no soul but in your cards!

LADY LE BRUN.
Perhaps I do not wish to charm mankind.
The most immediate jewel of my soul
Is reputation. Now, then, you are answer'd,
And in your own heroic style, methinks.

LORD TRANSIT.
Well, madam, I don't want to steal your jewels.
Cards are more likely to purloin that treasure
Than I am.

LADY LE BRUN.
I have heard enough of cards.
What else have you to say?

LORD TRANSIT.
You gave me hopes
That you would let me see Sir Charles's letter.

LADY LE BRUN.
Oh! aye; his letter about Lady Transit.—
How can that int'rest you? You have dismiss'd
That speculation, and are come to Town,
In hopes to find that London husbands care
As little for their wives as you for yours.

LORD TRANSIT.
You are sarcastic, madam.

LADY LE BRUN.
No; I think
You have endur'd your matrimonial spell
As long, at least, as any one who knows you
Could have suppos'd; and when you broke the charm,
You did not turn your charmer out of doors,
As some less gentle husbands would have done,
But civilly dismiss'd her to her father.
Now that was so considerate, so kind,
So careful of the jewel reputation,
That every wife, who values her good name,
Will hold Lord Transit henceforth and for ever
In all due estimation and regard!

LORD TRANSIT.
Your wit, fair lady, carries a keen edge;
And you can smite and smile at the same time.
I know not how I have deserv'd this from you.

LADY LE BRUN.
I really think you can deserve no less
From every woman, who has fellow-feeling
For a much-injur'd, guiltless, virtuous wife.
Ask not to see the letter from my husband;
It would not flatter you,—unless, indeed,
You hold it for a salvo to your conscience
To put a pledge into his hands as sacred
As that you would inveigle out of them.

LORD TRANSIT.
What pledge do you allude to?

LADY LE BRUN.
Let this billet
By you, a married man, address'd to me,
A married woman, show you to yourself.
What have I done to warrant this affront?
Here, take it back again!—My only reason
For not exposing it and you, my lord,
To my vindictive husband, is because
I abhor duels, and despise the writer.

LORD TRANSIT.
Why all this tragic fury?—I suspect
You've lost at cards, my lady?

LADY LE BRUN.
If I have,
It was my money only; not my mind,
My character, my conscience, as you have.
And what is there in me, which you can't find
Fresher and fairer in your own pure wife?
She loves not cards; has not consum'd her time,
Or tainted the sweet lustre of her bloom,
With a vile crew of gambling sharks and tabbies,
As you say I have done. In slighting her
For such a Town-complexion'd face as mine,—
Upon my word, my lord, I think in taste
You err as widely as in principle.

LORD TRANSIT.
You bear me down with words.—Hear my defence.
I do confess, from the first time my eyes
Glanc'd on your form, I've been the slave of passion.
I married, and believ'd I had subdued
That dangerous enemy to my repose.
Again I saw you, and again desire
Seiz'd on my truant heart. I turn'd aside,
From peace, from truth, from honour, to pursue you,
And mark how I am punish'd!

LADY LE BRUN.
Not by me.
I am not form'd, my lord, to make you happy.
Look at Sir Charles; his temper is more placid,
More mild than yours: he slights me; he has reason:
I am not worthy to be call'd a wife,
Being a thoughtless, undomestic creature;
A woman of the world, as it is call'd,
And not averse, as truly you observe,
To the destructive desperate love of play.
Is it not madness, then, to fly from her,
Whose faultless heart was form'd to make you blest,
And sigh for me, who would have made you wretched?

LORD TRANSIT.
Your self-accusing candour is so charming,
The more you labour to extinguish hope
The more you charm me and exalt yourself.

LADY LE BRUN.
Go home, go home. I tell you, as a friend,
You never will succeed with me, my lord;
And in the mean time others may succeed
With your neglected lady. She's no more
Than a mere woman, and I'm much mistaken
If frailty be not moulded with the clay
Of which we all are made.

LORD TRANSIT.
What do you mean?
Your hints alarm me.

LADY LE BRUN.
Lay them to your heart:
And recollect, that if she falls from virtue
The guilt is yours, for you are her destroyer.

[Exit.
LORD TRANSIT.
I thought I was a hard, unfeeling wretch,
Whom no remorse could touch. I now perceive
I am a thinking, conscientious villain,
That never can know peace, and know myself
The base destroyer of an injur'd wife,
In whose arms I have slept and dreamt of virtue.
(Pliant is passing the stage.)
Stop, sir, a word with you.

PLIANT.
Hah! my dear lord,
Ever well met. My eyes have been so dazzled
With the bright blaze of beauty in that room,
I do protest I did not see your lordship.

LORD TRANSIT.
You have said quite enough about your eyes;
I hope you have not lost your memory.

PLIANT.
No, no; your lordship glances at what pass'd
When last I din'd with you.

LORD TRANSIT.
Exactly that.

PLIANT.
Gay, lively, free, delectable discourse;
Much wit, much humour, and some repartee;
I thought your lordship made a pleasant run
Upon my friend Le Brun:—'Faith, 'twas so good,
I told it to him in my raillying way,
Just to keep up the jest.—What ail'd the man,
I cannot for the soul of me conceive;
He couldn't taste the joke, but knit his brow,
And gnaw'd his lips, and in a peevish fit
Desir'd that I would give your lordship notice
That he would wait on you to-morrow morning.
This I have now the honour to perform.

LORD TRANSIT.
Yes, and the honour to create the cause
Of his unfriendly visit.—Tell him, therefore,
Come when he will, from day-break to broad noon,
He'll find me at his call.

PLIANT.
Spoke like yourself,
With elegance and spirit, well becoming
Your rank and fashion—Day-break to broad noon!

[Exit.
Lady Le Brun enters.
LADY LE BRUN.
My lord, my lord,—the company's broke up.
I'm going home. Take courage! I shall send you
An invitation, which you'll not refuse;
And we will bury all unkindness past,
And seal a peace.—Come! see me to my coach.

LORD TRANSIT.
You puzzle me—I cannot comprehend you.

[Exeunt.