University of Virginia Library

Scene 4.

Enter Servants, crossing the stage with trunks.
FIRST SERVANT.
Are they up yet?

SECOND SERVANT.
They should be, for the cock
Crew half an hour ago, and the dawn whitens.
My lord said last night he would be in London
To dinner.

FIRST SERVANT.
He must have good horses then.
Be they saddled all?

SECOND SERVANT.
They are e'en at it now.
The house is only now beginning to stir.
Come, let's go get our breakfast, thou and I,
Ere riding into town. Yonder's the Judge
And Master Forrester; they'll start anon,
And 'tis ill riding on an empty stomach.

[Exeunt.
[Enter James Forrester and Judge Winthrop.
WINTHROP.
All is concluded, Master Forrester,
And I hope well righted to your brother's wish.
Hereafter, should any troubles visit you,
I shall be glad to straighten matters for you;
Here are the parchments.

JAMES.
Thanks, most worthy sir!
Yet I have still another cause on hand,
Which, more than all, needs your indulgent help.

WINTHROP.
Speak and command me.

JAMES.
I have heard my brother
Speak of you ever as the man in the world
He loved the best, me only set aside.

WINTHROP.
Young sir, your brother is my worthy friend;
I love him as a brother—I might say
A son, he is most excellent.

JAMES.
Then, sir,
May I think you will not hold me over daring,
If to fulfil a darling wish of his,
And a hope on which my more than life depends,
I ask if you will give to your friend's brother
Your gentle sister?—Good sir! do but hear me!
That I love her most dearly, oh, believe it!
That she towards me inclines with kindly favour
I dare to think—

WINTHROP.
Why, surely—surely, sir,
You would not have the heart to marry her?

JAMES.
Sir!

WINTHROP.
Sir, I cannot give that child away!
You might as well ask me for half my heart!
I cannot want her—I can't live without her!

JAMES.
Judge Winthrop, you amaze me! what, the good,
And self-denying man, who still to all
Deals merciful justice, for the single sake
Of a mere fancied loss, denies his sister
The happiness of a prosperous wedlock, and
Condemns the man who loves her to a life
Of bitterest disappointment; O sir, hear me!
If, as I hope, your gentle sister loves me—

WINTHROP.
Sir, 'tis impossible! I'm sure she cannot
Love you! she oft has sworn to me, she never
Should love a man, to have him for her husband.

JAMES.
Are you married, sir, and do not you yet know
The cunning cloaks a maiden's humour wears
Ere yet her fancy's touched? Nay, but believe me,
I think I am not over bold, nor vain,
To dream that Mistress Mary heeds my suit.
Send for her, I beseech you, sir, and question her.

WINTHROP.
O Heaven! this is the way! a whole dear life
They live upon our knees, and in our arms,
The darlings of our very souls—and lo!
A stranger, passing by, but beckons them,
And straight they turn their back upon their homes,
And make their lodging in a new-found heart.
Oh! I had dreamt of this—but it is bitter,
Now that 'tis come to pass!

JAMES.
Good sir, take comfort!
You shall not lose your sister, but instead,
Gain a true loving brother, and we will live
As near to you—

WINTHROP.
Oh, sir! for eighteen years,
We've lived together and asked no man's leave,
And only thanked God for the blessing, sir!
But you are right, for if she marries you,
Henceforth you shall lend me her society,
And I shall thank you for't; live near to me!
My heart has been her house for eighteen years,
And every thought a chamber that she dwelt in
Perpetually! but now, if she lived 'neath my roof,
Sat at my board, slept in the very bed
That held her in her sleep last night, and walked
Each day in her accustomed walks, I tell you,
She would be gone from me—gone from me, sir;
A husband is a wall that builds itself
Between a woman and all other things.
Like the young bird, in our hedge elm trees here,
Warmed in the nest, he presently drives thence
The ancient brood, who made their proper home there.
If she is married, she is no more mine,
No sister, nor no daughter, but a wife;
All other names are clean forgot in that
New name—all other loves in that new love.

JAMES.
Well, sir, if she loves me, how shall it stead you
That she still wish she were not where she is,
Nor what she is, but married, and my wife?

WINTHROP.
That's true! poor wench! Pray, sir, have patience with me!
'Tis something sudden, and you seemed to me
Little more welcome than a thief to a miser.
True—as you say—if she indeed doth love you,
She's gone already beyond all redemption.
Have you spoke of this matter to her yet?

JAMES.
Walking by twilight in the orchard, sir,
Last evening, when I took my leave of her,
My heart unsealed itself.

WINTHROP.
And what said she?

JAMES.
She bade me speak to you.

WINTHROP.
She did?

JAMES.
She did.

WINTHROP.
Within there!
[Enter a Servant.
Send my sister Mary hither.
[Exit Servant.
James Forrester, if this be as you think,
If my dear sister loves you, you shall never
Hear another word from me upon this matter.
'Tis woman's nature, Sir, and there's an end on't.
You wrenched my heart something too suddenly,
And I with little wisdom answered you.
You are my dear friend's brother, if you make
My sister happy, I will bless you and love you
Above all men.—Oh! if she love thee, youth,
Treasure thou well the gift she gives to thee:
A gentle, modest, virtuous, loving woman,
Will make thy life on earth a paradise,
And help thee far upon thy way to heaven.
God help me! an it were her burial
I scarce could feel more sadly.
[Enter Mary.
My sweet Mary!
Give me thy hand, thus do I lay it fast
In his, who asks thee of me for his wife.
Start not, nor blush, nor tremble, nor deny,
But simply, if thou art content to wed him,
Take not thy hand away:—it is enough.

MARY.
Brother!

WINTHROP.
Why what's the matter? did he hold you
So tight, you could not get your hand away?

MARY.
No, brother, but—

WINTHROP.
Go—go—go. Hold thy peace!
[Mary and James converse apart.
[Enter at different doors Anne and Lord Alford.
Good-morrow, wife. Good-morrow to your lordship!
How did you rest last night?

ALFORD.
Indifferently, sir:
A night so troubled I shall scarce forget it.
(Aside.)
She has not told her husband yet; good lady!

WINTHROP.
Indeed, I'm sorry for't. Was your lordship sick?

ALFORD.
Sick to the heart, sir. Gentle Mistress Winthrop,
How fare you in this early hour o' the day?
Your pillow scarcely will forgive us, that
We draw you from it sooner than your wont.
(Apart to her.)
Have you forgotten and forgiven too?

ANNE.
My lord—I—I—

[Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
Your Lordship's horses wait.

ANNE.
Thank Heaven, at last!

WINTHROP.
Before you take your leave,
Here is a piece of business toward, to which
I wish your presence, as true witnesses.
Here be two friends of ours, who have found out
That marrying is a wise and pleasant thing.
Heaven grant they prove it so! to their betrothment
Testify with your best good wishes:—wife,
Go, give my sister joy; and you, my lord,
Pray greet your friend, who is to be my brother.

ALFORD.
Your hand, good James; may marriage be to you,—
What yet I never heard it was to any man.

WINTHROP.
That's a court jest, sir: 'tis above our wits.
In the country, we yet hold the grandam's saw,
That marriage is a state both blest and honourable.

ALFORD.
(Aside)
—That's as may happen. (Aloud)
—Good sir, pardon me!

ANNE
(to MARY).
May'st thou be happy, dearest child!

MARY.
As happy
As you are, Anne, and I shall be content.

ALFORD.
Umph!

ANNE
(aside).
Will this end!

WINTHROP.
As for the wedding day,
For that we wait your brother John's return.
I'm sure you would not think yourself well married
Unless he gave you joy. Clear up your brows,
He must be back ere the next month goes by,
And though you must remain in London now,
And Mary here, you're free to waste between ye,
As much good paper, pen and ink, and horse-shoes
As you shall deem discreet.

JAMES.
A mortal month!
We shall be sundered!

WINTHROP.
Pshaw! come, come, this parting
Grows sad,—some wine!
[Enter a Servant.
Your stirrup cup, my lord,
Before you mount,—a bowl of Burgundy,
Well spiced, and warmed, to keep the chill air out;
And I myself will ride as far with you
As the clump of oaks, where you strike the high road.

ALFORD.
Fair Mistress Winthrop, you're but ill at ease,
I fear we have disturbed you all too early:
You are pale, I think.

WINTHROP.
That fault is mended now,
Your lordship sees. James Forrester, a word with you.

ALFORD
(aside to ANNE).
Do not forget me quite!—I go—no more
To look upon you; this is Paradise,
And I, a wretch driv'n from its gates for ever!

[Enter a Servant with a bowl of wine.
WINTHROP.
Now, wife, give you the morning draught to his lordship.
What's the matter?

ANNE.
Nothing, sir, a careless stumble.

WINTHROP.
That wine's too good for earth libations, sweet;
Walk heedfully!

[Anne takes the cup to Lord Alford; he salutes her but does not drink.
ALFORD.
No wine after that kiss,
I'm drunk already.

ANNE.
I shall sink with horror!

[Alford giving the cup back to her gives her a small parcel.
ALFORD.
(Aside)
—Hush! do not let them see this; but sometimes,
Look on it for my sake with pity. (Aloud)
—Madam,
We cannot speed but well, by you sent forth,
And by your worthy husband guided hence.

[Winthrop takes the cup from Anne and gives it to Mary.
WINTHROP.
Now, Mary, bid James Forrester good speed
Toward London; when he comes this way there'll be
No need to bid thee speed him with thy wishes.

[Mary takes the cup and gives it to James.
MARY.
Farewell! may you speed quickly back—I mean—
To London!

JAMES
(kisses her cheek).
Heaven bless and keep you, Mary!

WINTHROP
(after drinking).
To horse! to horse! to brush the morning dew,
And sniff the freshest air o' the day. Come, gentlemen.

[Exeunt Winthrop, Forrester, and Alford.
MARY.
From the terrace we can see them as they ride
Down to the linden trees; come Anne and watch them.

[She opens the window and goes out.
ANNE.
They're gone at last, and I can breathe!—what's this?
What's this? ah, traitor! dost thou doubt thy art?
Think'st thou the image is not deep enough?
Oh, eyes that have looked through me, do I yet
Behold ye, fatal eyes, that have undone me!
Lips! that the sweetest poison in the world
Have poured into my heart, are ye yet here?
What is't I do?—O Heaven! what is't I do?
Am I a wife, and thus stand gazing on
The picture of a man that's not my husband?
Why, I am lost! he must have seen it too;
Seen that I was not true, nor chaste, nor honest.
How did he dare to leave his picture with me!
How did he dare to think I thought of him!
How did he dare!—oh, wherefore, should he not?
What though I bury this down i' the earth,
Smother it up fathoms deep i' the sea,
Oh, what will that avail? he's here, he's here,
Here in the hurried throbbing of my heart,
Here, here within my bosom; God in Heaven!
What will become of me? what shall I do,
When back my husband comes? How shall I look
When he looks on me? How answer him
When he speaks to me? all the live-long day,
How shall I hide my thoughts from him? at night
If I should dream, or utter words in my sleep,
What will become of me?

MARY
(from the terrace).
What, are you coming, Anne?
I see my brother turning home again.

ANNE.
Oh, horrible!
Hide, hide thee close; O Heaven! it burns my heart.

MARY
(from the terrace).
I shall run meet him,—will you come along?

ANNE.
Would I might never see his face again!
What did I say?—oh, I am lost for ever!

[She runs out.