University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

A Room in Heriot's house.
Margaret is discovered sitting at a table, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand. Bridget bending over the back of her chair with a silver tankard.
Bridg.
What not a drop of this nice posset, rosebud?
Well, if you wont, I must. [sipping]


Marg.
O, Bridget! Bridget!

Bridg.
Well what's amiss? Let's see your palm and try
If I'm enough a gypsey, so to find
What foot you halt upon.

Marg.
[Giving her hand scornfully.]
As if I halted
On any foot at all.

Bridg.
[Examining her hand.]
Brave lines; wealth, pleasure,
An equipage to shake Whitehall—Oho!
You smile? Aye, sure, why should not smart Jin. Vin.
Ride, great Lord Mayor, in a gilt coach to court?

Marg.
(withdrawing her hand)
Jin. Vin. a clown! Then you forget who drew
His sword for me?

Bridg.
Lord Nigel? Why, she's mad!
You love a lord, and him a Scot? of course
Prouder than Lucifer, though poor as Job.
You, for a lord, child!

Marg.
How the woman stares
With her wide eyes! I would not be so silly,
Had I face like that, to make it plainer!

Bridg.
Silly I may be; but, for plain, young mistress,
Perhaps, if faces came to be compared—

Marg.
O, we are angry, are we! Now, I'll tell you—

Bridg.
Tell your own looking-glass, since its so much
In favour with you. I'll not stay to hear—

Enter George. Bridget, who was leaving the room, turns back to listen.
George.
Mistress, one Master Skourlie.

Marg.
O, no doubt,
With news of my preserver!
[Exit George.
Enter Skourlie.
Pray, come in, sir:
You were about to speak. He's safe, I trust;
That is, I mean—

Skour.
Lord Nigel? In Alsatia,
Quite safe, just now. What he may be to-morrow
Before the star-chamber—

Marg.
The star-chamber!

Skour.
Oh, no affair of life and death: the penance
Is but to lose the hand, to have the hand
Lopp'd by the common headsman, nothing more.
I see you shudder: and, in faith, a wrist
Hideously sear'd by the law's minister,
Might make a gallant loathsome, in the eye
Of dames less delicate.

Marg.
I pray you, chuse
Some subject less abhorrent.

Skour.
Your fair self:
That were ripe matter for a commentary
Of the best grace—Your smile, perhaps, has power
Where you suspect not:

Marg.
(aside)
Dare I hope it? Oh,
He'd not have chosen such a confident!
(To Skourlie)
Explain yourself, I pray.

Skour.
We're not alone.

Marg.
(To Bridget)
You said, dame, you were going?

Bridg.
O, an't please you!
What now? (to herself)


[Exit Bridget into an anti-chamber, at the back of the Stage.
Skour.
Perhaps that smile has pow'r to rescue
Ev'n him who rescued you.

Marg.
Speak, speak!

Skour.
There needs
But gold to scatter freely, and I'll vouch
For his escape, though twenty officers
Bark'd at his heels. A thousand pounds would waft him
Safe over sea.

Marg.
Alas! but I've no thousand.

Skour.
I have: and mine fair mistress, would be yours—
Sweet mistress, if—

Marg.
This is not for my hearing.

Skour.
Yes, by my soul, it is! To that first thousand
Add thousands more, and thousands yet to those,
I'm unexhausted still—nay, lend your ear—
Whatever gold can buy, that woman covets,
As what will gold not buy, I can bestow,
And will, on thee. I've liv'd a life of gains,
Lent at large usance—batter'd on th'estates
Of prodigal great men—there's not a manor
Of their inheritance, but I've my mortgage
Under the surface, waiting like an earthquake,
Its time to swallow all! But my broad gold,
All my huge heaps, lie dark as in the mine,
Till the meridian of those sunny eyes
Shine on the ore, and bring it forth to light.

Marg.
You wrong yourself and me, Sir.

Skour.
Wrong you? no.
For you, I'll wrong all else—do any thing—safe,
To please, to tempt, to buy, to bribe your love.
You shall have pageantry—a cloud of servants,
To fly before your thoughts—a glare of lights,
That shall make noon a shadow—carriages—
Banquets—such couches, as the cygnet's down
Where a harsh type of. There are jewels, too,
My eastern treas'ry—Spoils of gorgeous queens,
From their far glitt'ring regions—thou shalt have them—
Pearls, like a galaxy, thick sown about thee,
And starry diamonds, whose bright constellation
Would make a firmament!

Marg.
I'll hear no more.
Without! (calling towards the anti-chamber.)


Skour.
So cold, so scornful! it may cost thee
Some burning tears, if thus I quit thee, mistress!

Marg.
On any terms avoid me!

Skour.
Be it so—
I take thee at thy word. The rock that seem'd
To spring a fountain here, (striking his breast)
is closed again,
And I'm once more myself.

Re-enter Bridget.
Marg.
(To her)
You're well returned.—
A scriv'ner!

Skour.
But whose riches are nobility!
I read your childish heart—read for whose sake
The goldsmith's niece disdains the untitled scriv'ner.
Let her, and let the lord she doats on, pay for't;
One vice, at least, of noble pedigree
The low born scriv'ner feeds—the lust of vengeance!

[Exit.
Bridg.
Here's a brave suitor! I had served you right
If I had left you longer to his love.

Marg.
Pardon that peevishness—I've been so flutter'd— (Taking Bridget's hand)

Come, you'll forgive me now, my bonny wife,—
And, Bridget, wear this for me. (Giving her a ring.)


Bridg.
(Affecting reluctance.)
Oh, it's wasted
On such a dowdy, plain-faced thing as I.

Marg.
Bridget—have you a mind to see the king?

Bridg.
(Half sullenly.)
I like a frolic.

Marg.
You shall go with me.

Bridg.
Go where?

Marg.
To Greenwich Park. His Majesty
Hunts there to-morrow early:—my good uncle
Is gone to Epping, and will scarce be back
Till tow'rd the afternoon; so I shall use
His absence, ev'n to be a naughty girl,
And wear—

Bridg.
What, pray you?

Marg.
Stay a moment here,
And you shall see.

[Exit into the anti-chamber.
Bridg.
(Eyeing the ring on her finger.)
Really, th'effect is not
Amiss, at all. Only I doubt if John
Will let me wear it.

Re-enter Margaret.
Marg.
Do you know this habit?

Bridg.
Another fancy dress! I've had enough
Of them.—O, the Scots page's gear you wore
Before King James, at Christmas, in the mumming.—
He ask'd your name, I mind, and the joke was
To keep it from him:—and your uncle Heriot
Look'd grave, and took you home.

Marg.
But not till James
Promised, that, for a song which took his fancy,
He'd grant that page a boon.

Bridg.
And do you mean
To claim it now? O, I suppose, a pardon
For the young lord.

Marg.
You'll go?

Bridg.
Aye, that I will,
Though my old John scold, after, for a week:
I'll give his jealousy a twinge!

Marg.
By day break
We must be there; so, lodge you here to-night.

Bridg.
I will: for should I sleep at home, I'm thinking
John might not let me go. But, if the king
Refuse!—

Marg.
Then I would break my heart!

Bridg.
And Nigel
Would lose his hand. Why not dispatch a boat
To take him from Whitefri'rs, to-night, on board
Some foreign ship? Then, if you win his pardon,
Out springs he from his covert, like a swallow
After the winter:—if you fail, he takes
Wing for a milder climate.

Marg.
Any thing
Rather than risk the horrid penalty
That villain harp'd on.

Bridg.
Well, Jin. Vin. will do it.

Marg.
Mo more of him.

Bridg.
Nay, not a jacket of 'em
Knows the Thames better: and, to get a rival
Pack'd off—

Marg.
A rival!

Bridg.
He'll work double tides.

Marg.
Well, as you list.

Bridg.
Then here's to love and luck—
[Sips from the tankard.
That my pet lamb may soon become my lady,
And the tall tankard wet his brim with candle!

[Exit.
Marg.
(alone.)
If James refuse me? O, no unkind doubt
Shall glance its shadow on my springing hope,
That like a sunflow'r, turns her to the light,
And blossoms there. Set fairly, then, soft gales,
Upon love's path to-morrow! clear the film
From the blue eye of Heav'n, and in all bosoms
Breathe light and gentle spirits: that kind nature
May move in my appeal, and high-wrought greatness
Relax to favour, and sweet clemency!

[Exit.