University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An ancient Apartment, the same as in the first scene of the second Act.
Judge and Advocate.
Jud.
I have convers'd with her.

Adv.
Is she insane?

Jud.
Her mind is heated and fanatical,
Wand'ring, but not astray.

Adv.
How tend her thoughts?

Jud.
Religion, justice, and enthusiasm,
So mingle and amalgamate her fancies,
That the effect is stronger on the heart,
Than eloquence with reason will compact.

Adv.
What are her nineteen signs of evidence,
That testimony borne by heaven itself?
For Glanville still hath been a man esteem'd,
Never suspected, but in all his life,
Sustain'd with constancy a blameless name.

Jud.
But there are times, when the dire fiend of ill,
Obtains sad homage from the wisest men.

(Enter Magistrate and Glanville.)
Mag.
My Lord, the Prisoner.

Jud.
It wrings my heart
That one so just, so prosperous, so honour'd,
Should in the evening cool of a fair life;—
All business finish'd, and enjoyment found,
Be thus molested by so strange a charge.

Glan.
Alas! my Lord, such is the fate of man!
When we have gain'd the resting time of life,
And think ourselves from accident secure,—
Save in the pastime of some evening game,
Whose sober chances suit the pulse of age,—
A daughter's frailty, or a son's dishonour;
The spite of foes, or worse, ingratitude;
Breaks on our quiet, like the whirling storm
That lifts the sheltering thatch-roof from the hind,
Quenching the desolated hearth within.
And yet prosperity hath evils too:
The constant smile of fortune on the great
Destroys the sense and faculty of joy,
Like the unclouded sunshine, that consumes
The germs of verdure from the mountain's brow,
And makes it bald and barren as the stone
That wastes beneath the fetter'd convinct's tread.
They little know the wayward heart of man,
Who think enjoyment makes him loath to die.
The luscious bowl Voluptuousness prepares,
Is mingled with a fell and drowsy charm;
And Pleasure's smiling blandishments are felt
Like the caresses of a tender nurse,
That fondly lulls her weary babe to sleep.

Adv.
This accusation troubles you too much.

Jud.
You look on life, Sir, too despondingly.
There is no cause, I trust, for this dejection?

Glan.
I cannot choose, my Lord, but to be sad.
My daughter, touch'd by this afflicting chance,
Strays in her mind, and, as a blossom blighted,
A sudden withering o'er her reason spreads.

Jud.
Does she too think the accusation true?

Glan.
She has been always, from her tend'rest years,
Enchanted by the spells of mystic lore,
And goblin tales of boding apparitions;
Which in the grief of this unhallow'd day
Have rous'd her fears to dread expectancies
Of ghostly evidence and spectral proof.

Jud.
And if such awful things should be—

Glan.
My Lord

Jud.
All times have heard, and piety believes,
That there are agents in the world unseen,
Who by some sympathetic power extract
The deepest secrets of the closest breast.
The fiery visage and the burning heart
Of guilt conceal'd, are kindled by their touch;
And we have heard how strangers from afar,
Inform'd by spirits at the dead of night,
Have told the names of secret'st men of blood.
It is a fearful, strange coincidence,
That your fair daughter should so wildly dread,
In this terrific and mysterious cause,
The hideous proof of visionary forms.

Glan.
Give you, my Lord, too, credit to the thought?—
Think you that Isbel's phantasy is true?
And must I cavil with a mad conceit,
Bred in the chaos of a maniac's brain,
Like a most strange creation?

Jud.
How?

Glan.
The thought
To fix on me this ignominious charge,
Hath sprung engender'd as by miracle.

Jud.
Have you, at any time, unheeding heard
Her pray'r for alms, slighted her helplessness,
Or chided at her importunity?

Glan.
Never, never! This gentleman can witness,
That more than all the general town beside,
Has been my constant and unwearied kindness.

Mag.
Nature, my Lord, in this has gone awry,
And by a wonderful and dire perversion,
Turn'd all the wonted sweet of gratitude,
Into most bitter and injurious wrong.

Glan.
As stated as the dismal day return'd
It still has been my custom to bestow,
How ill-requited! on the poor insane
Some gift of pity and of charity.

Jud.
Why kept you the remembrance of that day?

Glan.
My Lord! I had no cause, but my compassion.

Jud.
Doubtless you knew the widow's husband well.

Glan.
I did my Lord, a man of honest worth,
But somewhat churlish in his speech, and prone
To swell to insolence in argument.

Jud.
A man like many that we all have met,
Whom one might fall in sudden quarrel with?

Glan.
He was indeed, my Lord.

Jud.
Do you remember
His figure, and the manner of his garb?

Glan.
To every point of the last suit he wore.

[The Judge motions Glanville to retire]
Jud.
Has the accuser come?

Mag.
Not yet, my Lord.

Jud.
[apart]
It is a case that doth perplex me much.
Why should he hold this faithful memory?
All others, save the miserable widow,
Have almost lost remembrance of the fact,
But he retains the image of the man
Fresh and unfaded!—

[Enter Isbel.]
Mag.
Isbel comes, my Lord.

Isb.
Justice, my Lord! I will not be seduc'd:
Tremendous and almighty Providence
Makes me in this an honor'd instrument
And dare I falter in my awful function?
Methinks I see God's bright and lidless eye
Beaming intensely on us where we stand.
Justice, my Lord, I dare but ask for Justice.

Jud.
Patience, good Isbel, moderate thy thoughts:
I do entreat thee but one word apart.
Do you, distinctly, in all points of dress,
Retain remembrance of your murder'd husband?

Isb.
Alas! my Lord, he ever stands before me.
I see him now as he went forth to walk
On that dire morning when his life was ta'en,
—His plumed cap is gayly worn askance,
His coal-black hair, in affluent descent,
Flows o'er his purple cloak.—A primer man,
With frank and ruddy honesty of face,
Treads not the carpets of the regal dome.

Jud.
His hair was black?

Isb.
Yes, like the winter's cloud
That rests upon a mountain, white with snow.

Jud.
His cap, you say, he gaily wore askance?

Isb.
With a free boldness, not in vanity.

Jud.
His cloke was purple?

Isb.
Why is it, my Lord,
That thus with trifles so impertinent,
You sting my heart to the full sense of suffering?
Ascend your seat and call me to accuse.

Jud.
'Tis well. Come, gentlemen, let's to the hall.

[Exeunt.