University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A noise of voices and unruly merriment is heard, whilst the curtain draws up, and discovers Count Zaterloo, Bernard, Sebastian, and others of their band, seated round a table with wine, &c.
Zat.
Ha, ha, ha, ha! with all this noisy mirth,
Should some grave stranger, on his way misled,
Now push the door ajar, and look upon us
Thus set, what class of men should we be deem'd?
A set of light hearts, snug in fortune's lap,
Who will not go to bed because we may?
Or club of sharpers, flush'd with full success,
New from the spoiling of some simple fool?
Or troop of strolling players, at our ease,
After the labours of our kingly sorrows,
With throats new cool'd at as great charge of wine
As our tough lungs have cost of lady's tears?

Ber.
No, no, thou hast not hit upon it yet:
He'd take thee for the heir of some old miser,
Treating thy friends, as first fruits of thy kingdom,
With flowing bumpers to the quiet rest
Of thy good kinsman's soul.

Zat.
Yes, Bernard, thou sayst well: and thy dark visage,
Lank and unsuited to all mirth, would mark thee
The undertaker, who amongst the guests
Had come on matters of his sable trade,
Grinning a strange, uncomely, jaw-bone smile
O'er the near prospect of his future gains.

Seb.
Methinks, at least, in this gay, jolly band,
He scarcely would discover needy men,
Who better days have seen.

Zat.
Tut, man! thou art too grave; thou art too grave—
Which of you sung that song with merry lay,
Some few nights since? Come, let us have it now.

Zat.
It is a song of Halbert's, is it not?
He was a social jolly-hearted mate,
And had a knack of making ready rhymes.

Ber.
I knew him well: what has become of him?

Zat.
(pretending not to hear).
Fill up your glass, and let the flask go round.

Ber.
What has become of Halbert, dost thou know?

Zat.
(still pretending not to hear).
This wine is richly flavour'd, is it not?

Ber.
It is.—But Halbert; know ye aught of him?

Zat.
The devil take thy question, asking spirit!
For when thou getst a notion by the skirt,
Thou, like an English bull-dog, keepst thy hold,
And wilt not let it go.—
He shot himself in prison some months since:
Now, there's thine answer for thee; art thou satisfied?

[A deep and long pause; then Zaterloo starts up as if he recollected something.
He will be with us ere I've pav'd his way.
Seb.
Hast thou some new associate to propose?

Zat.
Know ye the younger branch of Valvo's house?
Whose valiant father left him but his sword
And his proud spirit, through this changeful world
To shape his way, with heart as truly temper'd
To all the softest witch'ries of refinement
As e'er own'd cherish'd heir of wide domains,
In palace nurs'd.

Seb.
I've seen him when a youth.
But he since then has of a foreign state
The soldier been; and had not now return'd,
But in the hope, 'tis said, of being heir
To his great uncle's vast and rich possessions,
Of which that villain Hubert has depriv'd him
With treach'rous wiles. Poor heart! he has my pity.
'Tis said a ling'ring fever seiz'd upon him
From disappointment; and I marvel not;
The stroke was most severe.

Zat.
And felt more keenly,
For that he left behind him, in the country
To which he now belongs, a gentle maid
And his betroth'd, with whom he thought to share
His promis'd wealth.
But these things rest.—Thus driven as we are
To this uncertain, daring course of life,
The stronger and the more respectable
Our band, the greater chance of prospering.
Our number is too small; and, by my soul,
To see a mean, plebeian, vulgar knave,
Admitted of our fellowship, still rubs
Against my nature. Such a man as Rayner
Is precious, and, once gain'd, is sure and steadfast.
But few days since I met him, dark and thoughtful,
With melancholy and unwonted gait
Slow saunt'ring through lone, unfrequented paths,
Like one whose soul from man's observing eye
Shrinks gall'd, as shrinks the member newly torn
From every slightest touch. Seeing him thus,
I mark'd him for my man.

Ber.
Didst thou accost him?

Zat.
Yes; when to my greeting,
“Thou seest I am unhappy, go thy ways,”
He fretful said, and turn'd. I still persisted,
With soothing words which thrill'd against his heart,
(For in our youthful days we once were playmates,)
Like the sweet tones of some forgotten song,
Till, like a pent-up flood swoln to the height,
He pour'd his griefs into my breast with tears,
Such as the manliest men in their cross'd lives
Are sometimes forced to shed.

Seb.
And spoke he of his love?

Zat.
Nay, there indeed
He was reserv'd; but that part of his story,
Which I from sure authority have learnt,
I still through broken words could shrewdly read,
Although he named it not.

Ber.
Hast thou explain'd to him our course of life?

Zat.
No, that had been too much; but canst thou doubt,
Suff'ring such wrongs as Hubert's artful baseness
Has put upon him, he will scruple long,
Thus circumstanced, to join his arm with ours
In murd'ring the rich villain?

Ber.
(looking at Sebastian, who shrinks back).
I pray thee call it shooting! that plain word
Still makes Sebastian, like a squeamish dame,
Shrink and look lily-faced. To shoot a man
As one in battle shoots a fronted foe;
As from the tavern's broil, in measured field,
One shoots a friend, is nought: — but that word murder—
It hath a horrid sound; pray thee, good captain,
Remember 'tis a band of gentlemen
Thou dost command, and let such gentle phrase
Fall from thy tongue as gentle ears may suit.

[Omnes laughing loud at Sebastian.
Zat.
Hush! Rayner is at hand, I hear his steps. Enter Rayner.

I give you welcome, Rayner, with my heart:
These are my friends, of whom I well might boast,
But that it seems like boasting of myself.
Here, take your place, and join our fellowship.
There is but little need of ceremony
With those whom like misfortunes bring together.

Ray.
I take my seat, honour'd in such a place;
And so far to misfortune am indebted,
Which has procur'd it for me.

[Sits down.
Ber.
(drinking to Rayner).
This do I fill to future fellowship:
To that which makes, at fortune's lowest ebb,
A few brave men united, mock the world
And all its plodding rules; enabling them
Boldly to seize their portion of life's feast,
Which griping av'rice or unjust oppression
Would from them snatch, whilst with insulting scorn
It scoffs at poverty and patient want.

Ray.
Thou truly sayst; at least I have observ'd
That those who bear misfortunes over meekly
Do but persuade mankind that they and want
Are all too fitly match'd to be disjoin'd,
And so to it they leave them.

Ber.
'Tis ever so:
E'en good men then neglect them; but the base,
They, who by mean and undermining arts
To o'ergrown wealth attain, like the ass's heel
'Gainst the sick lion's low and lanken breast,
Spurn at them.

Zat.
Yes, good Bernard, thou speakst truly.
For I myself, who, as thou knowst right well,
Am not too meekly to misfortune bent,
Have somewhat of the worthless ass's kick
Against my bosom felt.—'Lone and unarm'd—
Had but one brave companion by my side
My anger shared, full dearly had the knave—
But let it pass,—he had a brave man's curse,
And that will rest upon him.

Ber.
But, pray thee, count, tell us the circumstance:
Thou speakst in mystery.

Zat.
A few days since, returning near my home,
Upon a narrow path raised from a road
With mud choked up, behind me trampling came,
A band of liv'ried rascals at his heels,
In all his awkward state, a puff'd-up worldling,
And rode me off my way; whilst looking back,
He turn'd his head with a malicious grin
At the poor spatter'd wretch, who in the mud
Stood showering curses on him.

Ray.
Ay, 'tis the cursed insolence of wealth
That makes the poor man poor. Thou wast unarm'd?

Zat.
I was; or by this hand, poor as I am,
I should have spent a brace of bullets on him
With much good-will.

Ray.
Knowst thou the villain's name?

Zat.
Faith, I'm almost ashamed to tell it thee.
Thou knowst him well: he is a rich man now;
His name is Hubert.

Ray.
There lives no blacker villain on the earth
Than he who bears it.—But thou knowst it all.
When from a distant country, where with honour
I earn'd a soldier's pittance, the fair promises
Of a near kinsman tempted me, and I,
Though by my nature most incautious,
And little skill'd to gain by flatt'ring arts
An old man's love, high in his favour stood;
That villain Hubert roused his jealous nature
With artful tales of slights and heir-like wishes,
And covert mock'ry of his feeble age,
Till, in the bitterness of changed love,
All his vast wealth he did bequeath to him,
And left me here, e'en in this stranger's land
(For years of absence makes it so to me),
A disappointed, friendless, unknown man,
Poor and depress'd, such as you see me now.

Ber.
Double, detested, cruel-hearted villain!

Zat.
(starting up with affected vehemence).
By heaven he dies, as I do wear this arm!
[They all start up.
Defended by a host of liv'ried knaves,
I'd seek him out alone.

Ber.
Thou shalt not go alone; here, heart and hand
We will all join thee in so good a cause.

1st gent.
My arm is at thy will.

2d gent.
Take my aid too;
We never can be bold in better cause.

3d gent.
(on receiving a sign from Zaterloo).
Then, sirs, you must be speedy with your vengeance,
For I am well inform'd that on to-morrow,
With all his treasure, for a distant province
He will begin his journey towards eve.

Zat.
Ha! then good fortune leads him to our hands;
How goes he guarded?

3d gent.
With a slender train.

Zat.
Then thanks to fortune's fav'ring smiles, which thus,
Whilst we but seek revenge for a friend's wrongs,
So kindly throws into our heedless way
The easy cure of our necessities.
Yes, let us seize the greedy glutted villain!
Let us disgorge him of his ill-got gains!
He long enough has rioted in ease,
Whilst better men have felt the gripe of want.

Ber.
Yes, let it be so, let the villain die!

Zat.
What sayst thou, Rayner? thou alone art silent.

Ray.
The wrongs are mine, and if with indignation
They fill your breasts, in strong desire of vengeance
Ye well may guess I am not far behind:
But there's a law above all human bonds,
Which damps the eager beating of my heart,
And says, “do thou no murder.”

Zat.
Well, clear thy knitted brows, nor look thus strangely.
We both are form'd, my friend, to know like feelings,
Like wants and wishes, and from better days
Both are reduced to fortune's lowest ebb:
And I as well as thou, standing thus singly,
Can feed my fancy up with strong conceits
Of what in letter'd lore is virtue term'd,
And bear its darkest frowns. There was a time,
When sharing ev'ry wish and ev'ry view
With one of weaker frame and softer soul;
Yet forced by the dark frowns of adverse fortune
To live a willing outlaw from her presence,
Because I could not bear to come before her
A poor despised man, reft of that comeliness
And honest grace which independence gives,
To bid her throw aside her flowing robes
And decent ornaments of maiden pride,
Unveil the sweetness of her shelter'd beauty
To beating mid-day heats and chilling winds,
And be a wand'ring vagrant by my side;—
There was a time, my friend, when, thus beset,
At view of any means to better fortune,
A stronger pow'r had ris'n within my breast
And mock'd at law. But, standing thus alone,
I can as well as thou forego the gain
Which this occasion offers.—Let it pass!
There is within us, be it superstition,
Th'unscann'd opinions from our childhood cherish'd,
Or natural instinct, still a strong aversion
To ev'ry act of blood. Let us yield to it:
We will not strain our nature from its bent:
We'll do no violent deed.

Ray.
(catching hold of Zaterloo with great agitation).
O thou hast moved me! thou hast conjured thought!
Wast thou — wast thou indeed thus circumstnaced?
And thy deserted love; what was her fate?

Zat.
She felt not long the cruel separation:
One lovely bush of the pale virgin thorn,
Bent o'er a little heap of lowly turf,
Is all the sad memorial of her worth;
All that remains to mark where she is laid.

Ray.
Oh! Oh! and was it thus!

Zat.
But let us now shake off these dismal thoughts,
This hour was meant for social fellowship:
Resume your seats, my friends, and, gentle Rayner,
Clear up thy cloudy brows and take thy place.

Ray.
I fain would be excused.

Zat.
(gently forcing him to sit down).
Nay, no excuse:
Thou must perforce a social hour or two
Spend with us. To ye all, my noble friends, Drinks.
I fill this cup.
— Bernard, how goes thy suit?
Hast thou yet to thy greedy lawyer's pocket
Convey'd thy hindmost ducat? Ha, ha, ha!
Had he, with arms in hand, ta'en from thee boldly
Half of the sum, thou wouldst have called him robber.
Ha, ha, ha!

[Laughing heartily.
Ber.
Yes, thou mayst laugh:
We nice distinctions make.—I had an uncle,
Who once upon a time—

Zat.
I hope, good Bernard,
Thy story will be shorter than thy suit.

[Rayner, who has been sitting in gloomy thoughtfulness, without attending to any thing around him, whilst Zaterloo has been keeping an eye of observation on him, now rises up in great agitation to go away.
Zat.
What is the matter, Rayner?

Ray.
I am disturb'd—I know not how I am—
Let me take leave, I pray you.

Zat.
Thou shalt not quit us thus. What is the matter?

Ray.
Question me not: my thoughts are all confused:
There is a strong temptation fasten'd on me.
I am not well.

Zat.
(aside to Bernard).
Ay, now it works upon him:
This will do—
[Aloud, and preventing Rayner from going.
If thou'rt unwell, art thou not with thy friends?

Ray.
If ye indeed are friends, not spirits enleagued
To force me to my ruin, let me go—
Let me go to my home.

Zat.
What, dost thou call a bare unfurnish'd chamber,
With griping landlord clam'ring in thine ears
For what he knows thou canst not give, thy home?

Ray.
(sighing deeply).
I have no other.

Zat.
Stay thou here with us:
In the next chamber thou shalt rest awhile.
Lead him, my kind Sebastian, by the hand:
There is a sort of woman's kindliness
About thy nature, which befits thee best
To be a sick man's friend. I'll follow you.
[Exit Rayner, leaning on Sebastian; turning about to his friends triumphantly as they go off.
I have secured my man.
[A voice heard without.
But hark! a voice without! It is my mother's.
Secure the latticed door. Plague on her kindness
To haunt me here! I have forgot my promise.
(To Bernard.)
Make fast the latticed door and answer for me.

Ber.
(after fastening a door of lattice work through which the countess is seen).
Who's there? what want ye?

Countess
(without).
I want my son: I pray you is he here?

Ber.
He is not here.

Countess
(without).
Nay, say not so, I think he is with you.
O tell him I have sate these three long hours,
Counting the weary beatings of the clock,
Which slowly portion'd out the promised time
That brought him not to bless me with his sight.
If he is well, why does he thus forget?
And if he is not, as I fear he is not,
Tell me the worst, and let me be with him
To smooth his couch and raise his sickly head.

Zat.
(aside to Bernard).
Tell her it is unseemly for a mother
To run about like a new foolish wife.

Ber.
If you complain thus movingly, fair widow,
We shall believe you seek a second husband
In lieu of your good son; and by my truth
It were a better errand.

Countess.
O base of thought, as most unblest of speech!
My son is not with you: it cannot be:
I did him wrong to seek him in such company.

Ber.
(speaking loud after her as she retires from the door).
Not far from hence, there is a nightly meeting
Of worthy, sober, well-disposed folks,
Who once a week do offer up their prayers
And chant most saintly hymns till morning dawn,
It is more likely you will find him there.

[Omnes laughing.
Zat.
She's gone.

Ber.
Yes, yes; come from thy hiding place.

Zat.
Now what a most unreasonable woman!
Thinks she, thus ripen'd to these manly years,
That I must run whene'er my finger aches
To lean my silly head upon her lap?
'Tis well I have no wife.

Ber.
Ay, so it is.
There is no pleasing those high legal dames
With endless claims upon a man's regard:
Heaven save us from them all!

Zat.
Well, this I drink to precious liberty:
He is a fool indeed who parts with that.
[A loud voice and bustling heard without.
What's this comes next to plague us?

Ber.
'Tis Mira's voice.

Zat.
Hast thou not sent to say, that urgent bus'ness
Detains me from her banquet?

Ber.
I have; I sent to her a written message.

Zat.
Keep fast the door, and I will stand conceal'd.

[Conceals himself, and Mira appears through the latticed door.
Mira
(without.)
Where is Count Zaterloo? Let me pass on.

Ber.
Affairs of greatest consequence detain him.
My beauteous Mira; and I needs must say
That now you may not pass.—
He's much concern'd: early upon the morrow
He will be with you.

Mira.
Upon the morrow! prate not thus to me!
He shall to-night go with me where I list,
Or never see my face again. To-morrow!
Open the door, I say! this weakly barrier
Shall not oppose my way.

[Beating violently against the door.
Zat.
(aside to Bernard).
Faith, I believe we must e'en let her in:
She may do some rash thing, if we persist.

[Bernard unbolts the door; Zaterloo comes from his concealment; and enter Mira, superbly dressed, and in a violent passion.
Mira.
Is this the way you keep your promises?
Is this your faith? is this your gallantry?

Zat.
Mira, my gentle love, I pray thee hear me!
I sent to tell thee business of great moment.

Mira.
Yes, yes! I have received your scurvy message,
And well I know that ev'ry paltry matter
Is cause sufficient for neglecting me.

Zat.
Thou knowst to be from thee is painful to me.

Mira.
So it should seem, by taking so much care
To comfort you the while.
[Pointing to the wine, &c.
You do your bus'ness jovially, methinks.

Zat.
Thou art too warm: accuse me as thou wilt
Of aught but want of love.

Mira.
O, thou deceitful man! I know thee well:
Thou talkst of love and thou wouldst break my heart.

Zat.
Indeed I am to blame, my gentle love;
Yet be not thus: in token of forgiveness
This friendly cup receive, and smile upon me.

[Offering her a cup, which she dashes to the ground.
Mira.
Off with thy hateful gifts! nought from thy hands
Will I receive; I scorn thy offering.
E'en the rich robe thou hast so often promised,
Ay and so oft forgot, so I must call it,
I would now scorn, since thou dost slight my love.

Zat.
Indeed, my Mira, thou shalt have that robe
Before two days be past: I swear to thee.
Then do not look so frowningly, my love;
I know thou hast a soft relenting nature;
Smile my forgiveness.

Mira.
O thou provoking man! thou knowst full well
It is thyself and not thy gifts I prize:
Thou knowst too well how my fond doating heart
Is moved with the soft witch'ry of thy tongue;
Yet thou wilt vex me thus, and break my heart.
Oh! 'tis too much!

[Pretending to burst into tears.
Zat.
I cannot see thee weep: what wouldst thou have?

Mira.
I will have nought, unless you go with me.

Zat.
I cannot now, for I have urgent bus'ness.

Mira.
Then stay, and never see my face again.
O that some friendly hand would end my days,
Since I have lived to see me thus despised.

Zat.
(aside to Bernard).
Bernard, I think I must e'en go with her.
See thou to Rayner: I will soon return.
(Aloud.)
Then let us go, my love, thou dost compel me.
Thy hand, sweet Mira.

[Exeunt Zaterloo and Mira.
Ber.
Well, gentle friends, it is blest liberty
Our noble chief enjoys. I must to Rayner.
Stay if you will, and keep you merry here.

Omnes.
No, we are tir'd, we will retire to rest.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Rayner's lodgings. Enter Rayner alone.
Ray.
Be still, ye idle thoughts that toss me thus,
Changing like restless waves, but ever dark;
Or one of you above his fellows rise,
And bear a steady rule. Adversity!
Thou'st come upon me like an ambush'd foe
In armed strength. If I had mark'd thy course,
I might have girt myself for thine approach,
While distant still, and met thee like a man.
But when new-fetter'd in a lover's bonds,
And dazzled too with hope's deceitful brightness,
Cam'st thou like a thick cloud of desert sand,
And in dark night o'erwhelm'd me: deepest night,
Through which no waking vision ever gleams,
Save thy grim visage only, loathly want,
In all thy varied forms of misery.
My night, my day dreams, ah! how are ye changed,
Since in the new-betroth'd, the lover's fancy,
Ye wove your sheeny maze of mingled thoughts,
Like sparkling dew-webs in the early sun!
[After a pause.
Elizabeth! methinks e'en now I see her.
As in the horrors of my last night's dream,
When, after following her through flood and fire,
She turn'd to me, and her weak arms stretch'd forth.
But ah! how changed, how pale, and spent, and keen!
As if already blighting poverty,
That portion which her love must share with me,
Had marr'd—cease, cease, base thought, it shall not be! Enter Herman with a knapsack on his back, as if prepared for a journey.

What, my good Herman, art thou so soon ready?

Her.

Yes, my dear master, but if you think it too soon, I will not go to-day. Nay if it were not that you force me to go, I should as soon have thought of deserting my friend (pardon my boldness, sir) in a wild wood amongst savages, as leaving you here in this strange place in the state you are in at present. Pardon my boldness, sir.

Ray.

Thou hast no boldness to pardon, Herman: thou art well entitled to call thyself my friend; there is not one amongst those who have borne that name, who would have done more for me than thou hast done.

Her.

Ah, sir!

Ray.

(assuming a look of cheerfulness).
Fy, do not look so sadly upon me, man; thanks to thy good nursing and the good broth thou hast made me, I am getting strong again: and as for the state of my coffers, for which thou so much concernest thyself, do not let that disturb thee. My tide of means is, to be sure, pretty well ebbed just now; but some wind or other will spring up to set it a flowing again. In the mean time thou knowest I would travel alone: perhaps I may ramble about a little while mysteriously, like the wandering Jew-or some of those lonely philosophers which thy old stories tell thee about, and there is no knowing what I may find out to do me good. The philosopher's stone, thou knowest, may as well fall into my hands as those of any other wanderer: so pray thee, man, don't look so ruefully upon me.

Her.

Ah, my dear master! there is something here that hangs heavy on my heart, and says, if I leave you now, some evil will befall you: I beseech you let me stay with you, I shall find something to do in this town, and I can—

Ray.

No, no, no! Speak of this no more—we have argued this point already. And what is this which thou puttest down so slily upon the table? [Taking up a little packet which Herman has put secretly upon the table.
Ha! the jewels I have given thee in room of thy wages! out upon it! thou wilt make me angry with thee now, and it grieves me to be angry with thee. Put it up, put it up: I command thee to do it; and thou knowest I have not often used this stern word.

Her.

O no, sir! You have not indeed used it; and I shall never meet with another master like you.

Ray.

Thou wilt meet, I hope, my dear Herman, with a far better master than I have been to thee, though not with one for whom thou wilt do so much kindly service as thou hast done for me; and for this cause, perhaps, thou wilt not love him so much. God prosper thee for it, wherever thou goest!— Take this embrace and blessing for all thou hast done for me. Farewell! farewell! thou must be gone now, indeed thou must. God bless thee, my good Herman.

[Pushing Herman gently off the stage, who wipes his eyes and seems unwilling to go.
[Exit Herman.
Ray.
(alone).
Now, am I left alone: there's no one near me
That e'er hath loved or cared for me. Methinks
I now can better look i' th' surly face
Mine alter'd state, and bear to be in want.
I am alone, and I am glad of it.
Alas! changed heart of mine! what is that state
Which gives to thee such thoughts?—Elizabeth—
Again, again! This strong idea still!
I am distracted when I think of this:
Therefore I must not, if I would be honest.
Those men—or are they men or are they devils?
With whom I met last night; they've fasten'd on me
Fell thoughts, which, though I spurn them, haunt me still.
Would I had never met them!
Here comes my landlord with his surly face
Of debts and claims, and ev'ry irksome thing. Enter Landlord with a letter.

Good morrow, landlord.

Land.

I thank you, sir; I am glad to hear you call me landlord; for I began to be afraid you had mistaken me for your host.

Ray.

I understand you well enough, and indeed I have proved your patience, or rather your impatience, much longer than I wished. You have a letter in your hand.

Land.

(giving it).
There, sir; if it bring you the news of any good luck, I shall be glad of it.

Ray.

(agitated).
From Elizabeth, Good morning —good morning to you.

Land.

Read it, sir, and see if it bring you any good news; it is time now to look for some change in your favour.

Ray.

I cannot open it whilst thou art here. Have the goodness at least not to stand so near me.

Land.

So I must not occupy a place in my own house, forsooth, for fear of offending the good folks who do me the honour to live in it.

[Retires to the bottom of the stage, muttering to himself.
Ray.
(after opening the letter with great emotion and reading it).
O What is this?—
Abandon'd by the friend with whom she liv'd,
And coming here to join me with all speed!
O God! O God!

[Sinks down upon a chair in violent agitation.
Land.
(running up to him).
What is the matter now?

Ray.
Begone, begone! I cannot answer thee.

Enter Count Zaterloo.
Zat.
Ha, Rayner! how is't with thee? thou lookst wildly.
(To landlord.)
Speak to me, friend: he heeds not what I say:
Has any new misfortune happen'd to him?

Land.
I fear there has, sir.

Zat.
Rouse thee up, brave Rayner,
A friend is come to thee.

Ray.
(starting up).
Ha, is it thou?
Com'st thou upon me now, my tempter? now,
E'en in my very moment of distraction?
Thou knowst thy time: some fiend has whisper'd to thee.
Ay, ay! say what thou wilt.

Zat.
Thou'rt surely mad; I came not, on my word,
To say aught to thee which an honest ear
Might not receive; nor will I even speak,
Since it so moves thee—

Ray.
(interrupting him eagerly).
Ah, but thou must!
Thou must speak that, which, in its darkest hour,
Push'd to extremity, 'midst ringing dizziness
The ear of desperation doth receive,
And I must listen to it.

Zat.
What, sayst thou so? 'Tis well (aside)
, but be more prudent,
We are o'erheard.
[Looking suspiciously to landlord, who has retired a few paces behind.
Come with me to my lodgings;
There wait my friends; all things shall be concerted:
Come with me, instantly; the time is precious.

Ray.
(in a tone of despair, clasping his hands vehemently).
Ay, ay! I'll go with thee.

[Exeunt Count Zaterloo and Rayner: Manet landlord.
Landlord

(coming forward).
What's this I've overheard? Is this devil now going to tempt the poor distressed young man to do some foul deed in his necessity?—I have tempted him too, with my hard-hearted murmuring about the few wretched pounds that he owes me. I'll run after him and say, I don't care whether he pay me or not. (Running to the door and then stopping short.)
No, no! softly, softly! I dare say it is only some sharping business they have got on hand, such as needy gentlemen are sometimes forced to follow: I have got my conscience newly cleared off at confession last week, and I am to make an offering next holy-day to the shrine of our patron St. Bernard; this is no time, good sooth, to lose such a sum upon scruples.

[Exit.