University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Room in Master Waller's House.
Enter Alice, hastily.
Alice.
[Speaking to the outside.]
Fly, Stephen, to the door! your rapier! quick!—
Our master is beset, because of one
Whose part he takes—a maid, whom lawless men
Would lawlessly entreat! In what a world
We live! I shake from head to foot!—How well
[Looking out of window.
He lays about him, and his other arm
Engaged, in charge of her whom he defends—
A damsel worth a broil!—Now Stephen, now!
Take off the odds, brave lad, and turn the scale!
I would I were a swordsman! How he makes
His rapier fly! Well done!—O heaven, there's blood,
But on the side that's wrong!—Well done, good Stephen!
Pray Heaven no life be ta'en!—Lay on, brave lad!
He has mark'd his man again! Good lad—Well done,
I pray no mischief come!—Press on him, Stephen!
Now gives he ground—Follow thy advantage up!
Allow no pause for breath!—Hit him again!
Forbid it end in death!—Lounge home, good Stephen!
How fast he now retreats!—That spring, I'll swear,
Was answer to thy point!—Well fenced!—Well fenced!
Now Heaven forefend it end in death!—He flies!
And from his comrade, the same moment, hath
Our master jerk'd his sword.—The day is ours!
Quick may they get a surgeon for their wounds,
And I, a cordial for my flutter'd spirits:
I vow, I'm nigh to swoon!

Wal.
[without].
—Hoa! Alice! Hoa!
Open the door! Quick, Alice! Quick!

Alice.
Anon!
Young joints take little thought of agéd ones,
But fancy them as supple as their own.

Wal.
Alice!

Alice.
[Opening the door.]
I'm here! A mercy!—Is she dead?

Enter Master Waller, bearing Lydia, fainting.
Wal.
No!—She but faints—A chair!—Quick, Alice, quick!
Water to bathe her temples. [Alice goes out.]
Such a turn
Kind fortune never did me! Shall I kiss
To life these frozen lips?—No!—Of her plight
'Twere base to take advantage! [Alice returns, &c.]
All is well,
The blood returns.

Alice.
How wondrous fair she is!

Wal.
Thou think'st her so?—No wonder then should I.
How say you?—Wondrous fair?

[Aside.
Alice.
Yes; wondrous fair!
Harm never come to her! So sweet a thing
'Twere pity were abused!

Wal.
You think her fair?

Alice.
Ay, marry! Half so fair were more than match
For fairest she mine eyes e'er saw before!
And what a form! A foot and instep there!
Vouchers of symmetry! A little foot
And rising instep, from an ankle arching,
A palm, and that a little one, might span.

Wal.
Who taught thee thus?

Alice.
Why who, but her, taught thee?
Thy mother!—Heaven rest her!—Thy good mother!
She could read men and women by their hands
And feet!—And here's a hand!—A fairy palm!
Fingers that taper to the pinky tips,
With nails of rose, like shells of such a hue,
Berimm'd with pearl, you pick upon the shore!
Save these the gloss and colour wear, without.

Wal.
Why, how thou talk'st!

Alice.
Did I not tell thee thus
Thy mother used to talk? Such hand and foot,
She used to say, in man or woman vouch'd
For noble nature!—Sentiment refined;
Affections tender; apprehension quick—
Degrees beyond the generality!
There is a marriage finger! Curse the hand
Would balk it of a ring!

Wal.
She's quite restored.
Leave us!—Why cast'st thou that uneasy look?
Why linger'st thou? I'm not alone with her.
My honour 's with her too. I would not wrong her.

Alice.
And if thou wouldst, thou'rt not thy mother's son.

[Goes out.
Wal.
You are better?

Lydia.
Much!—Much!

Wal.
Know you him who durst
Attempt this violence, in open day?
It seem'd as he would force thee to his coach,
I saw attending.

Lydia.
Take this letter, sir,
And send the answer—I must needs be gone.

Wal.
[Throwing the letter away.]
I read no letter! Tell me, what of him
I saw offend thee?

Lydia.
He hath often met me,
And by design I think, upon the street;
And tried to win mine ear, which ne'er he got
Except by bold enforcement. Presents—gifts—
Of jewels and of gold to wild amount,
To win an audience, hath he proffer'd me;
Until, methought, my silence—for my lips
Disdain'd reply where question was a wrong—
Had wearied him. O, sir! whate'er of life
Remains to me I had foregone, ere proved
The horror of this hour!—And you it is
That have protected me!

Wal.
O speak not on't!

Lydia.
You that have saved me from mine enemy!

Wal.
I pray you to forget it.

Lydia.
From a foe
More dire than he that threatens life with peril!

Wal.
Sweet Lydia, I beseech you spare me!

Lydia.
No!
I will not spare you.—You have succour'd me,
You whom I fear worse than that baleful foe.

[Rises to go.
Wal.
[Kneeling and snatching her hand.]
Lydia!

Lydia.
Now, make thy bounty perfect. Drop
My hand. That posture which dishonours thee,
Quit!—for 'tis shame on shame to show respect
Where you design disgrace. Throw ope thy gate
And let me pass, and never seek with me,
By look, or speech, or aught, communion more!

Wal.
Thou saidst thou lovedst me?

Lydia.
Yes!—when I believed
My tongue was bidding thee its last adieu;
And now that I am sure it bids it thee—
For never must we speech exchange again—
Again, I tell it thee! Release me, sir!
Rise!—and no hindrance to my will oppose!
I must be free to go.

Wal.
I cannot lose thee!

Lydia.
Thou canst not have me!

Wal.
No!

Lydia.
Thou canst not. I
Repeat it.—Yet I'm thine—thine every way,
Except where honour fences!—Honour, sir,
Not property of gentle blood alone;
Of gentle blood not always property!
Thou'lt not obey me? Thou wouldst still detain me!
O what a contradiction is a man!
What in another he one moment spurns,
The next—he does, himself, complacently!

Wal.
Wouldst have me lose the hand that holds my life?

Lydia.
Hear me and keep it, if thou art a man!
I love thee—for thy benefit would give
The labour of that hand!—wear out my feet!—
Rack the invention of my mind!—the feeling
Of my heart in one volition concentrate!
My life expend, and think I paid no more
Than he who wins a priceless gem for thanks!
For such good-will canst thou return me wrong?

Wal.
Yet, for a while, I cannot let thee go.
Propound for me an oath, that I'll not wrong thee—
An oath, which, if I break it, will entail
Forfeit of earth and heaven. I'll take it—so
Thou stay'st one hour with me!

Lydia.
No!—Not one moment!
Unhand me, or I shriek!—I know the summons
Will pierce into the street, and set me free!
I stand in peril while I'm near thee! She
Who knows her danger, and delays escape,
Hath but herself to thank, whate'er befals!
Sir, I may have a woman's weakness, but
I have a woman's resolution, too,
And that's a woman's strength! One moment more!—

Wal.
Lo! Thou art free to go!

[Rises, and throws himself distractedly into a chair. Lydia approaches the door—her pace slackens—she pauses with her hand upon the lock—turns, and looks earnestly on Waller.
Lydia.
I have a word
To say to thee; if, by thy mother's honour,
Thou swear'st to me thou wilt not quit thy seat.

Wal.
Yea! by my mother's honour.

Lydia.
[After a pause, bursting into tears.]
Why, O why—
Why have you used me thus? See what you have done!
Essay'd to light a guilty passion up,
And kindled in its stead a holy one!
For I do love thee! Know'st thou not the wish
To find desert will bring it oft to sight
Where yet it is not? so, for substance, passes
What only is a phantasm of the mind!
I fear'd thy love was guilty—yet my wish
To find it honest, stronger than my fear,
My fear with fatal triumph overthrew!
Now hope and fear give up to certainty,
And I must fly thee—yet must love thee still!

Wal.
Lydia! by all—

Lydia.
I pray you hear me out!
Was it right? was it generous? was it pitiful?
One way or other I might be undone:
To love with sin—or love without a hope!

Wal.
Yet hear me, Lydia!—

Lydia.
Stop! I am undone!
A maid without a heart—robb'd of the soil,
Wherein life's hopes and wishes root and spring,
And thou the foe that did me so much wrong,
And vow'd me so much love!—But I forgive thee!
Yea, and I do bless thee!
[Rushing up and sinking at his feet.
Recollect thy oath!—
Or in thy heart lodged never germ of honour,
But 'tis a desert all!
[She kisses his hand—presses it to her heart, and kisses it again.
And now farewell to thee!
[Rises.
Mayst thou be happy!

[Going.
Wal.
Wouldst insure the thing
Thou wishest?
[She moves towards the door with a gesture that prohibits further converse.
Stop!
[She continues to move on.
O sternly resolute!
[She still moves.
I mean thee honour!
[She stops and turns towards him.
Thou dost meditate—
I know it—flight. Give me some pause for thought,
But to confirm a mind almost made up.
If in an hour thou hear'st not from me, then
Think me a friend far better lost than won!
Wilt thou do this?

Lydia.
I will.

Wal.
An hour decides.

[They go out severally.