University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A room in Arden's house.
Franklin and Maria.
Frank.
Well in what temper did you find Alicia?

Mar.
Never was anguish, never grief like hers:
She eats, nor sleeps. Her lovely, downcast eyes,
That us'd to gladden each beholder's heart,
Now wash the flinty bosom of the earth.
Her troubled breast heaves with incessant sighs,
Which drink the purple streams of life, and blast
Her bloom, as storms the blossoms of the spring.
But sure her prayers must quickly reach high heaven,
Relenting Arden, kindly sooth her sorrows,
And her lost peace restore.

Frank.
Their mutual peace, Maria!
For his can ne'er be found but in Alicia.
Asham'd to view the face of man or day,
As Mosby's name was written on his brow,
He cheerless wanders; seeks the darkest gloom
To hide his drooping head, and grieve alone.
With a full heart, swoln eyes, and faltring tongue,
He sometimes, seeking to beguile his grief,
Begins a mournful tale: But straight a thought
Of his imagin'd wrongs crossing his memory,
Ends his sad story ere the half be told.
O may our pains with wish'd success be crown'd.

Enter Arden.
Ard.
No, Franklin, no; your friendly cares are vain:
Were I but certain she had wrong'd my bed,
I then might hate her, and shake off my woes;
But thus perplex'd, can never taste of comfort.

Frank.
O jealousy! thou bane of social joys!
Oh! she's a monster, made of contradictions!
Let truth in all her native charms appear,
And with the voice of harmony itself
Plead the just cause of innocence traduc'd;
Deaf as the adder, blind as upstart greatness,
She sees nor hears. And yet let slander whisper,
Or evil-ey'd suspicion look oblique,
Rumour has fewer tongues than she has ears;
And Argus's hundred eyes are dim and slow,
To piercing jealousy's.—

Ard.
No more, no more—
I know its plagues, but where's the remedy?

Mar.
In your Alicia.

Frank.
She shall heal these wounds.

Ard.
She's my disease, and can she be my cure?
My friends shou'd rather teach me to abhor her,
To tear her image from my bleeding heart.

Mar.
We leave that hateful office to the fiends.

Frank.
If you e'er lov'd, you'll not refuse to see her:
You promis'd that.

Ard.
Did I?

Frank.
Indeed you did.

Ard.
Well then, some other time.

Frank.
No, see her now.

Ard.
Franklin, I know my heart, and dare not see her.
I have an husband's honour to maintain,
I fear the lover's weakness may betray.
Let me not do what honour must condemn,
And friendship blush to hear.

Frank.
That Arden never will.

Mar.
Did you but know her grief—

Ard.
Am I the cause?
Have I, just heaven, have I e'er injur'd her!
Yet I'm the coward.—O prepost'rous fear!
See where she comes—Arm'd with my num'rous wrongs,
I'll meet with honourable confidence
Th'offending wife, and look the honest husband.

Frank.
Maria, we'll withdraw—even friendship here
Wou'd seem impertinence.—

[Exeunt Franklin and Maria.
Ard.
Be still my heart.

[Alicia enters, not seeing Arden.
Alic.
How shall I bear my Arden's just reproaches!
Or can a reconcilement long continue,
That's founded on deceit! Can I avow
My secret guilt!—No—At so mean a thought
Abandon'd infamy herself would blush.
Nay, cou'd I live with public loss of honour,
Arden would die to see Alicia scorn'd.
He's here, earth open—hide me from his sight.

Ard.
Guilt chains her tongue. Lo! silent self-condemn'd,
With tearful eyes and trembling limbs she stands.

Alic.
Fain would I kiss his footsteps—but that look,
Where Indignation seems to strive with grief,
Forbids me to approach him.

Ard.
Who wou'd think
That anguish were not real?

Alic.
I'm rooted here.

Ard.
Those tears, methinks, ev'n if her guilt were certain,
Might wash away her pains.

Alic.
Support me, heaven!

Ard.
Curse on the abject thought. I shall relapse
To simple dotage. She steals on my heart,
She conquers with her eyes. If I but hear her voice,
Nor earth nor heaven, can save me from her snares.
O! let me fly—if I have yet the pow'r.

Alic.
O Arden! do not, do not leave me thus.

[Kneels, and holds him.
Ard.
I pray thee loose thy hold.

Alic.
O never, never.

Ard.
Why should I stay to tell thee of my wrongs,
To aggravate thy guilt, and wound thy soul?
Thyself, if all these agonizing struggles
Of tears, of sighs, of groans, of speechless sorrow
Be but sincere—thyself will do it better.
One thing I'll tell thee (for perhaps 'twill please thee)
Thou'st broke my heart, Alicia.

Alic.
—Oh!

[She falls to the ground.
Ard.
And canst thou,
Can woman pity whom she hath undone?
Why dost thou grasp my knees? what woud'st thou say,
If thou cou'dst find thy speech?

Alic.
O! mercy, mercy!

Ard.
Thou hast had none on me, let go my hand:
Why dost thou press it to thy throbbing heart,
That beats—but not for me?

Alic.
Then may it ne'er beat more.

Ard.
At least, I'm sure it did not always so.

Alic.
For that my soul is pierc'd with deep remorse,
For that I bow me to the dust before thee,
And die to be forgiven. O Arden! Arden!

Ard.
Presumptuous fool! what business hast thou here?
Did I not know my weakness, and her pow'r!
Rise—rise—Alicia.

Alic.
No: here let me lie
On the bare bosom of this conscious earth,
'Till Arden speak the words of peace and comfort,
Or my heart break before him.

Ard.
O Alicia,
Thou inconsistent spring of grief and joy,
Whence bitter streams, and sweet alternate flow,
Come to my arms, and in this too fond bosom
Disburden all the fulness of thy soul.

Alic.
Let me approach with awe that sacred temple,
Resume my seat, and dwell for ever there.

Ard.
There ever reign, as on thy native throne,
Thou lovely wanderer.

Alic.
Am I at last,
In error's fatal mazes long bewilder'd,
Permitted here to find my peace and safety!

Ard.
Dry up thy tears; and tell me, truly tell me:
Has my long-suffering love at length prevail'd,
And art thou mine indeed?

Alic.
Heaven is my witness,
I love thee, Arden; and esteem thy love
Above all earthly good. Thy kind forgiveness
Speaks to my soul that peaceful calm confirm'd,
Which reason and reflexion had begun.

Ard.
Thou'rt cheaply purchas'd with unnumber'd sighs,
With many a bitter tear, and years of patience,
Thou treasure of more worth than mines of gold.
I will not doubt my happiness. Thou art,
Thou wilt be mine, ever, and only mine.

Alic.
I am, I will. I ne'er knew joy 'till now.

Ard.
This is our truest, happiest nuptial day.
To-night, thou knowest according to my custom,
Our yearly fair returning with St. Valentine,
I treat my friends. I go to countenance
Their honest mirth, and chear them with my bounty.
'Till happy night farewel. My best Alicia,
How will our friends rejoice, our foes repine,
To see us thus?

Alic.