 | Sir Anthony Moore |  |
SCENE I.
A Cottage.Caroline, Esther.
Est.
At length the anxious moments are outrun;
There comes our youth, with slow and sullen pace,
Switching the ling with's staff, and ambling so
As if he had forgot his thought behind him,
And walk'd from instinct—He is much unlike
Love's messenger, with tidings of success.
Car.
Do you receive him, Esther; my weak heart
Is all so tremblingly alive and full,
I will retire a moment, and give vent
To feelings hitherto unknown to me.
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I will return anon.
(Exit.)
Enter Cubbin.
Est.
Well, Cubbin, hast thou seen Sir Anthony,
And given my letter?
Cub.
Yes.
Est.
How look'd he?—How was he affected by it?
Cub.
Most wickedly affected.
Est.
I'm glad of that.
Cub.
Glad!—O, here's a carline for you!
Does it rejoice thee so that men go mad?
Est.
What message does he send?
Cub.
None.
Est.
None!
Cub.
No, none that's known to me.
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What did he say?—How look'd he?—Tell me all.
Cub.
Yes—First, then, he look'd most like a madman;
And what he said was so confused and contrary,
I could not eke't to sense—See, I will shew you
Pat how he look'd and spoke—He oped the letter.
“Ah, wretch!” said he, “what's this?—I'll run! I'll fly!
Get me my steed—Holla!—Get me a steed!
Speed the caparison.” With that there came
A gruff and stately knight, with aspect deep,
And link'd his arm in his, leading him off
Into a chamber—Short time did I wait
Ere he return'd, and strode athwart the floor,
Fuming and uttering incoherent stuff
Of fruit-ladders and windows—Then he said,
“So thou keep'st common women at thy house,
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Are they not common women?”
Est.
And, booby, what said'st thou to that?
Cub.
I said, yes.
Then he gave me this letter.
“Go back to them,” said he, “go back to them;
Give her that sent you, this,” which thus I do.
Then with a laugh, like gaoler in his sleep,
He strode away, and more of him I saw not.
Est.
Oh my foreboding heart!—I like it not.
All, all depends on this—Oh Caroline!
Come in, love Caroline, and read our fate,
If it be joy, or misery condign.
Re-enter Caroline, who takes the letter.
Car.
It is his hand and seal—Leave us, good Cubbin.
(Kissing the letter.)
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Here ere this time himself.
(She opens the letter—becomes still as a statue, and lets the letter fall.)
Est.
Ha! is it so indeed?—Is there on earth
A monster can desert thee, Caroline,
In such a plight?
(Lifts the letter and looks at it.)
O beast!—O ruffian!—If a voice from heaven
Had spoke and said that such a man did live,
I'd not have trow'd it.—Ah, if he but knew
The value of the heart that he is breaking!—
Yet, yet he could not do't, fiend as he is!
(Reads.)
“Madam—My conduct, regarded as
cruel, is not once to be set in comparison with
that the Cecils have done to me. Our marriage
was a sham, a mere trick of love, which I hope
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have no wiving—if you list to follow the camp in
another light, the credit be yours.—The prior
claims of my friend may haply be relinquished.—
I know you well enough.
“Anthony Moore.”
O might I once but conjure up the fiendsOf vengeance at my instance!—Ye dark powers,
From your eternal portals of despair,
Rise on your baleful wings with gleesome speed
To your well-earned prey—and, first of all,
Inspire my tongue to curse him in the name
Of all the saints that influence the Godhead.
No—I'll not spend a single curse upon him;
For he has that already in his heart
Shall burn unquenchable, while earthly mould
Mures his devoted soul—Ay, and while last
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And that they say's long, long.—Cheer thee, my love,
And teach thy heart such baseness to despise.
Car.
O Esther, make my bed—and make it dark;
Shut out that light that moves the busy world,
And all the din of nature—shut them from me,
Kind Esther!—make my bed and make it soft,
For I would fain go sleep.
Est.
No crime is thine,
Dear injured angel! thou may'st sleep in peace
With heaven, with thy own heart, and all mankind.
Car.
Nay, do not weep for me—See, I weep none;
But haste and make my bed, for oh, I long
To lay my head upon its rush-wove pillow,
And deeply, soundly sleep.
| Sir Anthony Moore | |