 | An English Tragedy |  |
Scene 3.
A room in Judge Winthrop's house. Servants carry in dishes, and place them on the table. Enter Forrester and Anne, Winthrop and Mary; they seat themselves.WINTHROP.
For his good gifts be the Lord thank'd! Now wife,
Fall to, and let us eat. What, you look gravely;
And you too, Forrester, wear yet a cloud
More dark than was before upon your brow,
And Mary mopes for company—or lack of it.
Come, fill your glasses, I will give you a pledge;
Fill to the brim! the present and the absent!
I'm sorry I'm the only one amongst you
That seems in humour with my dinner.
FORRESTER.
This is
A pleasant house, madam, that you live in here;
Yon sloping upland, crowned with leafy garlands
Of rocking woods, and that clear brimming river,
Make a perpetual pageant to the eye.
Is that water deep?
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Yes—no—
WINTHROP.
Ay, deep enough
To drown thee, little wife, if thou should'st try it.
MARY.
You do not eat, sir,
WINTHROP.
No, nor drink.
FORRESTER.
One might
Be happy here.
WINTHROP.
One might! aye, and one is.
I'll say it, though my wife will not; is one not
Happy here, Anne?
ANNE.
I hope you're happy, sir.
FORRESTER.
Like one athirst, who buries all his head
In the cup from which he drinks, nor breathes, nor stirs,
Till he has drain'd to the very end; so we,
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Over the brim to look beyond.
WINTHROP.
How now!
How now! I wear the grey hair here, yet I
Alone am merry; why, my friend, is it
A sin to thank Heaven for my blessings?
FORRESTER.
No;
But they are Heaven's, not yours, remember it.
WINTHROP.
Why you amaze me! shall I look around,
And see my life crown'd with each several joy
That life may hold, and which for the most part
Are singly dealt to mortals, nor combined
Upon one head; shall I be rich, and honour'd,
And loved, nor know it, nor be thankful for it!
Go to! 'tis not thy grave face or grave words
Shall fright me from my mirth; and still I say,
There breathes no happier man in England now,
In England—in the world than I am!
[Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
Sir,
A rider who just spurred to the gate, threw this
Into my hands, and straight across the park
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To put it in your worship's hands—none other.
It must be very urgent, for his horse
Was smoking with his speed, and from his mouth
Flew the white foam flakes, and his nostrils puff'd
With snorting breath the air, while his vein'd sides,
All dark with sweat, panted beneath his rider.
He did not stay a minute for his errand,
But wheel'd and fled, as one pursued for life.
WINTHROP
(opens the letter).
What!
[He starts up, they all rise.
ANNE.
What's the matter?
MARY.
Brother!
FORRESTER.
What is it?
WINTHROP.
Nothing; sit down!
ANNE.
For mercy's sake!
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Sit down!
I say—none stir, that—sit—sit—sit ye down!
I will be back anon.
[Exit Winthrop.
ANNE.
Oh, I am lost!
| An English Tragedy | |