University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A splendid Apartment, lighted up. At the farther end a Table, covered with a Banquet, at which Luke is discovered sitting.—(Soft Music.)
Luke
(rising.)
Give o'er! I've had enough! This is true wisdom,
When a rich man like me lives to himself
In his full height of glory. I can brook
No rival in this happiness: it comes
With double relish, when I do reflect,
That, while I taste this plenitude of bliss,
So many want it. Brightness to the star
That govern'd at my birth! Shoot down thine influence,
And with a perpetuity of being,
Continue this felicity, not gain'd
By vows to saints above, and much less purchas'd
By anxious industry: I owe it all
To my best friend, dissimulation,
And to the specious shape I wore of goodness:
I'll drink another cup.— (Drinks.)
This gen'rous liquor
Invigorates my heart, makes my warm fancy
Grow wanton. Would I had one to behold me
In my resplendent height of rich enjoyment,
One, from whose baseness my transcendent splendor
Might doubly be reflected!
Enter Holdfast.
What brings thee?

Holdfast.
Sir Maurice Lacey would have access to you.

Luke.
By Heav'n! he comes beyond my hope.—Admit him.
[Exit Holdfast.
What brings him here o' th' sudden? 'Tis no matter.
He's a prime citizen, a man of worship,
My whilom advocate, good easy man!
The voucher of my honesty and honour.
He shall have proof on't.
Enter Sir Maurice.
Good Sir Maurice Lacey!
This is most kind of you. You take me here
A little unexpected: had I known
Of this high honour, I had been prepar'd.

Sir Maurice.
Your privacy, methinks, appears to equal
The state of others: but I come not here
To share your luxury.

Luke.
To what other cause
Am I indebted for this favour then?

Sir Maurice.
I held you for a man of worth, believ'd you
Honest, religious, kind, compassionate,
Perfect in all the theory of virtue.
How comes it then, that tow'rds the very persons,
Whose cause you advocated with your brother,
You've acted with such cool barbarity?
How could you bear to hear those aged men,
Bow'd with affliction for their son's misconduct,
Implore your pity, yet deny their suit?
Have you so soon forgot, with your dependence,
Your principles and feelings?

Luke.
Have you said?

Sir Maurice.
I have, and wait your answer.

Luke.
Thus it is:
My fortune is mine own; I may dispose it
As best may suit my pleasure, or convenience.
I am no boy, to bow me to correction,
Nor have you, as I think, a right to apply it.
You have my answer, Sir.

Sir Maurice.
Is't come to this?
Was then your seeming sanctity assum'd
But as a cloak to cover your depravity?

Luke.
It answer'd well its purpose, for it gave me
The good things I possess.

Sir Maurice.
Bold hypocrite!
You think you stand securely: but beware—

Luke.
I thank you for your caution. Good Sir John
Will not rise from his grave to throw me down,
And as for what thou say'st, it moves me not.

Sir Maurice.
These monies, strangely fallen thus upon you,
Have giv'n you much assurance.

Luke.
They have so:
And good Sir Maurice, now you talk of monies,
Be pleas'd to pay in what you owe to me.
You'll give me leave to wonder, that your wisdom
Should thus afford you leisure to discuss
These petty bus'nesses, you being yourself
So in my danger.

Sir Maurice.
In thy danger?

Luke.
Mine.
I find among my deeds a manor pawn'd,
Pawn'd, good Sir—Lacey Manor—to my brother
Pawn'd for ten thousand pounds in hand laid down.
You are a man of worship; so, Sir Maurice,
Pray pay you in my monies. Be not surpriz'd;
Tho' you do bear me hard, I'll shew I love you.
There is a thing they call a writ, and one
Who has authority to serve it on you.
I should be loth to see your name disgrac'd,
And that same Compter is an awkward lodging
For one so dignified as you. You're angry
For my good counsel! Well, Sir, had I known
Your coming, I had had my serjeants ready
For your reception.

Sir Maurice.
I am dumb with wonder!

Luke.
Now rail at me again.— (Drinks.)
Here's to your health
And good digestion!

Sir Maurice.
Thou'rt so lost in baseness
I'll not reply to thee. When next we meet—

Luke.
As that, if right I guess, may not be soon,
Stay but a moment, and I'll give you more
For pleasant contemplation. Holdfast!

Enter Holdfast.
Holdfast.
Sir!

Luke.
Bring here those women!
[Exit Holdfast.
Nay, Sir, you shall see
I don't do things by halves. When I begin,
I know how to go thro'.
Enter Lady Traffic, Maria, and Eliza.
As you are their friend,
It cannot but be pleasant to behold them
Deck'd with the robes that suit their wretchedness.
Dowlas, tho' coarse, is warm—

Sir Maurice.
Cool! Specious villain!
Was it for this thy too indulgent brother
Gave thee his wealth?

Luke.
My answer's plain. It was.
He was a provident and wise testator,
Who knew us both, and made a just distinction.
To them, whose arrogance provok'd his fate,
He left their due, contempt and poverty,
While to my merits he shew'd due respect,
And made me independent and their master.
(To Lady Traffic),
I've done with you, hence, to your chambers, go!
And set about your tasks.

Sir Maurice.
Stay yet, I pray you:
I've somewhat more to say to this bad man.
Tell me, if yet thou hast or sense or feeling,
Is't thus you keep your specious promises
You made this wretched lady, when hard fate
Cast her and thine own nieces on thy bounty?
Hast thou no pity on their suff'rings?

Luke.
No!
They'd none for mine. Their reign is at an end;
'Tis now my turn to rule. I've felt their sway,
And now I'll shew them what my mercy is.

Sir Maurice.
Good lady, be of cheer. He may relent.

Luke.
Aye, when revenge is satisfied; no sooner.

Lady Traffic.
Forbear, good Sir, nor try to move him further.
The mis'ries I sustain are small, compar'd
With my past errors: if my suff'rings can
Atone for them, I gladly will endure them.
Small are the ills wherewith he threatens me.
What matters it what raiment I put on?
What is the labour, what the scanty food,
To which his sentence dooms me, but the penalty
Impos'd upon a disobedient wife,
Who never knew the treasure she possess'd,
'Till she for ever lost it!

Sir Maurice.
If you feel,
If you do truly sorrow for your faults—

Lady Traffic.
To feel! to sorrow! they are terms too gentle.
Repentance, never ending but with life,
And pray'rs and tears pour'd forth to angry heav'n,
Are now my consolation and sole hope.

Sir Maurice.
Take courage, lady; comfort may appear.
And thou, obdurate man! whose savage heart
Nor gratitude, nor pity can assuage,
Tho' now from thy proud pinnacle of greatness
On all within thy sphere thou rain'st down plagues,
Beware, look to thyself; the angry bolt
Of veng'ance now is bursting o'er thy head!
[Exit Sir Maurice.

Luke.
Rail on, vain dotard! Thou art in my pow'r,
And soon shalt feel it. As for you, proud Madam!
I'll make you feel it too; you shall perceive
I am the master of your fate; each hour
Shall teach you what dependance upon me is.

Lady Traffic.
I am prepar'd for all; it will but make me
Contrast more strongly my lamented husband
With his degenerate heritor.

Luke.
Your husband!
Could he but know the treatment I will give thee,
My vengeance would be full. Oh! that the grave
Would yield him up again, such as he was,
Complete in all his senses and affections,
Here would I stand, and as his eyes met mine—
Have mercy! save me! (he staggers to a chair).


[Lady T. falls on her knees.
Enter Sir John, Sir Maurice, Heartwell, and Edward Lacey.
Sir John.
(To Lady T.)
Rise, I am thy husband,
Thy living husband. Once more in mine arms
I hold thee, and receive thee as my treasure!

Maria and Eliza.
My father!

Sir John.
Let me hold you to my heart.

Lady Traffic.
Am I awake? Art thou, art thou indeed
Restor'd? alas! and can you condescend
To notice one who has so ill deserv'd
Your tenderness?

Sir John.
Be all forgotten, love!
That can allay our present happiness.
(To Heartwell and E. Lacey)
Why stand you gazing here? Are you afraid
To seize the yielding hand which thus I give you?

E. Lacey.
I take it as the pledge of future blessings!

Heartwell.
Lady, I hold my life but as your servant
By this fair hand I swear I dearly love you.

Sir Maurice.
That's well.—Now turn thee from this scene of joy,
And look on that fall'n'wretch.—Arouse thee, man!
Behold th' avenger of thy crimes before thee.

Sir John.
Rise, brother!

Luke.
No—I cannot look upon thee—
I'll fall yet lower—thus, upon the ground
My fittest place, I will lie humbly prostrate,
And supplicate for pardon and for favour.

Sir John.
Pardon thou hast; but look not for my favour
Thou hast offended, Luke, beyond remission.
I've known thy practices, thy tyranny,
Thy dark dissimulation. Those who suffer'd
By thine oppression, are again set free:
But, tho' thy wish was foil'd, thy base intent
Bears everlasting testimony 'gainst thee.

Luke.
Let me implore you to look kindly on me!
I am a poor weak man, who will obey you,
Live but in your good favour—

Sir John.
I have said.

Luke.
Do you bereave me then of ev'ry hope?
Am I cast off for ever and abandon'd?

Sir John.
Give o'er for shame. I've answer'd thee already.

Luke
(rising.)
Hope then is gone, and I'm once more myself!
There! triumph o'er the wreck you see before you!
Heap insult upon insult!—I defy you!—
Bar not my way!—the world is wide enough
For all to range in. I will find my part,
And work my way in't. Curses light upon you!
[Exit Luke.

Sir John.
What strange obduracy!—But come, my love!
Let us retire, and pondering on what's past,
May we be taught to estimate our blessings,
And shun those arts, which still defeat their aim,
And lead their vot'ries to contempt and shame.

[Exeunt.