University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Weldon.
Freeman, we've long been friends; and, when at college,
We have often turn'd
Together o'er the philosophic page;
Thence have we learn'd that true philosophy
Consists in bearing ills inevitable
With the same patience as we'd view a storm,
Or hurricane,
Which are not in our pow'r to stop or lay.

Y. Freeman.
So well I know my friend that I am sure
He wou'd not bring a trifle to my ear
Prepar'd with such solemnity as this.
Speak what you have to say; I am resign'd.

Weldon.
I'm glad you are; for you have much to bear.

Y. Freeman.
What can affect my peace? My Charlotte's well,
And she is mine;
My father, and my mother, all are well:
As for our goods of fortune, were they less
Than what they are, they'd be enough for me:
But hold, I now begin to doubt my pow'r:
If the sad story that you have to tell
Is of the sorrows which you bear yourself,
I shall break in
Upon the joys which I propos'd to day,
And mix my griefs with thine.

Weldon.
I've giv'n that advice I scarce can take.
Your tenderness for me makes me already
Anticipate the anguish to myself
Which you too soon must feel:
However, resolve to bear it like a man;
And be sure I will not leave you
In the distress with which I shall o'erwhelm you,
But keep a stretch'd out hand,
Till I have pull'd you out, or sunk with you.
Stand firm; be ready for the stroke.

Y. Freeman.
I am
You see a sturdy oak that well will bear
The buffetings of the contending winds.

Weldon.
Within this hour
I saw your father seiz'd, and haul'd to jail.

Y. Freeman.
At that I'm more surpris'd than terrify'd:
The action must be forg'd, he's not in debt;

Nor is his credit so low, or he so little lov'd, as to be
unable to procure him bail.

Weldon.
This is but as a gale that only moves
The leaves, and has not force to shake them off:
This you bear well; and, as the winds arise,
Keep steady as the oak, and fortify

Your mind with resolution.—The charge against your
father is no less than murder.

Y. Freeman.

He never cou'd delight in blood, but rather wou'd spill
his own to save another's: yet, go on, and tell me who's
the murder'd person.

Weldon.
Give me your hand; and stand against this blast,
And you may bear the rest.—Your Charlotte's
father is dead.

Y. Freeman.

Murder'd by whom? not by my father; for, since
your arbitration of the difference betwixt them, they
were friends,

And by the strictest bonds which cou'd be bound:
There's in our familys so great a change,
That all our hearts are one. I have some hopes
That the report of Briar's death is false:
How hear'd you it?

Weldon.
I saw him breathless, and besmear'd with blood,
And saw your father, after he was seiz'd,
And hear'd the charge against him,
With ev'ry circumstance attending it.

Y. Freeman.

Let me lay my hand upon your friendly arm; and tell
me each particular of this mysterious melancholly tale.

Weldon.
Briar was found,
In his own fields, dead and besmear'd with blood,
And in his side a wound, your father by him,
And in his hand the staff that gave the blow,
The iron spike at the sharp end of which
Was cover'd o'er with blood, and, as they try'd,
Exactly fill'd the wound.

Y. Freeman.
This is like thunder from the hand of heaven;
And I must yield to it.

(He sinks down.
Weldon.

Rise, my friend; and tho my words may seem at present
like a face that's veil'd, yet credit what I say:
Briar indeed can never be restor'd; but your father,
tho he must thro a heavy suffering pass, shall, like a
vessel in a dreadful storm expected long to sink, safe
reach the land at last.

Y. Freeman.
That's some relief to my dejected soul;
But Briar is no more; and that's enough
To heap on us intolerable woes:
But tell me, Weldon, make me, if you can,
Sure that my father's life is not in danger.

Weldon.
I have conceiv'd how I can safe that life;
And rest assur'd, if one of us must sink,
'Tis I'll be drown'd: enquire no farther of me.

Y. Freeman.
My trust is all in you; yet I foresee
The remedy itself must be severe.